Varieties. CHARACTER PICTURED BY THE DIFFERENT RESULTS OF MEN'S LABOURS.-It is a common remark that a man may be known by the company he keeps;" but a recent writer on agriculture has showed us that the same knowledge may be attained by the study of an allotment ground. "To an expert eye," he says, "does not each little oblong plot of land, with its varied produce, care, culture, and condition, tell its separate tale, as if the soil were the destined mirror of the hand and mind of man? Does it need the voice or finger of the showman to point out the characteristics of the several occupants? Here there is industry; there idleness: here again there is hard labour, without skill or knowledge; there you have experimental attempts, despising established practice over-much, and ending in failure: here again is toil overtasked, and struggling against want of means-the spade without the dungfork-a hard and pitiless struggle; there plenty of manure-heaps, but wastefully and unevenly applied: here again is loss of time upon too close a minuteness and pettiness of culture; there too large and daring a system, which risks the whole space upon a single crop. Every variety and sub-variety of character is self-drawn and pictured on the soil-a photographic portrait of the cultivator. And so it is upon that great allotment-field-could one but as easily look over it-the farms spread, border-to-border, over the various geological systems of England, Scotland, and Ireland."-Talpa. THE FLOURISHING TRADES OF VENICE.-Although the commerce and manufacturing industry of Venice has in general gone sadly to decay, yet there are trades still flourishing in full bloom, of which elsewhere people have little notion; namely, the business of the wig-maker, the money-changer, and the shoe-black. In the opinion of Von Rochau, the honourable guild of hair-dressers is, relatively to the population, twice as numerous as in Paris, and five times as numerous as in London; "and I venture to infer from this," he says, "that there is something in the climate of Venice extremely favourable to baldness. The scarcely inferior numbers of the money-changers may be partly explained by the circumstance, that Venice lies on the frontiers between the kingdoms of paper currency and hard cash. But most inexplicable of all is the incredible number of professors of the noble art of shoe-blacking; an art which can hardly be said to exist in many cities that might be supposed to stand far more in need of it. Venice is, perhaps, the cleanest town in the world; all the streets and roads are paved with marble; there is no carriage, no dust, no mud brought in from a country road, no accumulation of refuse and garbage, for it all finds its way at once out of the windows into the canals; in short, with the best will in the world, it really seems impossible to get your shoes dirty; and yet the shoe-blacks are running about in swarms, and, moreover, seem devoted to their art with a really passionate fanaticism. However immaculate and polished I considered my boots to be, I never succeeded in escaping their zealous services. One day I had the imprudence to make my appearance on St. Mark's Place with boots of really doubtful lustre. might have foreseen the consequences. This time they did not ask me; but the first artist in blacking that caught sight of me, seized upon me, whether I would or not, and it was not till I had submitted to the operation in all form that I recovered my liberty and was allowed to pursue my way." BURIAL-PLACE OF THE TURKS.-The principal place of sepulture for the Moslem population of Constantinople and its environs is at Scutari, on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus, where there is a city of tombs that may almost contest the palm with the catacombs of Rome. The Turks, it appears, never forget that they are but "camped in Europe;" so that what was merely a bon mot for the Frank author of the saying, is to them a serious and every; day truth. Accordingly, almost all the more serious and patriotic Moslems who can afford it order in their wills that their remains should find burial in Asia, where, when the race of Othman again gives place in Europe to the Ghiaour, the hoof of no infidel's charger will spurn their resting-place. OWNERS OF LAND.-It has been authoritatively stated that the owners of land in Britain do not number above 250,000 out of a population of twenty millions. A MOSLEM SERMON TO DOGS.-It is well known that at Constantinople, and most eastern cities, wild dogs prowl about fearlessly in gaunt and ravenous troops. Especially do they seem thoroughly at home in the Petit Champ des Mortes, as the inhabitants of Pera call a huge assemblage of tombs and barren mounds of gravel, among which they delight to promenade. Here grim, tawny monsters, that glare ferociously at the passer-by, lie basking in the sun, or range about in search of carrion. They are continually quarrelling among themselves; and when a stray cur belonging to one pack is caught trespassing on the hunting-grounds of another horde, the growls of the prowlers thus intruded upon become terrific. Their number equals their fierceness; for it is not unusual to see fifty in a single troop. Yet, with all the howling and snarling of these dogs, it is very rare for a human being to be assailed by them. Hydrophobia being unknown, or at least very infrequent, in the East, the danger of leaving so many savage brutes at large is less than it would appear at first sight; and whenever they become too formidable by their numbers, some thousands of them are carried to a desolate island in the Sea of Marmora, and cruelly left there to starve, three days' provisions being placed within their reach, and a sermon on the duties of resignation and endurance being preached to them by a devout Mollah. NEW PATENT DIGGING-MACHINE.-In a recent number of this journal we expressed a hope that that agricul tural desideratum, a steam-cultivator, might soon be invented. We are glad to learn that a machine somewhat similar to that described in page 408 has been in use for some little time, worked, however, by horse-power. It consists essentially of several series of slender steel prongs, so shaped in curve and section as to penetrate the soil easily by the mere weight of the framing which contains them; each series resembling the spokes of a wheel without the tyre, and all the wheels being caused to revolve by the draught of the horses, whilst embedded in the earth up to what may be called their naves. The spokes or prongs bring up the soil, and allow it to fall backward, thoroughly pulverised and mixed, in a form not unlike the backwater from a paddle-wheel. In the upper part of their revolution they pass between a corresponding number of strong iron bars, which scrape away any earth or weeds adhering to them. Although, like all other tillage implements, it works best in dry weather, the digger was used with advantage during the late wet spring, when it was hardly possible to plough at all: it also clears itself well of any stones which it may pick out of the ground. It only requires four or five horses to work it when set to dig ten inches deep by three feet in width, being equal to four acres dug in a working-day of seven hours, in soils where it is rare to see less than three horses ploughing only onefourth of that breadth to a depth of barely six inches; so that it is obvious that, apart from the superiority of the result, there is positive economy in the power applied. The "Digger" appears to be equally applicable to road-formation and excavating generally. It moves as much surface soil in a day as would require forty to sixty men with the spade. Where needful, it also clears itself well of any stones which it may pick out of the ground. TREASURES OF THE DEAD-LETTER OFFICE.-It is estimated that there lies, from time to time, in the deadletter office, undergoing the process of finding owners, some 11,000l. annually, in cash alone. On the 17th of July, 1847, there were lying in this office bills of exchange for the immense sum of 40,4107. ARTIFICIAL BLOSSOMING OF FLOWERS.-The singular phenomenon of the "instantaneous" blossoming of flowers has been exhibited at Brompton. Roses and geraniums placed in mould had a liquid composition poured on them, and blossomed in ten or fifteen minutes. very mamma told him so, one day; he says.he is crowded with passengers, it passed towards the It was a pleasant scene that, from the jetty; but we must not stop to describe it. Our story has to do only with Mr. Grafton, his family, and his friends. And the tale we have to tell is no romance, but only a plain and simple sketch of scenes such as, passing every day before our eyes, are thought of for an hour, and then fade away from memory: scenes which would teach us lessons of wisdom if we would only learn wisdom, but which fail in arresting attention because, perhaps, they are so often repeated. Mr. Grafton was the junior partner in a London wholesale house. To this position he had raised himself, while comparatively a very young man, by his industry, talents for business, and close application; for he had no money capital to help him on. He was still young-not much above the age of thirty-six-but his health was sadly failing, and to recruit it he had left the counting-house in the city, and his home at Islington, for a month's recreation by the sea-side. The month had been extended to two, for health had mot come at his call, and finding solitude irksome, he had been joined by his wife and children. This was the family group. Well, Bertie, how many fish have you caught?" asked Mr. Grafton, when the steamer had crossed the bay and entered the harbour. He spoke cheerfully, but his tone was hollow. None, papa, not yet. They won't bite this evening; I can't think the reason." Bertie sighed, and tears came to his eyes too. To hide them, perhaps, he stooped down and kissed little Harriet, who had hold of his disengaged hand. What did this quiet sadness of the boy and his mother mean? It would have been hard to make them explain it. For some minutes before Mr. Grafton and his wife turned from the jetty head, and while they were watching the steamboat, they, or rather he, had also been closely watched and curiously scanned by a gentleman who was seated near them. And when they were walking slowly away, his eyes still followed them. "It is Charles," he said to himself; "but wonderfully altered: he looks as old as I am, and is evidently an invalid. Shall I speak to him?" The hesitation did not continue long. The gentleman rose from his seat, and followed the retiring party. Mr. Grafton turned sharply round, and slightly bowed to the stranger, as he gently laid a hand upon his arm. I believe I am speaking to Charles Grafton ?" said the stranger. Mr. Grafton bowed again. And you will not have forgotten your old teacher, Nelson ?" 66 "No, certainly not; and you are Mr. Nelson? I quite well remember you now, and am glad to have met you;" and Mr. Grafton held out his hand. But there was not much heartiness in the grasp and shake. There was too much ceremony about it for the occasion; and so there was in the tone and manner of the introduction which followed. "Mr. Nelson, Lucy, an old school friend." If Mr. Grafton had had occasion to say, "Ponto, Lucy, an old dog of my acquaintance," there would "You must go without fish for supper to night, then, my boy; for the breeze is too cold forsstand-probably have been more feeling in the words. It ing here any longer." Cold! oh, papa, how can you say so?" said tthe elder of the girls-"and you wrapped up as you are too! I am sure we are not cold-arewe, Bertie? and wwe have got mothing con, like you have." is not very unusual for those who have succeeded in life beyond their expectations, to be half ashamed, and sometimes half suspicious, of any who knew them in their humbler sphere. But there was mo meed, on this occasion, ffor ceither shame or suspicion; and when, in the course Battthough the evening breeze was soft, gentle, of al hurried conversation, Mr. Grafton learned that and tempered by the summer sun, and though Mr. his old school friend had been some years a clergyGrafton was, as his daughter said, wrapped up","man, and when, looking closer and more inquisihe did feel cold; the even shivered slightly, and yetmot so sslightly but that his wife,a as she hung upon his arm, felt the shiver thrilling to herveery heart. Tears rose to her eyes, but she turned away Her Head: Heer husband did not like to be thoughtill;; he was only disarranged and unstrung by years off ttoil; the holiday was to sset him up again, and make him as strong aseever. "It is not so warm as it was," Mrs. Grafton said, as soon as she could speak composedly. "We had better leave the jetty;; iitis wery exposed here; so pull up your line, Bertie." This was immediately done, and the boy was slowly winding it upon the split bamboo, as his parents began to move towards the shore. "How provoking it is of papa," said the girl, in a low tone, to her brother, "to want to go away so soon! And think of his saying it is cold!" Hush, Lotté, hush!" replied her brother: "don't talk so, dear; papa is ill, you know." 66 "Ill! is he ill? Why, he was angry when ttively, he saw in Mr. Nelson no signs of genteel poverty, his cold Hesitation expanded into friendly warmth. Before long Mr. Grafton's lodgings were reached, and his friend was invited to enter. "Yes, friend Nelson," was the remark of Mr. Grafton as he warmed into confidence in the course of conversation, "it was stiff work, of course; but I was determined to get on, and get on I did. My governors found they could not do without me, so they offered me a bouncing salary: but I struck in for a share in the concern, sink or swim; and I got it. And here I am now with-well, I won't say how many hundreds a year; but I have not done yet. I have had only a sixth share hitherto; next year I mean to get the fourth. I have earned it, I know." Now there were two things in this short speech, and in the whole conversation that had preceded it, which sounded discordantly to Mr. Nelson. There was, in the first place, a tone of exulting egotism which said, as plain as tones can speak, My skill and power and wisdom have done all this, and there is no one, human or divine, besides myself, to whom praise or thanks are due, for all the success I have achieved;" and there was, in the second place, an avowed and unqualified assurance of future life, health, strength, and prosperity, always and at all times presumptuous, and in this case, sadly at variance with the alternate pallor and flush of disease, the failing strength, the hollow voice, and the short and troublesome cough of the speaker. Poor Grafton!" thought Mr. Nelson; "he speaks of next year as though he had taken a sure lease of life for many years to come!" and his thoughts speedily reverted to the impressive words of apostolic warning: "Go to now, ye that say, Today or to-morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell, and get gain: whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that. But now ye rejoice in your boastings: all such rejoicing is evil." These thoughts, we say, crossed Mr. Nelson's mind; but he did not utter them. He was constitutionally timid, and fearful of giving offence; and he knew, by many years' experience in the duties of his official character, how tenaciously the love and expectation of life often cling even to the very dying. He sat, therefore, in embarrassed silence, trying to frame a suitable reply. But before this was accomplished, Mr. Grafton himself introduced the subject. "This nasty cough," he said, after a fit of it had passed away; I cannot quite get rid of it. I am quite well, except for that: what do you think of it " I am not able to say, Charles; I cannot pretend to give an opinion; but certainly it seems troublesome and distressing. Of course, you have professional advice ?" "Oh yes, I have had doctors enough, and physic more than enough. I consulted Dr. L. before I left London, and he poked me about with his stethoscope, and croaked about lungs being tender, and all that. A parcel of nonsense: my lungs are as sound as yours. 'Tis only a stomach cough, indigestion, and that sort of thing, you know. A man can't go on working, year after year, like a horse in a mill-a mere human machine-and not feel it. So I thought the best thing to do was to get to the sea-side for a change, and here I am." "I trust," said Mr. Nelson, "that you have found the change beneficial ?" "Oh yes, decidedly so," replied the invalid, quickly; "I am twice the man I was when I came down first. Not that I think this part of the coast the best I could have chosen. Had I gone to Devonshire, now, I should have lost this teazing cough long ago. I shall go next summer to Sidmouth." “You think you will be well enough for such a Journey next summer ?" the friend ventured to ask. Well enough! Oh yes; why should I not be ? there's nothing really the matter with me. don't think I am ill, do you?" 44 to form a judgment," said Mr. Nelson: "it is many years since I saw you last--" "More than twenty: I was a mere boy then; I remember I had a very fresh colour at that time: of course I am changed since then; and so are you, my friend. Your hair, for instance, is—” "Gray-gray as a badger, as we should have said twenty years ago; and yours is as dark as ever. Yes, it is twenty years ago since we met last; and of course, as you say, we are both changed. Twenty years nearer to the grave than we were then, at all events." Very true indeed," replied the invalid. As a truth of general application, and quite undeniable, he was ready to admit this. "But I was about to say," continued Mr. Nelson-" bear with me, Charles, but I do think you are more changed than twenty years even of anxiety and toil can account for. It is not the change from youth to manhood of which I speak, but of a change from health to disease. I trust it may be otherwise, but" "I know what you would say, sir; but you are mistaken, I assure you. I am gaining strength every day, and shall get back to town quite a new man.' 66 Yours is a lovely family, Charles"-we take up another fragment of the conversation of that evening, the greater part of which they were by themselves-"a lovely family, Charles." "Yes, I have no reason to complain, I am sure," returned Mr. Grafton. "Lucy is one of a thousand. I did not marry her for money. My partnersthey were not my partners then, though-but they blamed me for marrying so early, and where there was nothing to line the yoke with, as they said; but young fellows, such as I was thirteen years ago, don't think of these things sufficiently perhaps. However, I have never repented." "I am sure you need not repent not having made that an indispensable requisite to wedded life. I have seen so many evils and so much unhappiness connected with marrying for money, that I may congratulate you on having escaped them." "Very true: a thousand or two, however, on such an occasion is a good lift, if one knows how to handle it. By the way, you are one of us, I suppose-married?" I have been," replied Mr. Nelson, with a sigh: "I had not that happiness long.” "I am sorry to hear it. Any children ?" "None; my poor wife died in giving birth to a little one, who did not long survive its mother." "As well so, perhaps," was Mr. Grafton's next remark: "a great expense in bringing up a family." "I am sure, Charles, if I may judge from what I have seen this evening, that you do not grudge it." "Bless the dear creatures, no," replied the invalid, with more feeling than he had previously shown; "I do not grudge it. Still, there is great expense; what with housekeeping, clothing, doctoring, educating, and a dozen things beside, they make a serious hole in one's income-eh?" "No doubt of it, Charles; but I am glad you You have been able so well to afford it." "I have slight grounds, my dear sir, upon which I shall be able to afford it better in a year or two," said Mr. Grafton, after a moment's pause. nd after some talk upon ordinary topics, Mr. Nelson bade his old school friend farewell. [TO BE CONTINUED.] "By the way, I have some thoughts of sending | brought in; Bertie to college eventually: he is a clever fellow, and I don't want to bring him up to the desk, nor warehouse either. I wish you would do me the favour to step in to-morrow-you will dine with us, I hope and just put him through his paces, and see what he is good for." "I am sorry I cannot oblige you, my friend, for I leave Dover early to-morrow morning," replied Mr. Nelson, rather coldly: "I came here only to start a young friend and former pupil over the water; and, as that is done, I have no further business here." 66 That is unfortunate: there was something else I might have talked to you about, but"If I can really be of service to you, I will alter my plans." "No, no; it is of no consequence," said the invalid. "Poor things," he said, musingly, and almost despondingly, after another paroxysm of coughing, "I must get rid of this cough, and pick up strength again. A pretty joke it would be if I should be laid up with a serious illness; or if I should die before: but no, no; I cannot, must not, will not think of it;" and he hastily wiped away the moisture which had begun to gather on his brow. “But it is well, surely, my dear friend," said the clergyman, "to think, even in health, of what we must some day pass through, and prepare for it! It is well, when even the prospect of dissolution is distant, to be able to take up the language of the psalmist and say, 'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for THOU art with me." "Yes, yes;" and Mr. Grafton moved uneasily in his chair; "of course, in one way, it is always right and proper, and so forth, to think of dying; but I meanat all events, it won't do for me to die yet, nor to be ill either. Every thing-at least the biggest weight-in our concern rests upon my shoulders; and as to my own familyah! Nelson, I don't mind telling you, that if I were to die, they would be left badly off, very badly, for my death would at once dissolve the partnership, and with only a sixth share, and with all my expenses, it is not to be expected that I can have saved." "I regret to hear you say so, Charles; surely you have insured?" 66 No, I have not. You may think me a fool, perhaps; but I have not. I meant to do it, years ago; but I did not, it does not signify why, and now- « "You think, then, that now you cannot ? "I don't mean to say that. To be sure, before I left London I did make proposals to one company, but I was not well then, certainly; and they humm'd and ha'd' about it: but I am getting all right now, I know. I shall nick the doctors this time, and when I get home again I mean to take out a policy at once. But you see, looking at it every way, this is no time for me to be fancying myself dying." "Poor, poor Charles," thought Mr. Nelson; my poor friend, true it is, I fear that you have much to do yet." At this moment, however, Mr. Grafton's wife entered. Grafton was evidently glad to turn off the conversation; coffee was accordingly A PEEP INTO A GAOL. THANKS to the reverence for truth and fact which underlies the current of outward shows and specialities in all ages of the world, true greatness, whatever form it assumes, and however it may be obscured for a period, is rarely to be smothered in obscurity and finally obliterated from the memories of men. There are men almost always to be found whose hearts throb responsively to noble deeds; and of such a faithful record is sure to be preserved, even though the chief actors vanish from the stage uncheered by popular applause, or overwhelmed, as they have often been, by popular obloquy. Hence the acts of true heroes sometimes leap suddenly into light in an after generation, and the meed of their exploits is paid in honour to the dead-honour to which perhaps the living hero never dreamed of aspiring, and which he would have rejected had it been offered. But there is greater heroism in endurance than in action, so much greater indeed that there is no comparison to be made between the two. The man who has only done, and not suffered, whatever his doings, is but half a man; and perhaps, were he subjected to the touchstone of suffering, might be found to be no man at all. Of such we are not at present bound to speak, but of one whose name is dear to every Englishman whose heart is not mere cartilage; the imprint of whose acts is stamped upon universal Christendom, but of whose dogged and manful endurance men talk little, and think, it may be, less. We shall take the liberty, therefore, to lift the gray pall of time that covers the dead past, to drag away the veil of something less than a couple of centuries, and try our hand at delineating a scene exhumed, not by imagination or fancy, but by veritable history, for our special contemplation. The time is a leaden-looking day in November, a few years after the restoration of Charles II to the throne of his father. The regicides are in exile, or in their bloody graves; and all who refuse to worship God according to the formula prescribed by the legislature of the day are beneath the ban of the law, and breasting as they best can its powerful hostility. Nonconformity is constructive treason, and punishable as a crime. The prisons are full of the ministers and godly men of a denounced but popular faith; and the government is doing its worst to crush beneath its iron heel both liberty of conscience and the right of meeting in public for instruction and worship. In a square stone cell, in one of the county-town gaols in the heart of the country, sits a broad-shouldered, tall, and massive-built figure, upon a three-legged stool, in front of a small stout table or bench, upon which he is pursuing his labour. He is a man in the full noon-tide of life, with a countenance still bronzed and ruddy in spite of long confinement, a forehead high and ample, surmounted by a profusion of coarse, reddish hair, which, descending upon his shoulders, half conceals the ears. There is a fire in his eye that tells of an inward courage |