It's as cheap as dirt; but for all that it strikes me it aint worth while to be killed with bad air and unwholesome smells, for the sake of being buried at a bargain; and I can't help wishing that our neighbourhood didn't furnish so many customers to the undertaker.

it looked after? The dust and refuse of a nobleman's house, if it was left to ferment in large quantities, would poison the nobility just as soon as it would a costermonger, perhaps sooner. But the nobility never have the chance; the scavenger brings his cart round two or three times a week, and hauls off everything, and keeps 'em sweet. Just notice how it is out our way, where there's nothing but six or seven pound houses-where Jack Jinks, who hawks whelks and winkles about the town, turns his stale stock into the road when it's no longer fit for use-where Bilins, the vegetable dealer, does the same with his cabbages when they turn yellow; and where all the people throw their dust and rubbish out at the front door, because there's nowhere else to put it. Why, the scavenger don't come there once in three months; I haven't seen him myself since the Exhibition year, when there was a bit of a sweep up; but instead of him, when the smell gets uncommon strong, there comes the parish engine, and plays upon it for an hour or two till the whole road is in a swim, and as much of it as gets afloat drains off into the nearest ditch. I think they call this irrigatin' of us; it's a very fine word, but it don't do anything like the scavenger's broom.

You should have been out our way when the cholera came in '49. It was really awful: all along the track of the open sewer people lay dead in pretty nigh every house. It breaks my heart to think of it. I lost my biggest boy and my poor old father. Pretty nigh anybody that was took died; the doctors could do nothing with 'em. My Tom was as fine-growed a young fellow as you ever see, but he wasn't bad more than two days altogether before he died. I'll say that for the doctors, they did what they could; they were running about night and day; but at our way the disorder was too strong for them, and had its own course. Some said it was the water; some said it was the want of drainage; and some laid it to the foul air. Poor father I don't think ever had the cholera at all; but he thought he had, and lay crouched up in bed for three weeks, and it's my belief 'twas the fear of it killed him at last. I know I felt myself all the while just as I fancy a soldier may feel when the enemy is firing at his regiment, expect ing to be hit himself every minute while he sees his comrades a-dropping around him. If I had been took, I don't know what would have become of my family. When the worst on't was over the parish authorities come among us, and brought surveyors and scientific gentlemen to see what was wanting to be done; and there was a talk of great alterations and improvements; the open drain was to be covered in, and a main drain was to be dug, and cisterns and ball-cocks were to be put up in every house, and plenty of water was to be turned on. In short, the talking was very fine indeed, everything that could be wished. The misfortune of it was, that beyond the talking nothing further was done. We looked out for the drainers and the diggers, and the water-cisterns and ball-cocks, but not a morsel of one of them have I seen from that time to this. The open drain is growed worse than ever, because the building is going on every day; it isn't in fact a drain now at all, but a stag-prietor of the boiling-house comes and begs me to nant ditch of black soil; there is a current, to be sure, which runs at the rate of a yard an hour: I've calculated it, and it takes thirteen hours to get past my bit of ground, which is a bare forty-four

feet.

There's a many things, besides what I've stated, quite as bad, and worse, and which I mustn't put down, because if I did people would say I was a describing things as isn't decent-and that would be true enough; but then, if it isn't decent to write about such things, should people that ought to be decent people be compelled to live amongst them? There's no reason why a labouring man, when he's off work, shouldn't be as clean in his person as a gentleman; but if he has to beg the water that is to give him a clean face, he's likely to go with a dirty one all the longer. Moreover, there's no good reason that I know of why all the trouble that's taken to clean the streets of London should be confined mostly to what I call the show parts of the town. A working man's health is as valuable to him as a lord's is to a lord; but how is

I shall be told, as I have been told when I made these complaints to our doctor, that the law has provided a remedy, and that we have got it in our own hands. I make bold to deny that altogether. I know well enough that the Parliament, when the cholera was a-coming on, passed an act, called the Nuisances Removal Act, and that that act specifies that magistrates shall have power to enforce the removal of a nuisance, upon a complaint being presented, backed by the written testimony of a medical man that such nuisance is unfavourable to health. But how is it in practice? Come out our way and try. You may get the testimony of the medical man fast enough, a hundred of 'em if you like; but when you go to the magistrate, and complain of the fat-boiling, and require him to put the act into execution, then says he, "I shan't act unless the subject is brought before me officially." That sounds very grand, but it signifies no more nor less than this: "I shan't act unless the pro

turn him out." Because, you see, the subject can't come before the magistrate "officially" without the guardians move in it, and one guardian, perhaps, is the fat-boiling proprietor, and another is his particular friend. It is true, they are bound to act if two housekeepers complain to them of the nuisance; but seeing that out our way the owners of the nuisances are the landlords of all the houses, that never comes to pass.

'Tis said that we live in a wonderful age for knowledge and improvement and progress. The progress we've made out our way I'm afraid has been latterly very much in the wrong direction. We have more dirt, more sickness, more improvi dence, and more death than ever we had before among us; and unless something is done to put things in better trim, we shall go on from bad to worse. There are many worthy men come out our way at times to talk and read the bible to the people in the cottages, and there used to be some ladies, but they gave it up, and no wonder, for they couldn't stand it; I can hardly stand it my

self sometimes. What is most wanted, however, is the material for good advice to work upon. A part of Christianity is decency, and cleanliness, as everybody knows, is next to godliness; and when men are in circumstances which make decency and cleanliness impossible, my experience tells me that I need seldom look to them for a religious example -and I don't.

There! I've relieved my mind, and done my duty to my neighbours-and I hope some good may come of it.

THE GUILLOTINE OF THE FRENCH
REVOLUTION.

WHILE paying a visit in 1815 to the Hôtel de
Ville, so celebrated in the annals of the first Revo-
lution, "I at once," says Mr. Simpson, "asked to
see the guillotine, which I was informed was kept
here. A man and woman, the concierge and his
wife, told me that it had for some time been in the
possession of a carpenter in the Rue Pont-à-Choux,
near the Marais." Being in the neighbourhood of
this spot a few days afterwards, Mr. S. extended
his ride thither, and after many inquiries was suc-
cessful in discovering the haunt of this terrible
instrument of crime. In answer to his interroga-
tions, he says, "I was directed to a gate, or porte-
cochère, through which I rode into a small paved
court. The noise of my horse's feet brought a girl
to a window up-stairs, of whom I asked if the
guillotine was kept here! She was too much di-
verted with so strange an errand of a man and
aorse and the man English-to answer at once,
but said she would come down about it; and down
she came with two sisters with her, in great mirth
about Monsieur l'Anglais and the guillotine. They
pointed to a large door like that of a coach-house,
and said it was there; but it was locked, and the
key with a person who lived at a great distance.
Observing about six inches of aperture above the
door, I thought I might see over it, and asked if
they could get me something to stand upon ? By
this time several of the less employed of their
neighbours had joined us; and, by moving an
empty cask, they most readily procured me the
means of elevation, held my horse, and encouraged
me to ascend with Allons, Monsieur, montez,
montez à la guillotine!' Assuring them that it
was my wish to see it, not to try it, I got up on
the cask, and, looking over the door, I certainly
saw the murderous instrument lying on the ground
the same instrument that had struck off the
heads of the king and queen, and of the multi-
tudes who followed them. So constantly was it in
use, that a gentleman who lived about a mile from
Paris, during those dreadful times, said that, on a
calm summer evening, he distinctly heard the
chop of the guillotine for an hour or two together.
The same instrument which, while it spared
neither sex nor age, immolated all descriptions of
persons, a Lavoisier as well as a Robespierre; and
beside which, it is said, David the painter stood
with his pencil, in French composure, to catch the
convulsions of expiring nature. Looking at this
instrument, so frightful in dreadful associations,
I had almost forgot my merry friends around, and
was not just in their mood when I came down. I

had only one question to answer to them-why an Englishman should come on so strange an errand?-Curiosity. C'est très extraordinaire!' Thanking the whole neighbourhood for their kind attention in doing the honours of the guillotine so satisfactorily, I mounted and rode out of the court."

TIGER BEETLES.

(FROM RYMER JONES'S NATURAL HISTORY OF ANIMALS.) THE first division of this mighty army comprehends the Tiger Beetles, conspicuously the most rapacious and bloodthirsty of the race, equally remarkable for the beauty of their colours, their extreme activity, and savage propensities. The larvæ of these tigers are tolerably agile in their movements, and present a very remarkable appearance, the eighth segment of their bodies, which is larger than the rest, being armed with a pair of sharp recurved hooks, implanted in a prominent fleshy retractile cushion. These larvæ excavate cylindrical burrows in the ground, which are many of them upwards of a foot in depth, in the construction of which the larvæ exhibit extraordinary ingenuity, loosening the earth by means of their powerful jaws, and carrying it to the surface upon their broad heads, the hooks upon their backs assisting them to climb to the top, much in the same way as a chimney-sweep ascends a chimney. Their den being completed, they station themselves just within its entrance, where they lie in wait for any poor passing insect traveller that may be luckless enough to approach too near, when it is instantly seized and dragged to the bottom of the cave, there to be speedily devoured. Less active, but scarcely less carnivorous in their habits, are the predaceous ground-beetles, many of which are constantly employed prowling about upon the surface of the ground, in search of insect prey, lurking in the daytime under stones and other similar places of concealment, and carrying on an unrelenting warfare against innumerable noxious insects, the destructiveness of which they materially assist in diminishing. Among these marauding beetles, the most remarkable are the Bombardiers, as they are not inappropriately named, several species of which are provided with a means of defence unparalleled among the lower animals. Of all the inventions which mankind seem fairly entitled to claim, as being exclusively of human contrivance, perhaps that of guns and gunpowder might be deemed the most original, yet even in this, strange to say, he has been forestalled. The little bombardier beetles possessed an artillery of their own long before the fields of Cressy first trembled at the unaccustomed roar of human cannon, as any one will confess who may inadvertently lay hold of one of these living batteries. It is quite true, that neither powder nor ball is needed by the insect cannonier; but there is the flash, the smoke, the report, and although

"The far-hissing globe of death"

is wanting, its place is more efficiently supplied by a burning drop, so caustic in its nature as to be only comparable to nitric acid in its corrosive effects.

Facts, Anecdotes, and Counsels.

this property offers great advantages," etc., etc. We need not quote the advertisement to the end. Whether an acceptable offer" was made, thus obviating the necessity for a "public auction;" or for how much this " valuable freehold estate" was sold; or who bought it, by auction or otherwise, is nothing to our present purpose-which is, to draw back the curtain a little, and explain, what does not meet the eye in our advertisement, how Brook Vale estate got into the market. In other words, we intend to trace, with due brevity, the troubled course of a family feud.

needful, as part and parcel of our sketch, to advert to an incident which cast a shade of unhappiness over the party of pleasure, and brought out the first manifestations of the family feud which was thereafter to cast a blight upon Brook Vale.

Amy was fond of musie; she had a soft musical voice, pure taste, and a good ear: it was pleasant at any time to hear the simple carollings, merry or plaintive as the mood of the moment might be, of the interesting orphan girl; and her uncle was delighted with his gentle songstress, with her "woodnotes wild." Her cousins, too, had some slight musical attainments; and as Brook Vale was as much their home as they chose to make it, and Amy had grown up with them almost as a sister, it is no wonder that the choral practisings of the trio had been many.

More than thirty years earlier than the date of our advertisement, Brook Vale was owned and inhabited by a kind and genial old man, whose former industry, joined with a few prudent and successful speculations, had raised him from a comparatively poor and humble condition to one of positive wealth; and while yet gray hairs were but here and there upon him, he had retired from business, become the owner of the Brook Vale estate, and thenceforward lived the life that thou-rustie arbour by the side of a stream that wound sands toil for, and wish for, and sigh for, in vain.

One fine evening in summer, a party of young people met at Brook Vale to celebrate the birthday of one of its inmates, Amy Hall, the orphan niece and adopted child of its owner, who was an unmarried man; and among the visitors were two of Amy's cousins, Alfred and George Hammond. It is hardly correct, however, to speak of these brothers as visitors; for by them, in conjunction with their cousin, and the consent of their kind old relative, the fete had been arranged, and they were rather the inviters than the invited.

If, instead of a short sketch, we were disposed to write a long story, we might digress here, to give the antecedent history of Alfred and George Hammond, from their childhood upwards; but our readers must be content with knowing that they were at this time of the several ages of nineteen and twenty; that their father, a small tenant farmer in a distant part of the country, was of a character different, in many respects, from the retired tradesman, and was sustained in his position mainly by the generosity of his brother; that the two youths had been educated and put out into the world at their uncle's expense, Alfred, the elder, as the pupil and assistant of a farmer and grazier, whose lands bordered upon Brook Vale; and George, as the apprentice of a miller not far off. To this explanation may be added that, as these two youths and their cousin Amy were the nearest relations of old Mr. Hammond, so there was every reason to believe that, at his death, whenever that might occur, they would jointly inherit his property; and that, meanwhile, he would complete what he had begun by starting the brothers in business as opportunity served, and would also be prepared with a handsome dowry, if his niece should choose to enter "the holy state of matrimony."

It is scarcely necessary to say that, under such favourable circumstances, and especially as the young people were, in many respects, pleasing and attractive, they had many friends; and that Amy's birth-day party was as large as she and her cousins

chose to make it.

It is not our intention to describe the guests who assembled that evening at Brook Vale, nor the amusements in which they joined; but it is

As was natural enough then, on the evening of the party music formed part of the entertainment, and, in anticipation of this, Alfred had brought with him his favourite flute. The orchestra was a through Brook Vale; and for an hour before sunset, one harmonious strain after another had floated on the soft summer air far above and around. But singing and flute-playing tires, and with one consent the entertainment was discontinued for the time, and the party broke up into groups of twos and thrces, and was dispersed through the gardens and shrubberies of Brook Vale, to re-assemble at the supper table.

For a time, therefore, the arbour was deserted, but presently a pair of damsels entered, and threw themselves, rather discontentedly, on the mossy seat.

"I think 'tis very dull," said one," and I am tired. It is not very polite either in those young fellows to leave us two to wander about all alone in this unkind sort of way; I don't know what you think about it, Julia."

The young lady thus addressed did not immedi ately reply to her companion, but began to hum a tune, popular enough in those days, whatever it may be now, the burden of which was,

"And 'tis O dear me, what can the matter be?
O dear me, what shall I do?
There's nobody coming to--"

"There, that will do, Julia," said the first speaker, interrupting the singer at the most interesting part of her ditty; "I dislike singing, you know, and that stupid flute. Amy thinks so much of her voice, and Alfred of his squeaking music, that if I had known we were to have so much of it, I don't think I should have come to the party."

"And if I had known George Hammond was going to march off with Amy Hall, all by themselves, for nobody knows how long," responded Julia, "I don't think I should have come. I can promise, though, that somebody else doesn't like that any better than I do, and that's Master Alfred-your friend, Miss Osborn.”

"Oh, no friend of mine in particular, Julia. Let either of them that likes marry their cousin if they think so much of her; though I do think there ought to be a law against cousins marrying at all. But what nonsense this is, Julia; as if you and I were setting our caps at the young Hammonds. There are as good fish in the sea any day

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