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But of the 651 societies certified up to December, 1864, 182 have neglected to send in statements, so that no return of their doings can be given in the report. We notice that nearly all the societies so neglecting to send their statements are industrial manufacturing concerns, and that some fifty of them are no longer in existence, being designated as dissolved." One of the statements required to be sent in is an answer to the question, "Whether credit is taken or given on purchase or sale of goods?" In the great majority of cases the answer is "No," but in some it is "Yes;" in others it is "Taken, not given," and in others again, "Given, not taken." We can see sufficient reason why credit may be both taken and given in the larger manufacturing undertakings, even to a considerable amount, as it would be impossible at all times to carry on a large traffic without some credit accommodation; but we are sorry to see the good old principle of the Pioneers departed from in the case of provision and drapery stores and we cannot help connecting in our minds the ugly word "dissolved" with the abandonment of this protective principle.

We are glad to know, though we do not derive this knowledge from the annual report, that when cooperatives succeed in establishing their societies, they are not content with mere material advantages, nor are their sympathies for others deadened by prosperity. It is, on the contrary, almost a part of their plan to establish a reading-room and a library in connection with their store, where the members can sit and read the journals of the day, and whence they can borrow books of a suitable kind for perusal at home. They further like to be charitable and helpful to those who need their aid; and it is a common thing at the quarterly meetings for the members to vote, out of their own pockets, a handsome subscription to some useful public institution in need of funds, or to some co-operative society that has suffered loss.

THE MODEL CARRIER.
(From the French of Emile Sourestre.)

A FEW years ago I was returning to Paris from Montmorency in one of those carrier's carts which at that time still lingered in the suburbs of the French capital, carrying, pell-mell, goods and passengers. The tilted waggon, with seats of unplaned planks, was drawn by a single horse who travelled at foot's pace over the jolting road. Half way, I lost all patience, and descending, walked by the side of the conductor.

He was still a young, good-looking man, whose countenance showed that robust state of health which is the reward of a good conscience. At every hamlet where we stopped I saw him giving and receiving commissions, without once hearing any complaint. If he had to give change for a piece of money, it was not considered necessary to count what he gave in return. The women asked news of their children, the men charged him with purchases in the town. The conduct of every one, in short, proved the friendship and trust accorded him.

As far as I could judge, by conversing with my companion, he seemed to merit this confidence. Every word showed a good sense and kindness, to which the drivers of Paris had not accustomed me. He knew the improvements being attempted in the country; he named the proprietors of the different fields we passed, The Report is complete only to the end of 1864; but a note in the last page states that 216 societies have been certified since that

date.

found that he, too, had a few acres of land, which he cultivated between whiles, and in cultivating which he made use of the suggestions he picked up on his road. He was telling me the history of his "domain," as he laughingly called it, when a poor, decrepid man, wretchedly dressed, with grey hair falling over his bloated face, crossed our path. I saw he staggered as he passed, and saluted our driver with the noisy animation of drunkenness, who, to my surprise, answered him in a familiar tone.

"Is he a friend of yours?" I asked, when he had gone.

That man ?" repeated he. "Why, he is my benefactor, my good genius!" I looked at my companion, thinking I could not rightly have understood him. That astonishes you," answered he, laughing, “but it is nevertheless the truth. Even the unfortunate man himself does not imagine such a thing. I must tell you that Jean Picou, that is his name, is an old friend of my childhood. Our parents lived next door to one another, and we received our first communion in the same year. But Picou was rather wild, and on coming of age he soon adopted the ways of a bon vivant (fast man). I had not much to do with him then, but at last chance placed us as workmen under the same master. The first day, on our way to work, Picou and the others stopped at a cabaret (small drinking house), to take their morning glass of eau de vie. At first I remained at the door, not knowing what to do, but they called me in.

"Is he afraid he should ruin himself ?' cried Picou, mockingly. Two sous of his savings! He fancies if he is careful he may become a millionaire!'

"The others began to laugh, which made me ashamed, and I went in and drank with them.

"However, arrived in the fields and occupied with my work, I began to think of what Picou had said. The price of that little morning glass was, in fact, a small sum, but repeated every day for a year, it would end in producing thirty-six francs ten sous (about thirty shillings). I began to think what I might have for that sum.

"Thirty-six francs ten sous, said I to myself, is, if one keeps house, an extra room in one's lodging; that is to say, comfort for the wife, health for the children, and good humour for the husband. It is wood in winter, so that one can have 'the sun in one's home,' even if the snow is outside. It is the price of a goat, whose milk would increase the comfort of the family. Then turning my thoughts in another direction, I exclaimed again, thirty-six francs ten sous! Our neighbour Pierre does not pay more for the rent of the acre of land he cultivates, which enables him to maintain his family! It is just the interest of the sum I should have to borrow if I bought the horse and cart the town carrier wants to sell! With that money, spent each morning to the detriment of my health, I might make myself a position, bring up a family, and put by sufficient for my old days.

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"These calculations and reflections decided me. I put aside the false shame which had once made me give in to the persuasions of Picou. I put by, from my first earnings, what he would have made me spend in the wine-shop, and soon I could enter into negotia tions with the carrier, to whom I at length succeeded. 'Since then I have continued to calculate each expense, and to neglect no economy, while Picou, on his side, has persevered in what he calls 'the life of a jolly fellow.' You see our respective positions. The of honest men; and my comfort, my health, my good poor man, aged before his time, the scorn rags of that character, all arising from a habit once formed. His misery comes from the little glass of eau de vie he drinks every morning; my joys, from the two sous daily saved."

CAERNARVON CASTLE.

CAERNARVON Castle is one of those few reliques of antiquity in this country which may be regarded as a link between our own and the Roman times. Less than half a mile from it was the famous Roman station of Segontium, which was scarcely in ruins when Caeryn-arfon (or the strong walled town opposite to Anglesey), as Caernarvon was anciently called, was erected in colossal grandeur to mark the triumph of conqueror. Soon after the defeat of Llewellyn, Edward I., in whose reign was commenced a new era in England's history, built this magnificent structure. Twr Celyn, in Anglesey, found the bright grey limestone. Vaenol, between Caernarvon and Bangor, supplied the gritstone for the windows and arches, and the ruins of Segontium furnished other materials for the building,

another

The proportions of this great fortress must have struck awe into the hearts of the conquered. To the modern eye it looks majestic even in its decay. It stretches a considerable way along the west side of the town

the walls being surmounted at intervals by octagonal towers. The external form of the building is squarethe internal polygonal. From the size of the windows and the tracery above them, we may conclude the state apartments to have been spacious and handsomely ornamented. Round the inside of the castle there ran a gallery, from which arrows could be shot and missiles hurled through slips in the outer wall. It also served as a means of communication during a siege. The floors and staircases are for the most part in ruins, while the external walls are nearly as perfect as when they came from the workmen's hands.

With feelings of hatred and bitter scorn the Welsh watched the erection of Caernarvon Castle. Every stroke of the hammer recalled the sufferings of Llewellyn and his gallant band in the mountain fastnesses of Snowdon-every tower and battlement that rose to view reminded them that their independence was gone that it was a fallacious hope any longer to expect their beloved Arthur would reappear to lead them on to victory. Edward knew the character of the people of the country he had so lately annexed to his own, and bethought him of a strategem that should

with grossly ill-treating a wretched woman, whom he turned out of doors, after having sold her furniture and pocketed the amount it realized.

To find how far below zero in public estimation prize-fighting ought to be considered, we will compare it with another custom, now acknowledged by all civilized countries to be infamous-we allude to that of duelling. A duel is at present regarded by all rightminded persons as a most wicked and unchristianlike method of terminating a dispute; yet so far beneath it is boxing, that the duel itself, when compared with it, deserves almost to be commended. If two men quarrel, and determine on settling their dispute by a duel, each applies to a friend to take his cause in hand. The seconds, being chosen before allowing their principals to fight, are bound in honour to effect if possible a reconciliation between them. In prizefighting, on the contrary, it is the duty of the seconds to insist on the fight taking place. It should also be remarked that among duellists a quarrel alone is the cause of the fight. Among boxers there are two causes one a dispute, the other a prize. As the reader well knows, there is scarcely a week passes without a report of some prize-fight for a sum of money having taken place, thus reducing the chivalrous attribute of boxing to as low a standard as that of two dogs fighting for a bone.

In duelling, if a reconciliation cannot be effected between the disputants, and the fight is determined on, there are certain rules to be observed, which are also utterly antagonistic to those practised in the Prize Ring. In duelling, either with sword or pistol, as soon as one combatant is wounded the fight must cease, nor is it allowed to commence again till his wound is healed. A reconciliation, however, generally takes place after the first wound has been given. In boxing, on the contrary, the more desperately a man is injured the more he is urged to continue the fight. Nothing is more common than when a boxer has received a fearful wound or bruise, for the seconds of his opponent to point out to him the spot, and advise him to strike with particular force on it; and if he succeeds in making the wound still more hideous or dangerous, he is sure to receive the congratulations of his admirers on the skill he has shown. It not unfrequently happens that in the last half-dozen rounds of a prizefight the unsuccessful combatant will be almost carried to the "scratch," as it is called, by his seconds, being too weak to walk by himself; and he is then knocked down by his opponent, who is invariably advised, even if he does not choose it from his own good will, to strike on the part of the other's person which shall be already the most fearfully bruised. As an excuse for this gross cruelty, the admirers of the Prize Ring have attempted to show a moral effect arising from it. They urge that the contemplation of such severe wounds being supported by such endurance and courage, teaches those witnessing it how to bear bodily pain without complaint. Yet this proposed result will no more stand the test of examination than any other of the advantages said to accrue from the practice of prize-fighting. Men accustomed to the sight of pain, as a general rule, are more impatient under it in their own persons than any others. The late Sir Anthony Carlisle, when President of the College of Surgeons, remarked that butchers, doctors, soldiers, and sailors, roared louder under the knife than any other class of patients. In general, women support serious operations with far greater courage than men; and singularly enough, those women whose education and previous life have thrown them less in the way of noticing bodily pain, endure operations better than others.

In a duel, when once the fight has begun, no one is allowed to make a remark or distract the attention of the combatants. In boxing, on the contrary, it is the

habit of the seconds, and the common practice of the supporters of the pugilists fighting, to "jolly" those they have betted against. An explanation is perhaps necessary as to the meaning of the verb "to jolly." It means simply to cast upon the boxer against whom they have betted every gross, blasphemous, and obscene epithet of the extensive vocabulary in use among pugilists; thereby to irritate, annoy, and distract his attention, so that he may be the more open to the attacks of his adversary. Among prize-fighters of the present day "jollying" is carried almost to a science, and men whose tongues are particularly expert in this infamous art, are said to be regularly engaged to attend the principal prize-fights, for the purpose of annoying one or other of the combatants. Occasionally this partizanship on the part of the spectators is not confined to abuse uttered from a distance. In spite of one of the bye-laws of pugilism, which declares that no one but the seconds and officials shall be allowed to enter the Ring, the rule is frequently set at defiance, and the enclosure invaded by a body of ruffians, bent on insulting and distracting the attention of the combatants, notwithstanding the efforts of a number of professional boxers armed with loaded gutta-percha whips, who endeavour to keep order by lavishly distributing blows on the heads of the refractory, yet without the slightest good effects attending their exertions. Before the termination of the fight between Sayers and Heenan, as well as that between Baldock and Napper, the seconds and officials engaged to see fair play were completely driven from the Ring. In a duel a second never leaves his principal till there is no longer any immediate danger from his wound, or a probability of his arrest by the police. In the Prize Ring no such regulation seems to exist. In the fight between Heenan and another boxer, whose name we forget, the renowned Mr. Tom Sayers acted as second for the American. At the termination of the fight, when Heenan was stretched upon the ground insensible, or as some thought, dying, the police made their appearance, when the Champion of the Ring deliberately left Heenan to fall into the hands of the police, and taking to his legs, ran swiftly away, nor did he slacken his pace till he was completely out of danger.

Again, a duel may be arranged in such a manner that both combatants may be placed on an equality in point of danger. In pugilism this is most frequently impossible. With pistols, the weak and diminutive, but courageous man, may be made an equal match for the strongest. In boxing, on the contrary, a man of small stature or feeble health, no matter how chivalrous his courage may be, is completely at the mercy of his powerful and possibly cowardly antagonist. Nothing can be more absurd than the idea that men, endowed with what are called nature's arms, are on an equality, provided their average weight and strength be equal. A good boxer must have received from nature or art certain physical qualifications which are hardly to be admired. In the first place, he should be of a sallow, dirty complexion, as skin of that colour is less sensible to pain than others. This fact was known to the ancient torturers, who generally inflicted greater severities on men with sallow skins than on fair. Sir John Evelyn, in his memoir, states that in the early part of the seventeenth century he was present when a criminal was about to be put to the rack in Paris, to extort from him a confession of some crime he was suspected to have committed. Before the executioner commenced, Sir John asked him if he thought the man would confess. "I doubt it, sir," was the reply. "He is not only a bold man, but has one of those sallow skins which suffer less pain than others."

Again, in a successful prize-fighter, the sensibility of the skin has generally been deadened by the blows he has received in former engagements. This fact is

seldom sufficiently taken into consideration by those who compliment old pugilists on their endurance of pain. How easily the sensibility of the cuticle may become impaired, may be seen every day in children, without either shoes or stockings, running over broken granite in the roads, a feat which it would be impossible for those accustomed to wear shoes and stockings.to accomplish. Another peculiarity necessary for a good boxer is to have a thick skull; the shock to the brain by a violent blow being the less in proportion as the skull of the individual receiving it is the thicker. A late professor of anatomy, Mr. Malins, had collected the skulls of several deceased eminent boxers, all of which were of remarkable thickness; one especially, that of Hickman, or Gas," as he was called, weighing twice as much as that of an ordinary man's of the same size. It is also necessary that a professional boxer should have a remarkably low bridge to his nose, so that the thick bones of the skull may take off the shock of a blow which would possibly have caused temporary blindness had it fallen on the nasal bones. It is also necessary he should have a bony hand, with little flesh on it. In this consisted the superiority (and the only one) which Sayers had over Heenan, who in courage, skill, endurance, and strength, was fully his equal.

Of the moral effects to be derived from prize-fighting it would be ridiculous to speak, as it would be difficult indeed to find one which would bear the slightest investigation. Even the one, the most frequently quoted, that the Prize Ring has greatly contributed to raise the standard of British courage to so high a point in the estimation of foreign nations, vanishes with the rest. No portion of the population of the British Isles possess among foreigners a higher reputation for courage than the Scotch Highlanders; yet it is rare indeed to find a pugilist among them; the natural chivalrous disposition of the man teaching him to consider a blow as the highest indignity which could be cast on him.

Of the immoral tendencies of the Prize Ring, it will be unnecessary for us to descant at any length, so well are they known to all. Suffice it to say, that the most disreputable of the metropolitan public-house keepers were originally among its members. Professed pugilists give more recruits to the hulks and the chain-gang than any other class of people; and scarcely any infamous den of any notoriety whatever in London could be mentioned that has not one of its members directly or indirectly attached to it.

HUMOUR OF AN AFFGHAN CHIEF. WHEN Major Lumsden was in Afghanistan, the Sardar or Kandabar expressed a desire one day to see the rifle practice of the English. In the course of the shooting he saw some sparrows' heads shot off; and whilst expressing great astonisnment at the feat, remarked that it was much more difficult to shoot at a hen's egg and smash it, than to knock off any number of sparrows' heads. The major and his friends laughed at this nice difference, but the Sardar was determined that his assertion should at once be put to the test, and accordingly ordered one of his attendants to fetch an egg, and suspend it against the opposite wall of the court. This being done, firing was commenced by the English, and to their amazement, after some dozen shots, the egg was unharmed. The Sardar and his attendants maintained their gravity, and every moment volunteered some excuse for the miss, as each bullet failed to smash the egg. Presently, by accident, a ball happened to sever the thread by which it was suspended, and down fell the egg upon the pavement below, but to the astonishment of Major Lumsden and his friends did not smash. The trick was now apparent, and they joined the Sardar and his friends in a hearty laugh at the deception. The trick had been prearranged by the heir apparent, who had prepared the egg by having its contents blown out through a hole at the end. The empty egg-shell, as light as a feather, was pushed aside by the wind of the bullet, and could not be struck.

HOME MEMORIES OF GOLDSMITH.

A HUNDRED years ago there was a famous circle of "wits" in London. This circle was composed of men who are even more famous now than in their lifetime, and it is probable that we know much more about them than their contemporaries knew. Chief among them all stands out the burly figure of Dr. Samuel Johnson, who had bravely worked his way out of obscurity and utter poverty to the highest intellectual position; there was Edmund Burke, too, the great orator and statesman, whose works are a fountainhead of political wisdom; and there was Sir Joshua Reynolds, the most popular artist of his day, and one of the most illustrious of English painters. Among these brilliant men might be seen a person of insig nificant size and plain features, with a round, pale face, pitted with the small-pox; a kindly, good-humoured, vain, affectionate man, whose foibles made him the jest of his friends, who loved him warmly even when they laughed at him. This was Oliver Goldsmith, one of the most famous, and certainly one of the most popular of English writers.

The title of our paper is perhaps scarcely accurate, for a home, in the true sense of the word, poor Goldsmith never had. At an early age he was left to shift for himself as best he might; and before he was twenty years old he wrote street ballads to earn bread. The little he gained in this way was often shared with those who, if possible, were poorer than himself. To relieve the destitute he would take the very clothes from his back; and one winter night he gave a starving creature the blankets off his bed, and "crept himself into the ticking for shelter from the cold." His charity, like many other of Goldsmith's acts, was frequently unwise; but it proved at least that he was free from hardness and selfishness of heart. At that period Oliver was at Dublin University, performing the most menial offices as a sizar, and picking up learning at the same time. Those were strange times. One day the balladmaker was knocked down by his tutor, and in his shame at the disgrace ran away from college, and set out for Cork with a shilling in his pocket. Long afterwards he told Sir Joshua Reynolds that "of all the exquisite meals he had ever tasted, the most delicious was a handful of grey peas given him by a girl after twenty-four hours' fasting." Goldsmith's father was a simple-minded clergyman, "passing rich on forty pounds a year;" and at his death his son Henry held the same preferment, if such it may be called. Oliver was designed for the Church also, but was too honest to undertake an office for which he was unfitted. He was not much better qualified for medicine; but managed to obtain a degree, after having first made the tour of Europe in such a way as a poor penniless poet might make it. He started, we are told, on his travels with a guinea in his pocket, one shirt to his back, and a flute in his hand. By the aid of this instrument he gained the good-will of the peasantry. He led the village dance upon the green, and found a night refuge in the cottage or the barn. Thus wandering, he thinks often and again of dear friends in ireland, and of his good brother's simple home and unambitious lot.

Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire
To pause from toils and trim their evening fire;
Blest that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every stranger finds a ready chair;
Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale;
Or press the bashful stranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.

When his music was of no avail, Goldsmith gained