have sung them ; nor, indeed, did anyone apply them to Matthew. " Come, darling, you must j*jt your beauty sleep," crisd he to his wi'e when Barlow had departed, "or you will have no colour in your checks to-morrow. It is odlv Amy who gets roses thrown »ver the wall to her." "And youf rejoined Sabey tenderly. "Can you not snatch a few hmvs' rest before that horrid cab comes I1 * "No, my sweet; I prefer a shor; night to a broken one, as you well know Your nncle and I are goinjr to have a pipe in the study, and then I nave the new pern to finish." . . " Then he'll sleep for certain," saio Amy, reassuringly. ■ .... " Oh, but it is so sad hif» sitting ip so ; there are four long; long hours 'jefore him." i "I'll sleep at thei office to-moirow," laughed Matt. "Doii't fret. It is very seldom that these ball^ come so late ti the season." . . , "Good-night, yon <Jear old victm to Fashion," said Amy, as fche kissed her brother. " Good-night, darling," murmured ba-iey, pityingly. "Promise to take Romctjing Ijefore you go : there is some chicken eft, and you will find sherry and soda-wftto on the table." " It is a great thing to find a wonuu to love one, and yon have found tvo, Matthew," sighed old Stephen, (is ttoy ■went downstairs. "You should thnk yourself very fortunate." "I do, uncle,'l do assure you—in tiat respect," answered Matthew gravely. The "study." was an underground rojm eneath the parlour, lined with books, ;, u l also so littered with them that it was dfii cult to move across the floor. They lay on the table, too, along with the sherry aid soda Sabey's forethought had providcl; and were indeed the only ornaments of tic apartment, unices a something in 010 corner covered with a white cloth, aid looking like a baby's coffin, Was any artic o of vertu. There was also a tobacco-jar pi the mantel-piece, with several pipes. "It was said by a great man,' observe! Uncle Stephen, filling one of thosj latte^ with Latakia, ''that 'when one is mud failed " (which was his downright way o speaking of the effect of years) "one hence forward wants notliing but a cup of good wine, a good bed, one's back to tho lire, one's face to the table, and a good deep dish;" but he had not the advantage of being acquainted with tobacco. It is the greatest comfort, save a good conscience, that old age can count upon, and while one has breath (as Amy would say) to draw. What a bright creature that girl is : I never saw one of her sex with such a sense of humeur. I hope Barlow appreciates her." "Well, he appreciates all he can of her," answered Matthew between the pull's of his pipe. "I think him a good fellow, but scarce worthy -of her. Even the best of good fellows would hardly be that." "That's true," assented the- old man; " yet she loves him." "He loves her at all events, and she does her best to reciprocate his affection." "That-'is to say," continued Uncle Stephen, ''it will be all right unless she meets with somebody in the meantinie— that is, before marriago—who is more suitable."

" Which is not very likely in Cavendish Grove," answered Matt, laughing. "More over, having once passed her word, Amy would not give Barlow up for any other :man with the virtues of Aristidos and the riches of Crcesus."

" No; but if she once liked the other man better, she would marry neither of them. She is just the sort of girl to sacri fice herself to a sentiment."

"And yon are just the sort of man," thought Matthew to himself; "and, in deed, I believe you have done it." But he said nothing. " It is curious," resumed Uncle Stephen, "how: love dies out of us when we are very old. Our poor attachments then become those of circumstance, widen the world takes for caprice. As passion departs, in stinct reasserts itself, as it does m child hood, and the words "near" and "dear" become synonyms. That is why old men so often leave their money to their house keepers. I should not care a farthing for you and the girls, Matt (for Sabey will be always a girl), if we didn't all live under the same roof."

"Well, uncle," answered Matthiew, smiling, " since the fact is so satisfactory, we will not dispute about the cause. But you are not a very old man—in the sense in which you speak of age—and you neWer will be, though you should Jive to lx» a hundred."

"The truth is, nevertheless, Matt," answered the other gravely, "that I lo discover in myself certain indications of old age. (Tell it, I prithee, to nobody, but let it De kept very close between us tw< .) For I find wine of a better relish th: n formerly I was wont to do, and withal I have a more dreadful apprehension than I ever heretofore have had of lighting on ba & - wine."

"The voice is the voice of Esau.r answered' Matthew, gravely, "Ibut the thoughts are the thoughts of Jacob." | "Perhaps I am not quite sure myself,'l admitted the other. "When you yourself grow very old, you will' probably use—in voluntarily — the language 'of mathe matics."

A flush passed quickly ovej the young man's face. "If so, I shall be in my second child hood indeed, uncle. While I retain my reason, it will warn me to let mathematics alone."

" And yet they have been useful to you, Matt."

"No doubt. They have helped to gain me my present means of livelihood. On the other hand,-they have been the cause —or rather they have made me the cause— of very serious los%to others."

"Tut, tut; not a word of that, an you love me, ■ I had forgotten it myself, or I should have .avoided all allusion to the subject. That is one of the few advan tages, of my time of life. I remember the quarrel with my brother in the garden over an apple—as far back almost as the other apple story—bat I remember nothing of our falling out over the division of our patrimony a quarter of a century after wards. In memory I am a boy again: parhaps it is the preparation for the great day of account which so nearly awaits me. One is set to study the old ledgers." "I find I am sometimes set to study them also, Uncle Stephen." "Are jou? Theii that is not (iglit. The past is for old men, Matt; the present and the future-are for youth. Be sanguine; take short views; and trust in God, is the motto for all men in active life—l like to leave my company with a moral aphorism, since an epigram is now beyond me; and there goes twelve o'clock. You, too, my lad, had better be off to lied." "There is my lady's ball to-night, uncle." "To he sure ; I had forgotten that, and yet yon would persuade too I am not an old man," There ivas a tinge of unaccustomed bitterness in his tone as he said that; but his wonted smile returned to him as he shook his newhew's hand and bade him good-nighi

Vegetarianism.

The promoters of .abstinence from the use of ilcsh as food and an exclusive diet of vegetables are again claiming attention ior their system. We have nothing new to urge against the arguments of this school of social reformers. It is still the fact that whereas men may-in the sense of can live on vegetables, it is not physiologically expedient that they should do so. Ihc wear and tear of civilised life, with a great and continuous strain on the nervous system, require a nitrogeniscd diet. we have more than once urged the wisdom of using fish more extensively and commonly than it is now used. The flesh derived from the carcase of warm-blooded auimals is not, perhaps, the best or safest form of staple food; and it must always—even under equitable commercial regulations, which arc not, unfortunately, at present in force—be the dearest. At the same time we cannot recommend a recourse to vege tables. They arc relatively more "heat ing" and less strength-giving than animal food. If is noticeable that those.of the known animals which teed exclusively on vegetable food, whilst exhibiting great muscular strength, do not as a_ rule play any very prominent part in the kingdom to wbich they belong. Flesh-eating animals are necessarily predatory, and they exer cise their brains aiyl nervous systems generally in a manner and degree both far in advance of the habits of life of tho vegetable-feeding creatures around. These latter are comparatively subordinate, and on the whole inferior in point of mental force and character. This should suggest to the vegetarian, inasmuch as man is the head of creation and intended to subdue and reign over all the forms of animal life and organism below the level of his own, he must needs be intended—in the sense of his being fitted by development—to feed on a diet consisting, at least in part, of Ilcsh.— The Lancet.

A Turkish "At Home."

WIIEN a Turk has disposed of his visitors he goes into his haremlik to iline or break fast, first removing his babouches. This custom of removing one's shoes before enter ing a room is not a religious superstition, but comes of the necessity for keeping carpets clean, seeing that they fulfil the pur pose of chairs, tables, and sofas in other countries. The ladies' room may be fur nished like Parisian boudoirs ; but custom is stronger than fashion, and the Turks of both sexes like to recline or sit cross-legged on the floor. Their carpets are curiously soft and thick, and the carpets over the doors shut out all draught and noises. Through the open windows that look out on the garden comes'a scent of roses and the hum of bees, mingled with the laughter of children, who are playing on a well trimmed lawn, under the eyes of the dark eyed Circassian nurses. The mistress of .iie harem—the Bukui Hanum (great lady), o give her her full title—dresses much like in English lady now-a-days, reads French iovels, and plays the piano, though she tons her native costume npon state oc lasions such as the chalvas. Chalva means £ cake, but has come to designate a parly £t which that dainty is eaten, just as we Sty tea for tea party in England. When a Turkish lady gives a chalva her husband is Secluded while the strange women arc_ in tie house. These guests begin to arrive tcward six, accompanied by their maid servants and negroes carrying lanterns and Arising their children with thorn. Closely iiiiHcd, they divest themselves of their bilnouscs and babouches in an ante-room, ani put on delicate slippers, which they ha/c brought with them in bags. The re ception rooms arc brilliantly lighted up wih pink wax candles, and scented with fragrant pastilles. There is no kissing or haid shaking between the hostess and her guests; but each lady, as she comes in, lift her hand gTaccfully to her heart, her lips and her brow, which means "lam de void to you -with heart, mouth, and mind." Thi; mode o£ salutation, when smilingly perfirmed, is very pretty. The greetings bein; ended, the comany seat themselves on ehais if there be any Frank ladies present; if nc, they betake themselves to the divans and tarpets, and the cake eating begins.

A French Swindler.

ONCI upon a time there was a charrieur— Littrfs great French dictionary says, "Chcrrieur, a slang word for a variety of thief who gets his living out of country folks.' The French call him a voleur a lAmeicainc, but do not state on what authoity his method is attributed to Ameri can iivention. Well, once upon a time there vas a charrieur, who, although very expenin all kinds of thieving, would never, out o superstition, change his mode of action although it is as old as the world. Selectag the fair box by preference as his dupes, he called himself the son of the Goverior of California, who had arjrived by the raiway only rive minutes ago. Being a complex; stranger, he did not know a single street n the capital of Fraa«e,*and there fore twk the liberty of asking his way of a lovely 'oung person, whose handsome orna ments wore in harmony with her tasteful dress. When people are walking together in thf same direction, acquaintance is speedfymade. The Governor of California's son, a 'ood-looking young fellow, remarks that, asa stranger, he is naturally anxious about tie security of some samples of his countryg produce, ingots of the purest gold, which te allows to peep out of his pocket. The youig person shares his apprehensions. The yoing man, delighted with her sym pathy, presents her with a louis dor, which she refuies, exclaiming that she has shown him the way out of pure and disinterested good nature. He insists on her acceptance, declarinf that in. his- country a service, however slight, is always remunerated. Then, ashc has heard that Paris is full of robbers, ie begs the young person to take charge o the gold, which migbt prove a temptatim to needy passengers.^ She hesi tates asan; and as everything in his country s recompensed, he offers for this additiona assistance to present her with a costly riig,. always contriving that this point of tie conversation shall take place in frontjof aj eweller's shop. The young Cali fornian, a delicate as generous, beg* her to lend hm her ring as a pattern For the size, that icr reputation' may not be com promised Ijy their entering the shop to gether. Sic obeys, giving him her ring or some othei article ef value, tully confiding in a govenor's son whose pockets are full of Oaliforrian gold. As soon as her back is turned, tnd without entering ths shop, he cuts ayay up a side street, running as fast as his cgs will carry him, and it may be that he b running still- Tired of waiting, the fair me peeps tnto the shop.' Her amiabje conpanion is not there. She in spects his ingots, they are lumps of gilt lead; his buis dor is a counterfeit coin. The truth fhahes across her mind; but the truth will lot bring back her lost ring, her broo:h, her watch, or her temper.— T%m,

A r-ondoi solicitor recently tendered a bill, in Mich the last item was thus stated : " Ti dining with you after the case was lost."

What the Sand Said.

"Huiuiy UP, gentlemen! the coach is waiting," cried the voice of the stage driver, in front of tho Metropolitan Hotel, at Long Branch.

My story goes back to days when rail roads to the Branch were unknown, and the transit to New York was achieved by coaches to Sandy Hook, where a steamer awaited the passengers.

A tall, handsome young man, at the summons, came down the staircase, two steps at a time, and almost ran over a matronly woman, a few years bis senior, who was crossing the hall. '' What ? Going to leave us ? " said tho lady in some surprise, and with more meaning in her look than in her words even.

"Yes! it's no use," was the reply. " Thanks for your good wishes, wicli I can sec in your looks, Mrs Maxwell, But I'm tired of playing the fool." "Pshaw," said the lady, putting her arm familiarly into his, and leading him into the drawing-room, which at that hour was dcserttyl. "Faint heart never won fair lady, Mr Hastings. Listen to me. The coach will wait a moment."

"It is not a question of faint heart," answered the gentleman. "But Kate won't have inc. See here, Mrs Maxwell, it's hardly fair of you to corner me, but she refused me point blank last night." "And what if she did? I refused Mr Maxwell the first time myself. It's a way some of our sex have. Come, stay, and try again." "I'm a proud man," was the reply, "and don't like being trilled with. But I'd stay if I thought it would do any good. But it won't. She isn't anywhere about, you sec, though I told her I would go away to-day. When I said it she actually laughed. And yet, confound her, I can't help loving her." Mrs Maxwell would have liked to have laughed also. But she khew better than to do it just yet. "She was a little hysterical or she wouldn't have laughed," she said. " The truth is, Herbert, you are a pair of fools. Yoxi arc proud, as you say, and don't brook refusals. Kate is, perhaps, a bit of a flirt, but I sincerely believe sho loves you. All she needs is a litlc more urging. You must storm the fortress till it surrenders, ...frive her no quarter, that is my advice; and now Mrs Maxwell, seeing liis face brighten, ventured a laugh. It was a clear musical laugh, and it cheered Herbert still more. He hesitated. If another !ive minutes could have been granted to Mrs Maxwell she would jhavo prevailed. But ;tt this moment a voice

cried : "Here he is. Hurry up, Hastings. The stage-driver won't wait another moment," and Hastings shook his head to Mrs Max well's entreating look, wrung her hand, and dashed out of the drawing-room.

It was six miles or so to the steamboat landing. And now Herbert began half to repent of what he had done. "Perhaps I have been too hasty," he said to himself. "What if Mrs Maxwell is right?" He mused tints for quite half a mile. "I've a great mind to go back, "he thought. "Hold on, driver," ho cried aloud. "I've changed ray mind. Stop till I jump out. I'll walk back."

Before his sleepy companions could ask what he meant, he had left the coach, had lit a cigar, and was plodding through the heavy sands on his return.

His mood soon changed again. " What a precious fool I am making of myself," lie reflected, and he turned to hail the coach, but it was a quarter of a mile off. He stopped still. "If that Hah hawk dives Leforc I count fifty," he said, " I'll go back to'the Metropolitan ; if not, I'll walk to the landing and take the afternoon boat."

The fish hawk dove almost immediately. " Fate has decided for me," he said des perately. " Now let us see how wisely." Mean time, where was th 8 offending Kate ? To do her justice, she was not aware how much she Jovcd Hastings until she had re; fused him. It was not altogether coquetry that led her to say " no." The answer had been given in the first surprise and embar rassment of the proposal.

Even before he left her she bitterly re pented wliat she had said. Had»he perse vered a little longer, she would have con fessed the truth. She did not, however, believe he would leave the Branch, even after he had said so. Hence, early in the morning she had started for a long walk on the beach, hoping to meet him there, as usual; for hardly a day had passed within the last fortnight that these two had not so met.

There was an old wreck at that time about a mile or so above the Metropolitan, which had been a favourite haunt of theirs, and thither she repaired. She tried to read till Herbert should appear, but her thoughts wandered from her book continually. Meantime, the hours passed without Her bert appearing. Her heart began to fail her. She s pent the time examining her real feelings, and the more she scrutinised them, the more she felt her love had, gone from her forever. By and by the hot tears began to come. She Knew how proud Has tings was, and she said to herself he would never come back.

The sea rolled heavily in; the fish hawks sailed overhead; the breeze blew fresh from tbe eastward; the sun shone dazz lingly bright. It was getting toward noon. She gave up all hope, at last, and rising, began to walk back toward the hotel. But, after a while she sat down again, on a boulder under shelter of the bank, for she had been all this time upon the beach below it. She would not yet abandon the chance of seeing him. Gradually she fell into a sort of reverie and began, half-un consciously, to trace Herbert's name in the sand with the point of her parasol.

It was at this juncture that Herbert, who was walking along the top of the bank above, discerned her. He hastily sprang down the bank and began hurriedly to retrace his steps toward her. He thought she would hear him as he approached. But she did not. He ap proached so close at las^ that he could look over her shoulder. Blessed vision ! Could he believe his own eyes ! She was writing with her parasol in the sand the words, " Herbert, I love yon." Hastings could control himself no longer. His cigar had long been out, though re tained mechanically ; lie now flung it away, and stooping over, euiigbt Kate s face m his hands and kissed her full on her ripe lips. ■' Darling," he whispered, clasping her m his arms and drawing her to him, " God bless you for those words. I had come to try my fate once move. Say that dear con fession over again." Kate was silent for awhile. But his caresses soon dried her tears, and made her' forget her momentary shame. What a happy hour it was that followed ! The lovers paced up and down the strand, far out of sight of any intruders, exchang ing confessions as to when they iirst began to be interested in each other. Ah ! that first hour of mutually acknow ledged affection. Is there anything in life, ever after, half or quarter so blissful ?

What they do with Tennyson in Chicago.

(From the Chicago Tribune).

Eulalie McGißLYCiarr sat silently l>y the drawing-room window of her father's pala tial residence watching the snow-laden clouds as they piled slowly up in the western horizon, burying in their cold bosom the golden-browed sun that erstwhile gleamed brightly forth upon the bleak surface of the storm-beaten earth.

" Heigho," sighed the girl wearily, a.s she Raised her right footand languidly scratched her left ankle—a small and prettily turned one, without sign of curb, ringbone, or spavin. "Rupert will not come to-day. 1 shall not feel his strong anna around me, taste the nectar o£ his lips in a pulsing, passionate kiss, nor <juau" the aroma of his Cedar Kun-copppr-distilled-two-drinks-for a-quartcr breath. Perhaps he docs not love nip. .Sometimes in the long, still, stem winding watches of the night I awake sud denly with the thought that he is not true to me, that some haughty beauty over on the west side has won his heart, leaving me only the liver and other digestive organs But it cannot, must not be. Without the beacon light of his love, my life would be a starless blank—a mere chaos. No, I will not doubt him. 1 will not rack my.eoul with the thought that he could be untrue to me "— and with these words the girl stopped into the conservatory, plucked a blush rose, and, placing it in her nut-brown hair, walked slowly to her boudoir. Seating nerself on a damask-covered fautcuil, she touched a bell that stood on a table near by, and scarcely had its silvery tinkle ceased to be heard, when Naunotto McOuire, her fiinmc dc chanibrc, pushed aside the damask curtains that hid from view an alcove and entered the room.

"CUve me my volume of Tennyson's poems, Nannottc," said Eulalie. The book was handed to her—an elegantly bound work. Rising slowly, Eulalie placed tho book under one corner of the fauteuil, and saying to herself, "Well, I guess I have fixed that pesky, short-legged sofa now," lay quietly down, and was soon wrapped in tho sweet slumber of innocent maidenhood. Such is the power of poetry.

London Bus Drivers and Con ductors.

TIIE London correspondent of the Detroit Free Preis, writing upon tlio public convey ances of London, says: The 'busses have a driver and a conductor. The former is a type of the old stage coachman, burly of ligure. rosy of aspect, and hearty of voice. The driver's seat is well over the horses, and on the " kuife board " at his feet is the lever of a brake, which controls the 'bus. He is well wrapped in blankets, which enclose his legs, and is further provided with a tarpaulin for rainy weather, which he shares with the passengers, two upon each side, who may occupy the places in front. The drivers invariably wear stove pipe hats, and in summer frequently white ones. 1 have always found them polite and obliging, well informed concern ing persons and places on their routes, and over ready to give information. It is the custom to stop the 'bus at certain points where pas sengers usually enter or alight. In America the 'busses and street carp halt to let down or receive passengers at any convenient place, but in London it is rare to see this done. An ngile person ran board a 'bus successfully when it is on the move. The upper part' of the 'bus is provided with a seat along the centre, accommodating twelve or more, who sit back to back, part facing the right hand side, part facing the left. When .ill the scats are full not an other person is permitted to get aboard, nor is any passenger permitted to stand up while riding.

Steps on each side of the door at the rear allbrd an easy means of iisccut. The con ductor, with a metal disc exhibiting a license number dangling from his waist to his knees, stands near the door*pon either side of the lowermost steps, which arc rounded like the bottom of a bucket. By clinging to a strap fastened above, which he passes over his shoulder, the conductor maintains ft position which enables him to look to the front, the sides, or the rear, above or below. * He collects the fares just before the passenger's destination is reached, Calling out the names of the stopping places for that purpose, and marking the number of fares on a trip-sheet attached to the door of the 'bus.

Electric Light in Pullman Cars.

The following account from the London Times of the electric light in the Pullman car will be interesting to the railway public :—-Yesterday the electric light fairly conquered a new domain. The Brighton Railway Company, which of late years has been a pioneer of improvements on the iron road, ran a special train from Victoria to Brigton and Back with a saloon carriage lighted by stored electricity. The event, noteworthy in itself, may come to possess an historical interest, since there is no doubt that if was the first time, either in the Old World or the New, that accumu lated electrical energy had been so em ployed, while the complete succ<?ss wliich attended the experiment must unquestion ably mark a new departure in railway management. It was only a few months since M. Faure sent to Sir William Tliomp son his little box of lead plates coated with red oxide and fully charged with electricity. The great British physicist saw at once its capabilities, and now every day seems to be bringing to light some new application of this, the simplest of all apparatus ever designed by genius. The Pullman car on wliich yesterday's experiment was made carried beneath it on a shelf some eighty two small metal boxes, technically cells, each of which contained leaden plates coated with the oxide known as red lead. Nothing less pretentious or more inert in outward appearance could well be imagined. Yet there was stored up in these sheets of leads an amount of force which, if it could be suddenly liberated, would vastly pxeced the power of any storm of tropical lightuing. A steam engine had been at work on the previous night producing a current of electricity which, in some mysterious manner, had hid itself away in the folds of the metal and beneath the cloak of red_ oxide, but was ready at any instant to give back in the form of light or of force the energy that had created it. Twelve of Mr Swan's little incandescent lamps were fixed to the roof of the carriage) and all that was necessary when the train passed through a tunnel, or when darkness came on, was to turn a switch, and instnntaneously a mild, steady, and brilliant light tilled the saloon. From the point of view of the traveller, the experiment was completely successful. A superior illumination could hardly be desired; and if it be true, as possibly sanguine electricians assert, that this storage can be effected at a smaller cost than oil, the pleasant trip to Brighton may have wide-reaching effects.

Secular Changes in the Earth's Figure.

An interesting hypothesis lias been pronml gated before the French Academy by M. Faye. It has long been known from geo detic surveys anil pendulum experiments tliat continents and mountain ranges do not exert that attraction on the pendulum which might have been expected of them, judging from the observed attraction of such isolated masses as Mount Schehallion in Scotland or the great pyramid. In fact the deficiency of mountains in this respect is so striking that in order to account for it geologists and astronomers have imagined that there are vast cavities underlying con tinents and mountain chains. A somewhat different explanation of the feelrte action of the Himalayas on the pendulum has been offered Iry Sir George B. Airy, who supposes that the attraction of the mountains is coun teracted by still iluid lakes of rocks below them. But thin suggestion docs not meet the tact, elicited by M. Saigey, that the attraction on islands of the sea is greater than it ought to be. It appears to be clear, however, that there is a relative lack of matter under continents, and excess of it under oceaiw. The hypothesis of M. Fayc would .seem to solve the problem in a very simple and reasonable manner. He holds that under the 'sea the earth's crust has cooled much more quickly .than under dry land, and hence the solid sea-bed is denser and thicker than the subcontinental mass. Water is a good conductor of heat as com pared with rock, and being liquid it is dm) able to convey heat from its underlying basin. Geodesy shows that the present figure of the. eaith is an ellipsoid of revolu tion ; but if M. Faye'B hypothesis is correct it, has not always been so, At first it wm an ellipsoid, but the unequal cooling of the earth, due to the liquid mantle covering it, led to unequal stress and the elevation of continents where the crust was thinner. These continents, according to M. Faye, surrounded the north pole, and the level of the ocean over our hemisphere was raised, thus bringing the e.irth to a more spheroidal form. Finally, as the cooling continued, the austral continents attracted the oceans, and the figure became once more cliipsoida), as it is to-day. If this ingenious specula tion were the true one, it, would nnqncß tionably help Kcoloyists to explain the origin of the glacial periods.— EnyiuKniuj.

Spread of Disease by the Agency of Earthworms.

RECENT researches by M. Pasteur appear to throw considerable light on the origin of anthrax, or splenic fever, and allied diseases, which attack cattle, sheep, &«:. When iui animal dies of anthrax it is not uncommonly buried on the .spot. The cou .litions of putrefaction prove fatal to the small parasitic organism, or buctcridium, which is abundant in the blood at death. The gas given oil' causes it to break up into dead and harmless granulations. _ But before this can occur not a little of the blood and humours of the body lias escaped. into tho ground about the carcaSH, and here the parasite is in an unrated medium favour able to tho formation of germs. These corpuscular genus M. I'astour has found in the soil months and years after tlie carcass was buried ; and by inoculation of guinea pigs with them has produced anthrax and death. Now it is specially notable tuat such germs have been uiotwitliin the earth at tho surfara above tho place of burial, as well as near the.body. The question arises. How came they there? .Aid it would appear that earthworms are the agents of conveyance. In the small earth cylinders, of line particles, which these creatures bring to the siuface, and deposit after the dews of morning or after heavy rain, one finds, besides v host of other germs, the germs of anthrax. (Tho same process was proved also by direct experiment; worms kept in ground with which bactcndiiun spores h.id been mixed were killed after a few days, and many of the spores were found in the caith-cyfinders in their intestines.) The dust of this earth, after the cylinders have been disaggregated by; rain, gets Mown about on the neighbouring plants, and the animals eating these thus receive tho germs into their system. It is suggested that possibly other diseased germs, not less harmless to worms, but ready to cause disease in the proper animals, may be in like manner conveyed to the surface in cemeteries. This would furnish a fresh argument for cremation. The practical in ference us to anthrax is, that animals which have died of this should not be buried in lields devoted to crops or pasturage, hut (wherever possible) in sandy, calcareous ground, p««r and dry—unsuitable, in a word, for worms.

Effects of Inhaling Oxygen.

A young Frenchman, M. Aune, has lately made experiments on himself relative to this question, which lie has chosen as the subject of a medical thesis. The experi ments lasted four weeks, during v/kieh time he submitted himself to a uniform regime as regards quanity and quality of food, muscular exercise, and intellectual work. He took oxygen only during the second and the third week, inhaling be tween 40 and 80 litres of it daily, but during the whole time he made a careful record of temperature, pulse, respiration, &c. The conclusions arrived at are bricily as follows: Inhalation of oxygen made under phy siological conditions do not cause any in convenience. One may absorb 100 litres, and even more, daily. Oxygen increases the appetite, and develops the functions of assimilation; and on this accont it tends to increase the weight of the body. It pro duces a slight intoxication, and tingling sensations in the extremities. It raises the temperature very slightly. Under its in fluence the respiratory movements and the pulsations become more numerous. Oxy gen has an incontestable action on certain elements of the blood; it increases the nnmber of red corpuscles and of hemato blasts, and the richness of the former in hemoglobin. It has no influence on the white corpusclos. M. Aune did not ex perience those sensations of heat in the chest of which some autlibrs have spoken in coji ncctiou with tliis subject. Commenting on M. Anne's cxpcrimentu, M. Hoy em re marks that the effects arc only temporary, and that while inhalation of oxygen may be of service through favourim* assimilation, it could not be made a definitive treatment, and it would be necessary always to ad minister iron in addition. The inhalation gives very good results in the case of dyspeptic phenomena and obstinate vom iting.

The statement made, and as yet uneoa tradicted, that Messrs Moody and Saokey have stipulated that they shall receive £700 per month during their preaching and sing ing tour.in England has greatly cooled the ardour of many of the admirers of those gentlemen.

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, FEBRUARY 4, 1882.

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