again and again in some unoccupied corner; from whence they were not unfrequently dislodged by the noble family's Christian servants, who, though abject in their demeanour towards their lords and masters, were insolent to those whom they considered as being a step below themselves in the scale of existence.

We started at daylight on Sunday morning, and about eleven P.M. we reached a village. The inhabitants of the dwelling to which we drove had retired to rest; but, upon the cabalistical summons-the "Open Sesame" of the fuhrmann-the gate slowly turned on its hinges, and we were welcomed by a member of the family, habited in an undress, consisting of a close jacket and drawers, which I presume had once been white. The carriage was conducted across the damp litter, to the other extremity of this ménagerie, where several persons were reposing. Amongst them was a dirty old Jew, reclining on a most foul mattress. I alighted, in the hope of finding a corner where I could stretch out my cramped limbs; but all the rooms were occupied. The patriarch rose from his bed, and offered it to me; but I could not think of depriving him of it, nor of running the risk of being punished for availing myself of this self-denying offer-this warm reception, by becoming infected with the plica Polonica, or other disease.

After taking a crust of bread and a glass of wine, by way of supper, I arranged myself pour le mieux, in my calèche. The large barn was lighted by a solitary lantern, which shed a feeble ray on the old man's face and venerable grey beard, as he slumbered at a few yards' distance. Ever and anon a figure moved about, like an unquiet spirit. Near at hand the horses were champing their corn, and the monotonous sounds caused by that operation was responded to by the less agreeable ones of divers snoring sleepers of the human species. These romantic strains soon produced a soporific effect on me. I must have been asleep some time, when I was awakened by the effect of a strong light shining upon me. Starting up, I discovered the fuhrmann standing on the step of the carriage, with a candle in his hand; which, from his sudden backward movement, it seemed to me that he had been holding before my closed eyes. I asked, what he was there for? what he wanted? He looked very confused, and answered, "Nothing-nichts, mein Herr." I bade him get down, made him light the lamps of the calèche, and took care to examine the priming of my pistols, in order to show those who might be observing me from the chiaroscuro of the back-ground that I was upon my guard. I then dismissed him, with an injunction not to intrude a second time on my slumbers in that way. The remainder of the night passed off quietly. Perhaps the man only came to look for something; but at the time, and under all the circumstances, appearances were against him, and certainly the place he had brought me to might well be compared to a robber's

retreat.

At daybreak we left this dismal abode, and when at a short distance, I made my conductor draw up, and told him, very decidedly, that I was quite sure there must be better accommodation on the road than he had hitherto procured for me, and that I should insist on his not taking me to any other such lodgings as we had just quitted. He was very humble, assured me that we should halt at noon at an excellent inn, where I should be grandly entertained, and lodged in a fine chamber. Without placing implicit faith in these brilliant promises, I still suffered myself to be buoyed up with the hope of something better; and, on arriving at the town of Krasna, I repeated my injunction with much emphasis, adding, that I would cheerfully pay for decent entertainment, but would not be taxed for filth. My remonstrance succeeded, that is, not until after refusing to alight at two or three vile huts. At last, however, we stopped at a house, the inmates of which (Jews, of course,) appeared less dirty than those I had hitherto seen the fuhrmann put up his horses elsewhere; for this was not exactly an inn.

Being satisfied with my fare, I begged my hostess to give me the name of a good landlord at Tulczyn, and she recommended one Mosie Lebb. I tasted an agreeable beverage here called honig, a sort of mead; and they actually offered me some tokay! -Hongrisch wein, Tokaï, as they pronounce it. However, as the high price demanded was the only voucher they could give of the genuineness of the vintage, I declined the tempting proposal. The horses were not brought so soon as I could have wished, and I suspected the fuhrmann of an intention of again lodging me for the night in some miserable hovel.

Tulczyn (pronounced Tolcheen) being the head-quarters of the Russian army in the Ukraine, Bessarabia, &c., it was probable that tolerable accommodation might be had there; and, by dint of

great perseverance on my part, we arrived at nightfall, to the evident chagrin of my worthy coachman.

As we entered, a violent hail-storm came on: it is no exaggeration to say that the hail-stones were as big as bantam's eggs. Tulczyn is a large, straggling, dirty place. The population consists principally of Jews, excepting the troops of the garrison. I gave orders to be driven to Mosie Lebb's.

"Do you know where he lives ?" said I. "Ya, ya," replied the fuhrmann, and at the same moment was going to turn into a petty shed, not far advanced into the town.

"Is this Mosie Lebb's?" "Ya," bawled a dozen voices all at once, and the bridles of the horses were seized, to accelerate the lodgment. The place not answering in any respect the description, I insisted on proceeding further, calling out for Mosie Lebb, and being assured by many an individual, who invited me into his sweet dwelling, that he was the identical Moses. The fuhrmann evidently favoured the cheat; he evaded my inquiries, and made numerous attempts to get me to halt at an inferior house.

Tired of this farce, and my English blood having become heated by the attempts of the confederates to get me into their clutches, I started forwards, took the whip from the fuhrmann's hands, whirled it in a menacing way over the heads of my assailants, and then, catching up the reins, I made the horses spring forward, whilst I roared as loudly as possible in the fuhrmann's ear, "Mosie Lebb-Mosie Lebb;" the hailstones clattering about my head all the while, as though my discomfited enemies were pelting me for my obstinacy.

We soon came to a wide part of the town; and seeing some officers in a balcony, and a soldier or two standing about the gateway of a house, I thought this might, perhaps, be the goal of my wishes. Drawing up, therefore, I uttered my "Mosie Lebb" in a softer tone, and found that I was actually in front of his hostelry. Soon he welcomed me, and I was ushered into a room on the ground-floor, containing plain but useful furniture: Around the chamber were divans, covered with dark-coloured printed calico; one of these was destined for my bed.

The inn was quite full, but the larder empty. An emissary was sent to the Christian tracteer, as they called him, to see if a supper could be had. (I presume tracteer to be a corruption of the French word traiteur.) A something was at length procured : I was nearly famished, and soon discussed the savoury morsel, along with a bottle of excellent vin de Grave.

Fancy me, then, reclining on my divan, after the toils of the day; all angry feelings washed away by the generous wine of France, congratulating myself on the progress I had made, the difficulties I had surmounted, and looking forward to the termination of my arduous journey in three or four days. Mosie Lebb sat an hour with me in the course of the evening. His conversation was intelligent and interesting: he is a fine old man, has a very animated countenance, a magnificent grey beard, and bright black eyes. He was perfectly cleanly in his person, and wore a black robe made of a superior stuff.

I was obliged to get my passport visé at Tulczyn, and to pay a fee, of course. There is a theatre at this place, but I was too fatigued to wish to visit it.

The Jewish population seemed to decrease as we approached the steppes: the Tartar-faced peasantry were now more numerous. Nothing can be more desolate than the appearance of these steppes not a tree nor a shrub was to be seen; clouds of dust obscured the air, and the only indications of a vicinity to the haunts of men were some herds of oxen that were occasionally seen feeding on the short parched grass: these oxen were large, and almost invariably of a dun colour; so that, as there was no regular road nor fence, we frequently came upon them suddenly-for the grass, the dust, and the cattle, were all of one colour.

The undulatory hills called steppes, when a lull of wind allowed the eye to roam over them, recalled to my remembrance the long, smooth, swell of the ocean, in a calm after a violent gale; whilst a large waggon, covered with canvass, looming in the distance, might without any great stretch of the imagination, be compared to a vessel on the verge of the horizon spreading every sail to catch an air of wind (as sailors say) in order to keep the ship from rolling over.

At Balta we halted for the night at the house of a Jew, who was recommended to me by the venerable Mosie Lebb. An attempt was made to play me a trick, and to take me to an inferior lodging-but a few demonstrations à la Tulczyn settled the matter.

On stepping out of my chamber in the course of the evening, I had the misfortune to disturb the repose of divers Israelites-old

and young-male and female-who were huddled together near the threshold. I stumbled over a Shylock, struck my thick skull against the delicate form of a sleeping fair one, and in the rebound, knocked against several younglings, who evinced, by discordant squeaks, their fright and indignation. I begged pardon for this unintentional intrusion, and returned to my divan, firmly resolved to remain there till day light.

On the last day of my journey I was on the alert before the dawn; being determined to strain every nerve to reach Odessa by evening. The heat was scorching, and the dust blinded and choked us as we scudded along. I looked out anxiously for the Euxine, but the obstacles to vision were impenetrable. At noon we stopped at a little inn, at the door of which was a calèche :— this was a good sign.

I was shown into a room where two persons, one a man of thirty, the other a lad of about fifteen, were regaling themselves on a savoury pie, contained in a brown dish: they were not over nice in their manner of eating, for the fingers were more in use than knives and forks. The carriage at the door belonged to these gentlemen, who were Seigneurs Polonais: we entered into conversation in French, and I learned that they had left Odessa early in the morning; they told me that there were two tolerable hotels at Odessa, viz. the Hotel du Club, and the Hôtel du Nord-they

recommended the former.

I was delighted. "Hurra for Odessa!" said I, (giving the fuhrmann an extra sum for his refreshment) and, as soon as the horses were sufficiently rested, I took leave of my Polish acquaintances, and started.

We passed onwards, but still I saw no spires-no domes-no sea. Evening was approaching, and the wind and dust became almost insupportable.

On a sudden, we ascended a hill-the carriage stopped-voices were heard a wooden barricade was perceptible through the cloud of dust-a building of rather mean appearance was close by-it was the gate of Odessa! The officers stationed at the barrier came out, and a sentinel approached; my passport was demanded, and taken to the bureau. A movement was made indicative of an intention to overhaul my baggage, which movement I conjured away by graciously presenting a silver rouble to the officer; something was said, in the Russian language, which I interpreted into the cheering words " All right;" the fuhrmann remounted his box, mutual salutations took place between the officers and myself, and I pronounced the word Club, in a tone and manner which intimated that the sooner I was conveyed to a place of rest the better I should be pleased.

This time no attempt was made to take me to the wrong house. We traversed several extremely wide streets, in which I did not observe so many persons as I should have expected; and at last, at seven P.M., on the 19th of August, we drove into the courtyard of the Hôtel du Club.

THE POOR MILLINER'S SHOP.

HAVE any of our readers ever been in the habit of looking on shops with a philosophic eye? Have they ever looked upon them otherwise than as common-place conveniences, where the wants of social life may be supplied? Or have they ever perceived that shops have a character about them, and that their outward appearance, and inner too, often express, if read aright, a vast deal that is not uninteresting to contemplate?

It is not, however, in the gayer and wealthier parts of the city that shops present any of those features or characteristics in which may be found the intelligence to which we allude. In these places wealth, or its semblance, has levelled all distinction, effaced all peculiarity of expression, and given to all one common outline, one general character, diversified only by the vagaries of

taste.

It is not, then, amongst these that we are to look for those unsophisticated sort of shops in which character and circumstance are developed. These are to be found in the suburbs only, or in those dull and unfrequented streets, which either have been deserted by the tide of population, or through which it has not yet begun to flow, and where, consequently, rents are comparatively low.

The leading and distinguishing feature of the particular class of shops to which we would direct the attention of the reader, is a marked indication of straitened circumstances, not to say absolute poverty, on the part of their occupants. A poor, squalid, illstocked shop we have always thought one of the most piteouslooking things in the world,-one of the most melancholy forms in which the mighty struggle for a livelihood, in which we are all engaged, can possibly exhibit itself.

We do not know how it is with others, but we never pass one of these meagrely furnished and customerless shops, without a painful feeling of sympathy for their occupants. It possibly may be carrying sentimentalism a little too far, but we do think there is something eminently calculated to excite compassion, in the miserable efforts to attract the public attention and patronage which such shops as those we speak of exhibit. Something piteous in the extreme it is, we think, to mark the wretched attempts at display which they present; sometimes exhibiting itself in what is meant for a tempting array of the little stock which it contains, not worth, probably, ten shillings altogether; sometimes in an effort at tasteful decoration, intended at once to captivate the eye of the passer-by, and to hide or divert attention

from the hollowness within. It is a miserable shift, one of the most miserable, we think, by which the limited in means endeavour to make or eke out a livelihood.

But what wretched-looking shop is this? More wretched, more squalid yet, than any of the wretched and squalid shops in its dull and lifeless neighbourhood; the poorest of the poor; showing that in the lowest depth there is a lower still. Ay, that, good reader, is the shop, the specimen of that particular class to which it was our purpose especially to direct your attention when we began this article, and to which we meant it to be all but exclusively devoted. That is a milliner's shop, the shop of a poor milliner and dress-maker; the most piteous of all the piteous efforts in the shop way that can possibly be seen.

Let us contemplate it for a moment. In the first place, it is evident that the shop is such a one as hardly anybody would take : it is badly situated, in a poor, dull, and little frequented neighbourhood; is much out of repair, and exhibits, altogether, the appearance of having been unlet for years. Everything about it gives token of this: it has a damp smell within, and the paint with which it was at one time freshened up is dirty and faded, both outside and in. For years no tenant could be found for the shop; its forbidding aspect and unpromising situation repelled all seekers. At length, however, it was taken. The lowness of the rent induced a poor girl to try her humble fortunes in it as a dress-maker, and it is by her it is now occupied. It is a most piteous exhibition.

One solitary candle (for she cannot afford to pay for gas) burns in a tin candlestick on the counter, and feebly lights the dingy, poverty-stricken shop. On the naked and all but wholly unoccupied shelves stand two or three band boxes, placed widely apart, in order to make a show, but containing nothing; they are empty. On the counter are also two little wooden pillars, or stands, on which are mounted two caps of neat workmanship, but of humble character. In the window are scattered up and down a few balls of thread of various colours, some papers of pins and needles, a few bolts of tape, two or three feeble-looking faded gum-flowers, and a small assortment of the cheapest description of female headgear; and this comprises the whole stock in trade, and, in all probability, the whole worldly wealth of the poor girl who calls herself mistress of the shop.

Behind the counter, and so situated as to be unseen by the casual passer-by, is seated the poor milliner,-a modest, trimly

dressed, and pleasant-looking girl; she is employed in sewing. She is constantly sewing, but she works listlessly; for her hopes from the shop, from her little adventure in business, have not been realised, and the disappointment has crushed her spirits. It has paralysed her energies, and damped the ardour of her exertions. Is it any wonder it should? Think of the dreary, the weary days she spends in that miserable shop, still hoping for custom, and no custom coming; sitting from morning to night, and no soul entering the door, not even to ask the prices of her little merchandise. Conceive the heart-sickening hopelessness with which she opens that shop in the morning, and the soul-withering despondency with which she shuts it at night; for she has not drawn during the day one single penny, and has no hope that tomorrow will bring her better fortune.

No, poor girl! it is not to your miserable repository that they will go who want such articles as you deal in. That custom, of which the smallest share would make you happy, cheerful, and comfortable, is reserved for the Mantalinis of your profession,for the gay and splendid establishments of the marchandes de modes. They will not deign even to look, in passing, at your miserable shop; or if they do, it is but to sneer or laugh at your humble pretensions to the character and calling you profess.

What a wretched life must yours be !-what a life of that deferred hope which maketh the heart sick! It is to be traced in your sad look; it is to be marked in the slow and languid way in which you raise your head when a more than usually audible footstep is heard at your door. You look up, indeed, but it is at once seen that you have no hope of its being a customer; for a long and dismal experience has taught you that none will come to you to order or to buy. You have long since learnt that from your shop you have nothing to expect.

Yet, when the poor girl took that shop,—when she had fairly entered into possession, and had procured her name and calling to be painted on the wall close by the door, (for she could not pay for a sign-board, nor for gilded letters,)—her hopes were high, and a feeling of independence came over her that rendered her cheerful and happy. She had no doubt that her shop, added to her own industry, would yield her a comfortable living. Vain hopes! delusive prospects!

The city reader will, we think, at once recognize the description of shop we speak of, and will, in all probability, know of one or two such in his own neighbourhood,—at any rate, in some other quarter of the town. He will have marked them before, and will, we have no doubt, have contemplated them in the same spirit in which we have attempted to describe them. If not, he will probably do so henceforth, now that his attention is called to them.

INFLUENCE OF VIRTUOUS HABITS.

PERSONS lightly dipped, not grained in generous honesty, are but pale in goodness, and faint-hued in sincerity; but be thou what thou virtuously art, and let not the ocean wash away thy tincture. Stand magnetically upon the axis where prudent sim

plicity hath fixed thee, and at no temptation invert the poles of thy honesty and that vice may be uneasy, and even monstrous unto thee, let iterated acts and long-confirmed habits make virtue natural, or a second nature in thee. And since few or none prove eminently virtuous but from some advantageous foundations in their temper and natural inclinations, study thyself betimes, and early find what nature bids thee to be, or tell thee what thou may'st be. They who thus timely descend into themselves, cultivating the good seeds which nature hath set in them, and improving their prevalent inclinations to perfection, become not shrubs, but cedars in their generation; and to be in the form of the best of the bad, or the worst of the good, will be no satisfaction unto them.-Sir Thomas Brown.

HYDROPHOBIA.

HYDROPHOBIA is one of the most dreadful diseases to which the human frame is subject; to intense bodily agony, mental anguish is superadded, and the unhappy sufferer finds himself irresistibly forced to act in opposition to the most determined exertion of his will. The power of volition is taken from him, and he furiously attacks the by-standers, at the same time warning them against himself. One moment he cries for the soothing hand of friendship to alleviate his sufferings, but in the next is obliged to reject ful description. It is sufficient that it is one of the most dreadful it lest he should tear it in his fury. We will not pursue the frightScourges of mankind, and one which has hitherto baffled the physician. Numberless remedies have been proposed, but none have been attended with certain success. The researches of modern science have led to the conclusion that the nerves are the seat of the disease, and that the suspension of their action, if only for a very brief space, would in all probability put an end to it. The difficulty lies in discovering the means by which this end may be compassed without the extinction of life. Dipping in the sea was into disrepute, there is great reason for believing, especially if the formerly considered a specific, and although the practice has fallen modern theory be correct, that dipping, when properly performed, that is, when the patient is really drowned, animation being suspended and afterwards recovered by the ordinary means, that the it is no wonder that it has only been carried to the necessary extent remedy may be efficacious. The process is however so fearful that in comparatively few cases. A remarkable instance has recently been communicated to us in which two boys were bitten at the same time, by the same animal; one was dipped to such an extent that when taken out he was quite insensible. He never felt any symptoms of hydrophobia, but his companion fell a sacrifice to it within a very short period. We do not relate this story with confidence as an illustration of the efficacy of dipping, for we have not had an opportunity of making minute inquiries concerning the particulars of the case. Our informant was not certain which of the boys was first bitten, a circumstance which is of importance, inasmuch as it is possible that the virus was all expended in the wound first given, but we mention the fact, as the practice of dipping appears to us to deserve further inquiry.

About two months back, a case of hydrophobia occurred at Nottingham, which was very generally noticed in the newspapers. In this case it was determined to try the effect of the Wourali poison, and Mr. Waterton, the gentleman who brought it from Guiana some years ago, and made its name familiar to the public by his experiments upon animals,* was sent for, but unfortunately the patient died before he arrived. This poison is very deadly, and is used by the Indians in the pursuit of game. It destroys life by paralysing the nerves, and thus putting a stop to the animal funcfood. The peculiar action of this poison suggested the idea that tions, but does not render the creatures destroyed by it unfit for it might be used with success in cases of hydrophobia, that the nerves might be paralysed and the disease destroyed, whilst life might be preserved by producing artificial respiration until the poison ceased to operate. Mr. Waterton repeated his experiments on animals at Nottingham, and clearly demonstrated the possibility of preserving life during the action of the poison. The lungs were kept inflated by means of a tube inserted in the trachea, and the animal (an ass) eventually recovered perfectly.

We have been led to notice the subject of hydrophobia by meeting with the account of a remedy practised in Mexico, which we transcribe below. The mode of cure appears to be founded precisely on the same principle as dipping, and the use of the Wourali poison; and as the recipe for preparation is given, it seems very well worth while to make experiments upon it, and hence we have been induced to take this opportunity of drawing attention to a subject of such deep and universal interest.

We quote from "Travels in the Interior of Mexico," by Lieut. R. W. H. Hardy, R.N., a gentleman who visited Mexico on a mission connected with the Pearl and Coral Fisheries on the coasts of California in the year.

"From Don Victores I learned a cure for the hydrophobia, which, in three cases, he had seen administered in the last known several die who had not taken it, but of those to whom it paroxysms of that dreadful complaint. He told me that he had was administered, not one. He is so honest a man, and has a general character for such strict veracity, that I entertain no doubt of his having witnessed what he related. One of the patients was

* See The Ass Wouralia," in No. XIV. of the LONDON SATURDAY JOURNAL.

tied up to a post with strong cords, and a priest was administering the last offices of religion. At the approach of a paroxysm, the unfortunate sufferer, with infuriated looks, desired the priest to get out of the way, for that he felt a desire to bite everybody he could catch hold of. An old woman who was present, said she would undertake his cure; and although there were none who believed it possible that she could effect it, yet the hope that she might do so, and the certainty of the patient's death if nothing were attempted, bore down all opposition, and her services were accepted. She poured a powder into half a glass of water, mixed it well, and in the intervals between the paroxysms she forced the mixture down his throat. The effects were exactly such as she had predicted; namely, that he would lose all power over his bodily and mental faculties, and that a death-like stupor would prevail, without any symptoms of animation, for either twenty-four or forty-eight hours, according to the strength of his constitution; that at the end of this period, the effects of the mixture would arouse the patient, and its violent operation, as emetic and cathartic, would last about ten or fifteen minutes, after which he would be able to get upon his legs, and would feel nothing but the debility which had been produced by the combined effects of the disease and the medicine. She mentioned also that the fluid to be discharged from the stomach would be as black as charcoal, and offensive to the smell.

"All this literally took place at the end of about twenty-six hours; and the patient was liberated from one of the most horrible and affecting deaths to which mortality is subject. She had her own way of accounting for the effects of this disease. She termed it a local complaint attacking the mouth, which by degrees it irritates and inflames; this ripens the virus, which is conveyed to the brain by means of the nerves, and is received also into the stomach with the saliva. The poison, thus matured in the mouth and at the root of the tongue, converts the whole of the fluids of the stomach into a poisonous bile, which, if it be not quickly removed, communicates with the blood and shortly destroys life. Of this reasoning I shall say nothing. It is sufficient that the result is attainable, be the modus operandi,' as the doctors call it, what it may. And I think it my duty simply to make the narration, that should it chance to attract the notice of some truly scientific physician, who would wish to investigate the remedy, philosophically and without prejudice, society might then hope to receive, what it has long despaired of, namely, a safe antidote for the hydrophobia.

'Although a knowledge of this extraordinary recipe would be so beneficial in a country like Sonora, where not only dogs, but wolves, foxes, lions, tigers, cats, and other animals, are so frequently attacked by it, yet there was but one of the numerous spectators who manifested, at the time, any curiosity to possess it. This person was Don Victores Aguilar, a man whom I esteem not less for the qualities of his heart, than for the attentions I received from him in a long illness, under his hospitable roof. During that period, he communicated to me this medicine, the extraordinary effects of which, he had himself, upon two occasions, proved by actual experiment. I know not, however, whether the complaint in Europe be precisely the same as that in Sonora; but if it be, then the cure cannot be considered altogether so hopeless as it has hitherto been. I should like to see the experiment tried, under the direction of some experienced medical man; for, although it might not succeed here, it is at least worth the trial.

The herb used is, I believe, hellebore. It is called in Spanish sevadilla, and I think its botanical name is veratrium sebadilla. There is also another herb, called amóle, which has been found to be equally efficacious, the botanical name of which I do not know, which is used for the cure of hydrophobia, in the neighbourhood of Amóles, a town on the Rio de Buena Vista. These remedies, from all I have been able to learn, never fail of effecting a cure of that dreadful malady. But it is surprising that the knowledge of this recipe, even in Sonora, should be by no means general.

"The following is a translation of the receipt, written at my express request, by Don Victores Aguilar.

'Method of curing Hydrophobia.' "The person under the influence of this disease must be well secured, that he may do no mischief either to himself or others. "Soak a rennet in a little more than half a tumbler of water (for about five minutes). When this has been done, add of pulverized sevadilla as much as may be taken up by the thumb and three fingers. Mix it thoroughly, and give it to the patient (that is, force it down his throat in an interval between the paroxysms).

The patient is then to be put into the sun if possible, (or placed near a fire,) and well warmed. If the first dose tranquillize him, after a short interval, no more is to be given; but if he continue furious, another dose must be administered, which will infallibly quiet him. A profound sleep will succeed, which will last twentyfour or forty-eight hours, (according to the strength of the patient's constitution,) at the end of which time, he will be attacked with severe purging and vomiting, which will continue till the poison be entirely ejected. He will then be restored to his senses, will ask for food, and be perfectly cured.'

"There is an Indian living in Tubutáma, who is known to have an antidote to the poison, injected into the wound occasioned by the bite of a mad dog, &c.; and it is therefore superior to the sevadilla, which will only cure the disease when it has been formed. Two thousand dollars have been offered to him to disclose the secret, but he has constantly refused to accede to the terms. His charge is ten dollars for each patient, and he makes a comfortable livelihood by his practice. I made diligent inquiries while I remained in Sonora, whether there were any instance known of the Indian's antidote having failed, but I could hear of no one case where it had been unsuccessful."

THE LONDON HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY'S
GARDENS AT CHISWICK.

THE London Horticultural Society has been established about eighteen years, and its gardens at Chiswick were intended both as a place of experimental research in horticultural science, and as a station whence the most valuable, useful, and ornamental plants of all kinds might be distributed through the country. The gardens extend over about thirty-three acres of ground, and are arranged into an Arboretum, rich in ornamental trees and shrubs; an Orchard, containing a very extensive collection of fruit-trees; some forcing-houses, chiefly employed in the determination of the quality of different kinds of grapes; a kitchen garden, in which trials are made of new vegetables, or of new methods of cultivation, and where young gardeners receive practical training and instruc tion; and, lastly, some hot-houses and green-houses filled with rare plants. The gardens are considered to be a kind of normal school for young men intended as gardeners, who pass an exami nation in the principles of their business before they are recommended to places. It was originally intended to erect a magnificent range of hot-houses, but the funds of the society having been mismanaged, their operations were crippled for a time. association of individuals," says Dr. Lindley, the secretary of the society, ever produced so marked an effect upon gardening in a few years as has been brought about by the distribution of cuttings of improved fruit-trees, of the finest kinds of vegetable-seeds, and of new plants, mostly imported direct from the British colonies and from the west coast of America, made annually from the society's gardens, independently of the collections sent in return to all parts of the world."

"No

Perhaps there are few things more exhilarating to the eye and mind than a visit to a fine garden, where, while the luxuriance and beauty of the leaves and flowers impress the mind with the most agreeable ideas of nature, there is enough of art and arrangement The to give us a pleasing impression also of the skill of man. Horticultural Society's Garden unites these advantages to a considerable extent; for, while the trees have been planted a sufficient length of time to take off the raw and unfinished look of a young green turf plantation, the long and broad gravel-walk, and smooth on each side, afford an ample evidence of the hand of man. May, this garden is in its highest beauty, from the tender green of the young leaves and the brilliant hues of the opening flowers.

In

One of the first things likely to attract the attention of a stranger, on entering the gardens, is a beautiful bright blue flower in the beds. This little flower, the blue of which is brighter than the most brilliant ultramarine, is called Nemophila insignis, or the showy lover of the woods; for this is the literal signification of its botanic name. It was one of the flowers sent from California by Douglas, who was, some time afterwards, unfortunately killed in the Sandwich islands, by falling into a pit-trap, in which was already a wild bull. The Californian annuals are all very beautiful, and all quite hardy. Their seeds may be sown in any soil, and at almost any season; and, indeed, experienced gardeners sow their seeds at five or six different periods, to produce a succession of flowers during the whole summer, and nearly during the whole year.

The next thing likely to attract the attention of a stranger is

the number of little matted huts distributed over the lawn. They are very neatly constructed, consisting of bass mats fastened over a framework of rods, and with a curious little door in the side, to admit the air when necessary. On examining these little huts, each will be found to enclose a pine-tree; for, on the right-hand of the gravel-walk on entering the gardens are the society's most rare and valuable pines and firs. The common observer, who is no botanist, can have no idea of the endless variety and beauty of the plants belonging to the pine and fir tribe. He may have, indeed, some vague ideas of the spruce and silver firs, and the Scotch pine and pineaster; but he will be surprised to find that there are above two hundred different kinds of the pine and fir tribe grown in English shrubberies.

One of the most remarkable of these plants in the Horticultural Society's Gardens will be found under the shelter of one of the bass-mat huts. It is called Araucaria imbricata, or the Chili pine. This tree is a native of the Andes, and in its native country it grows about 150 feet high. The branches are unlike those of any other tree; they are long, slender, and thickly covered with leaves, which are quite as unlike other leaves as the branches are unlike other branches. These branches, or rather horizontal arms, in the young trees, might seem, to a fanciful imagination, snakes partly coiled round the trunk, and stretching out their long slender bodies in quest of prey. The tree itself forms a kind of pyramid, the whorls of branches getting narrower and narrower towards the top. The roots, in the native country of the tree, Poppig tells us, "lie spread over the stony and nearly naked soil, like gigantic serpents." The bark is thick and corky, and the scale-like leaves, which are so hard and sharply pointed as to wound the fingers, if incautiously handled, are of such a woody texture as to require a strong and sharp knife to sever them from the branch. The fruit, or cone, is as large as a man's head; and the seeds, which are about twice as large as an almond, constitute a favourite food of the Indians. Poeppig wished to get one of these cones, but was almost despairing of doing so, when a young Indian, throwing his lasso over one of the lower branches, swung himself high enough up this colossal tree to gather the cone. When Poppig passed the same way again, towards the end of March, he saw the ground covered with the ripe, fallen cones, and some little parrots, and a species of cross-bill, hard at work, breaking the stones of the seeds, and picking out the kernels. The Indians use these kernels exactly as the inhabitants of the south of Europe do chesnuts; and the only flour they have is made from them.

Another kind of pine protected during winter is the Pinus Llaveana. This very elegant tree is a native of Mexico, and has not been long in this country. Its mode of growth is very elegant; its branches are produced in regular whorls, like those of the cedar of Lebanon; but they are light and graceful, and gently drooping at the extremity. The leading shoot looks like a tuft of feathers. The cones are very small, consisting of not more than a dozen scales; and the seeds are eatable.

Two magnificent Californian pines, with very long leaves (like the pineaster), and the beautiful Indian cedar, the Deodor, stand also on this lawn; and the last has been found to bear the cold as well, or better, than the common cedar of Lebanon.

Beyond this lawn is what Mr. Loudon, in his Arboretum Britannicum, calls a conservative wall; against which are some of the choicest plants in the gardens. The most beautiful of thesethough perhaps the least rare-is the Wistaria consequana, marked in the garden by its old name of Glycine sinensis. This beautiful tree has flowers which resemble those of the laburnum, except in colour (which is a delicate lilac), and fragrance. The plants along this wall would take a day to examine thoroughly. Among them are the Chimonanthus fragrans, or winter-flower, which produces its delightfully fragrant blossoms about Christmas; and Duvaua ovata, which is remarkable for the singular elasticity of its leaves, which, when laid on water, jump and spring about in a most remarkable manner. It must be observed, before leaving this wall, that the names are strangely confused, many of the plants not having the right names affixed to them.

Passing hastily through the shrubbery dividing the conservative wall from the council-room, the visitor generally next visits the hothouses, and here he will find abundant matter to gratify his curiosity. In the pits are several very fine specimens of Camellia, the most beautiful of which is Camellia reticulata, with pale red flowers, as large as those of a peony, but much more beautiful. In another pit is Ixia patens var. rosea, with flowers of the richest carmine.

In the largest hothouse, one of the most interesting plants is the

sugar-cane. This plant stands near the back wall, and resembles a kind of gigantic grass. There is also the cochineal plant, or Nopal tree of Mexico, which is a kind of Opuntia. On this plant the cochineal insect lives, wrapped up in its woolly covering, and looking very much like what is called the woolly bug, or the American blight on apple-trees. Another kind of Opuntia, which bears an eatable fruit, and is called the prickly-pear, is common in Spain and Portugal, and is a favourite fruit in those countries. In September, when the fruit is ripe, it is by no means uncommon to see a number of women sitting in the market-places and streets, with their hands and arms fearfully swollen, from the pricks and scratches they have received from the spines of the Opuntias, while they were engaged in stripping off the fruit. There are many other interesting plants in this house, and among others the Xylophyllum, which produces its pretty neat little flowers round the margin of its leaves.

In the other houses, the Epiphytes and the Cacti deserve attention, though neither of them are equal to the collections of Messrs. Loddiges, Thomas Harris, Esq., at Kingsbury, the Duke of Bedford's at Woburn, and many others. Additional houses are, however, now being erected on a magnificent scale; so that, probably, the collection of hothouse plants will shortly be very greatly improved.

Leaving the plant-houses, the visitor generally proceeds to the forcing-houses, and thence to the immense collection of fruit-trees in the orchard, where the trees are trained in different methods, so as to produce the greatest quantity of fruit.

The Arboretum is the next point of attraction; and here the trees, arranged systematically, are placed at a distance from the road, while an immense number of the red-blossomed currant (Ribes sanguineum) and tree-lupines are planted in front. The arrangement even of the Arboretum trees is not, however, very satisfactory, as it only consists in putting those of the same genus together.

COMBATS OF ANIMALS.

THE buffalo, in the following account, seems a more dreadful antagonist than is generally supposed; and the absence of excite. ment in the rhinoceros before the struggle, and his instant repose after it, is a fine display of the calm consciousness of power. Upon another occasion I witnessed, at one of these sanguinary exhibitions, a contest between a buffalo and a tiger. The buffalo was extremely fierce, and one of the largest of its kind I had ever seen. It commenced the attack by rushing towards its adversary, which retreated to a corner of the arena, where, finding no escape, it sprang upon the buffalo's neck, fixing its claws in the animal's shoulder, and lacerating it in a frightful manner. It was, however, almost instantly flung upon the earth, with a violence that completely stunned it, when there appeared a ghastly wound in the belly, inflicted by its antagonist's horn, from which the bowels protruded. The conqueror now began to gore and trample upon its prostrate enemy, which it soon despatched, and then galloping round the enclosure, streaming with blood, the foam dropping from its jaws, its eyes glancing fire, occasionally stopping, pawing the ground, and roaring with maddened fury. A small rhinoceros was next introduced, which stood at the extremity of the arena, eyeing its foe with an oblique but animated glance, though without the slightest appearance of excitement. The buffalo, having described a circle from the centre of the ground, plunged forwards toward the rhinoceros, with its head to the earth, its eyes appearing as about to start from their sockets. Its wary antagonist turned to avoid the shock of this furious charge, and just grazed the flank of the buffalo with its horn, ploughing up the skin, but doing no serious mischief. It now champed and snorted like a wild hog, and its eyes began to twinkle with evident expressions of anger. The buffalo repeated the charge, one of its horns coming in contact with its adversary's shoulder, which, however, was protected by so thick a mail that this produced no visible impression. The rhinoceros, the moment it was struck, plunged its horn with wonderful activity and strength into the buffalo's hide, crushing the ribs and penetrating to the vitals; it then lifted the gored body from the ground, and flung it to the distance of several feet, where the mangled animal almost immediately breathed its last. The victor remained stationary, eyeing his motionless victim with a look of stern indifference; but the door of his den being opened, he trotted into it, and began munching some cakes which had been thrown to him as a reward for his conduct in so unequal a contest.Travels in the East.