it here; but will just remark that this species is characterised by having its leaves biternate and glabrous. It is called the "entire-leaved," with reference to their segments being entire. The Baneberry, or Herb Christopher (Actea spicata) is a plant of the height of 1 feet; with leaves similar to those of our common Elder. It is found in thickets and copses, in the north of England. The berry is black and poisonous. The little plant called the "Mousetail" (Myosurus minimus), from the elongated receptacle of the seed vessels which is met with in some of our fields, is also one of this order. It bears a little yellowish-green flower.

Stoke Newington.

(To be Continued.)

AGLIA TAU.

I LOVE THE NIGHT!

BY ALFRED H. HETHERINGTON.

I love the night, when silence reigus O'er vaulted hills and fertile plains; When feather'd warblers sink to rest, . And nestle in fair Nature's breast; When stillness dwells with all around, And earth and air send forth no sound, Save when the gentle nightingale Tells to the moon his plaintive tale.

I love the dreaded midnight hour,
When Superstition wields his power
O'er many a dark and dreary land,
With fancied phantoms hand in hand;
When awe-inspiring darkness stalks
Abroad to take his midnight walks;
Or, guided by the restless wave,
A dirge sings o'er the seaman's grave.

I love the night, calm and serene,
When gentle Luna, beauteous queen,
Attended by her starry train,

Casts her soft beams o'er land and main;
When zephyrs sigh, and gentle gales
Whisper their love to flowery vales,
And waft the fragrance they impart
With soothing influence o'er the heart!

I love the night, when howling winds
A requiem sing; and darkness finds
Congenial spirit with the cloud

That wraps the pale moon in a shroud;
When angry tempests' deafening roar,
With wild waves dash along the shore;
And echoing hills repeat the crash
In answer to the lightning's flash.

I love the night;-when others sleep,
I wander forth, but not to weep
O'er blighted love, and constancy;
Or task my treacherous memory
With cares deserted long ago,
Or griefs that cause my tears to flow,
Or murmur at affliction's rod-
But to commune in thought with God!

I SHALL NOW, MY DEAR SIR, proceed to describe the process for taking a collodion "negative" picture on glass, which can afterwards be either retained as a negative," and serve (as I shall show in another article), to print any number of pictures on paper from, or be turned at once into a positive" picture.

The first thing to be attended to, is cleaning the glass plate destined for the reception of the picture. After being carefully washed in pure water, a few drops of liquid ammonia should be poured on each side, and well rubbed over it; then, more water. It must lastly be dried and rubbed with a clean cotton or linen cloth kept for the purpose. When cleaned, the plate should be left (till wanted) covered with the cloth; as the rubbing electrifies it for a few seconds, and causes it to attract any particles of dust that may be floating in the air.

The next operation is coating the glass with collodion. To be able properly to perform this, the beginner must see it done by a skilful person. Hold the plate by one corner with the forefinger and thumb of one hand; and the bottle in the other: then pour on the glass a quantity of collodion; inclining the plate in different directions so that the fluid may run to, but not over, the edges all round; when this is completed, return to the bottle as much collodion as will drain off. The whole of this operation should not take longer time than the reading of this sentence; for the collodion very soon hardens, and will not run. Care must be taken not to touch the film on the glass with the fingers; for any substance (even a slight touch) will disturb it and render the plate unfit for use. Any dry bits round the neck of the collodion bottle should be carefully removed before using; as anything hard running on the glass with the collodion will cause a speck on the picture. The plate may be thus coated in daylight, but all subsequent operations must be conducted in the darkened apartment.

The plate is now to be excited in the nitrate of silver, which has been placed in the gutta percha bath. The glass being laid on the dipper, which is previously wetted, in order that the moisture may make the plate adhere, it is lowered gently, but without break or hesitation, into the liquid. Any stoppage would cause a line across the picture. After being left in this bath for about two minutes, the plate (still in the dark or twilight) is fitted into the camera slide, which has been laid ready to receive it, with the collodion side down; as, when exposed, that side must be nearest the lenses.

The plate is now ready for exposure to the image to be impressed upon it; but this part of the operation I cannot properly describe. It must really be seen to be understood. Delamotte in his lately-published and useful work, says, "Any one who is unacquainted with the use of the camera, should ask for directions from the person of whom he purchases it, as no written instructions can easily explain how to set the camera on the tripod (a stand which is not indispensable, and which therefore I did not include in my list), how to obtain the focus for a view, or a portrait, or how to expose the sensitive surface." After being exposed for a time, which varies with the state of the day, the time of the day, the place operating in the plate is again removed to the dark chamber; and being taken out, is put into the developing solution, No. 3. This solution is put into one of the porcelain trays, and the plate laid therein; care being taken to have the collodion side uppermost. A few seconds generally suffice to "develop" or bring out the picture; but the longer it stays in, up to a certain point, the darker the shades become. The glass should now be well washed, by allowing pure water to run over it; taking care not to injure the film.

It is now ready for "fixing." This is effected by placing it in No. 4., the hyposulphite of soda bath. This should be put into the other porcelain tray and the plate being plunged in should remain until all the iodide of silver, not acted upon by the light when exposed, is dissolved. As the iodide is of a yellowish appearance, it may be easily known when this is done; and the plate being again well washed with clean water, the "negative picture is finished. It should now be visible when held over a dark surface; if held between the eye and the light, the darks or shades should be transparent and all the lights opaque. It must now be put away to dry: if intended to make a "positive," that is ready for framing, it should be coated on the collodion side with "black varnish" (to be had of the dealers) which is applied exactly as the collodion was directed to be done. It intended for printing from, the plate should be run over with crystal varnish," which is quite transparent, and is put on simply to prevent the film from being scratched in the printing process, which I shall fully describe in my next. In the meantime, I beg to repeat that any queries that may be made shall have my immediate attention. GLENELG.

66

of a friend who contributes largely to" BentIn former numbers we have, by the aid ley's Miscellany," painted a picture of the fashionable world which is universally acknowledged to be "perfect." We propose to add a few additional touches to-day, from the same master hand. The canvass is large enough to admit of it. The subject is,Society, inhabiting the world we live in.

SOCIETY (says our friend), according to Johnson, means fraternity. Refer to the letter F for fraternity, and you will find that it means society. So that, strictly speaking, society means nothing more nor less than Look for society in the world, and you soon that best of all compacts, a brotherly one. discover that it means anything but fraternity; and that poor human nature has chosen an inappropriate word to designate its mixings and political minglings with the every-day

world.

not strictly mean a moral and instructive Good society, in fashionable parlance, does companionship with the highly gifted or good; but a clique surrounded by a barrier of titles or riches, deeply learned in escutcheons and the "Court Guide," and very particular about knowing only particular people. Not one, according to the existing codes of good society, can by any possibility be admitted into the charmed circle without having the hall-mark of the "fashionable few." This rule is rarely departed from, except Here the creature, in the case of a Lion. either from fear or love, although plebeian,

is admitted for a season to be stared at or stare, that he may lay a soft paw on his flatterers if he be literary, or autograph and sketch in the avalanche of albums if he be a painter.

[We are right glad to notice the "fashionable" progress of this pleasing domestic time. Young ladies, and their everlasting, useless, silly crochet, may now be lawfully divorced; and sense take the place of motley nonsense.]

This freezing-up of all the channels to the heart is called "etiquette;" which also teaches them to look upon the world as a show-room, through which they have to walk and talk according to the prescribed rules of "their order;" and, above all, never to allow this highly-polished mask to be disarranged before the multitude.

The lady of ton, or high fashion, ("ton" means a certain number of people where there is no society) goes through, with charming nonchalance, the warmths of her friendship. This calls for a very little exertion of those vulgar things called "feelings." A scented billet invites her to some dear friend's soirée. Her amanuensis answers in acceptation; and she goes as late as she can on the appointed evening, when she crawls up a crowded staircase into a mobbed saloon, where she smiles most bewitchingly on her dear friend. the hostess. The hostess returns another equally charming smile as she perceives her; quite delighted to see her so crushed and crowded, as it adds to the éclat of her party. New arrivals thrust them asunder; and the lady guest departs with the determination to outshine her friend at her own approaching party by the number of her invitations,—in hopes that they may not be able to get into her house, though they are sure all to get into the Morning Post, where she would really rather see them than in her house; the fact being that they are only in the one that they may be in the other. With this amiable intention of rivalry, she flits and smiles through a few more parties during the night, with exactly the same results; until, overcome with ennui, she seeks her pillow, delighted with the number of her invitations, -meaning nothing.

The man of ton lives in nearly the same routine, slightly varied by unmeaning dinners, where he is invited to come as late as he can to go away as soon as he can, that he may attend the opera, and a few slight engage ments where he really must just "show himself," which gives his tiger time to turn his cab round and take him up again, that he may "show himself" somewhere else.

In the most serious, as well as the most trifling things, does the society of ton commit extraordinary acts of folly, with the air of sincerity; for a kind of tacit understand ing exists, that they shall appear to receive all as "real" which they know to be "false." A female tonnist, for instance, is expected to be fully conversant with all the tricks of card depositing and morning calls, invented for the sole purpose of getting rid of the surplus time of the fair unemployed. She accordingly ensconces herself in her carriage if she intends to make personal calls, and bowls round to the doors of her intimates. It is not her intention to go farther, at an hour when they are

not visible, " or not at home," as the fashionable lie goes. Here her show footman knocks insane knocks, which is the principal thing in his education; makes sweet inquiries; receives the expected answer; leaves a card; mounts his perch; and passes on to another and another, where he goes through the same forms. All this time his mistress is reading quietly the last new novel, as if perfectly unconscious of what the man was about. This game at "cards complimentary" is one of vital importance to the well-being of this kind of society. Any lapse by any of its members of the proper distribution, at the proper time, would embroil them in some bitter feud; or, in some cases, the expulsion from the much envied ranks of ton.

When a death occurs in this high and delightful society, the distressed members (to flatter the dear defunct as long as he or she remains above ground) send, most punctiliously, their servants, carriages, and horses, to "mourn," with becoming decorum, in the procession to the grave. Everybody sees that this is an empty compliment in every sense; yet it is done that the world may see "what a many carriages the body knew."

Notwithstanding the emptiness of all this, we find the next grade in the scale, "the little great people," waste their lives-and sometimes their fortunes, in imitating it. The word "society" is constantly in their mouths; which means precisely all the foregoing. Not being so well defended from the approach of the mixed, they are dreadfully tenacious in their invitations, and indignant at a "one-horse person" claiming aquaintance with their "pair-horse" eminence. You must be out of business, or you are never in their lists: unless, indeed, you call yourself a "merchant," and no one ever saw your counting-house. They are troubled them believe "that the middling class" is with a curious monomania, which makes the one just below them. two ton apes in every way-much to the card leavings; ceremonious parties and coldannoyance of number one; its bowings and nesses. Thus, in its struggles to reach the society above, passes a life of continued heartburnings and disappointments.

This, number

The great mischief of all this ambition as to station in society, falls most injuriously upon that class who, owning themselves the middling class,-men of business, &c., -still strive vainly to place, as it were, one foot upon the step above them; and, in the struggle, often meet with a total overthrow,— ruining themselves by attempting too much, and, when done, deceiving nobody; looking at the same time with a smile of derision upon their neighbors, for doing the very same thing in which they themselves so signally fail!”

There is nothing ill-natured in the foregoing; yet does it give a very correct though modified idea of what is called "society,"- -a race of beings who consider thought" vulgar, and whose only happiness centres in habitual deceit,-ever appearing, in fact, what they are not.

We are all too ready to censure those whose grade in life is lower than our own, -quite forgetting that they are following, as closely as may be, the example we set before them.

It would be well to reflect upon this; for, when our habits of life are analysed, there really is not much to be said for us as a "civilised nation." In our behavior towards one another, we are indeed every thing but

natural.

Pretty little dears !" said a good-looking old gentleman one day, as he looked at a group of children at play, "how I love the little innocents! Here, get a penn'orth of apples, and share them amongst you."

He walked on, but, yielding to a feeling of curiosity, we remained to watch the event. The apples were soon obtained-the game was stopped, of course. One having claimed rather a larger share than his companion, a fight ensued. His opponent, getting the worst of it, retired in tears to the mother of the stronger one, who soon appeared on the scene, and, having cuffed him soundly, took him home for punishment.

A third soon disappeared, like the black boy, with the stomach-ache in his countenance; while a fourth, dissatisfied with his allowance, remained on the field giving sorrow vent. The apples of discord had been effectually dropped into their Elysium; the whole appeared suddenly transformed from enlightened children into men of the world. Selfishness had appeared amongst them, and had not forgotten to bring his companion Misery, whom, although he heartily despises, he seldom travels without.

The happiness of a child is, perhaps, the only perfect earthly pleasure. Do not attempt to improve perfection, or you will certainly destroy it. If you see a child unhappy, you may readily interfere, perhaps with good effect; but when he is happy, in the name of humanity let him alone.

The cares of life will soon enough cloud his horizon. Therefore let him, in his early days, seek happiness in his own childish way. Children have a language of their own, and habits of their own. Often do we gaze on

them, ourself unseen, and take great delight in witnessing their childish performances. How small a matter pleases them!

ONE OF OUR GREATEST BLESSINGS.— THE POST.

THERE is, perhaps, no possible event that would cause so great a revolution in the state of modern society, as the cessation of the post. A comet coming in collision with the earth, could alone cause a greater shock to its inhabitants. It would shake nations to their centre, it would be a sort of imprisonment of the universal mind, a severing of the affections, and a congelation of thought. It would be building up a wall of partition between the hearts of mother and child, and husband and wife, brother and sister. It would raise Alps between the breasts of friend and friend; and quench, as with an ocean, the love that is now breathed out in all its glowing fervor, despite of time or place.

What would be all the treasures of the world, or all its praise to a feeling heart, if it could no longer pour out its fullness to its chosen friend, whom circumstances had removed afar off? What could solace the husband or the father, during his indispensable absence from the wife of his affections, or the child of his love, if he had no means of assuring them of his welfare and his unalterable love? and what could console him could he not be informed of theirs? Life, in such circumstances, would be worse than a blank-it would be death to the soul, but without its forgetfulness.

"Write soon-pray do write soon and often "-are among the last words we breathe into the ear of those we love, while we grasp the hand and look into the eye that will soon be far from us.

What other consolation or hope is left us, when the rumbling wheel or swelling sail is bearing that beloved being far from us, while we stand fixed to the spot where the last adieu was uttered? The post is the most perfect system of intercourse that has ever been devised-it scatters wealth and happiness in a thousand directions. No place is too distant for it to reach-no village is too insignificant for it to visit. Like the sun, dispensing delight, it goes its daily journey. The heats of summer and the cold of winter are not allowed to intercept or retard it. It carries on the important business of courtship, and leads to matrimony, whether "for better or worse." It solaces the lover's sorrow, and transmits hope through many a cruel league.

The bashful bachelor, who has not the courage to make a personal declaration, may do it through the medium of the post; nay, if he prefers it, he may even put "the last

NOT HALF A CENTURY HAS PASSED since the announcement of an invention which may be said to have brought London, for at least half the twenty-four hours, out of darkness into light. The feeble glimmer of oil lamps, the glare of torches, the shouting of linkboys, and the lanterns always at hand with the greatcoats and umbrellas-themselves then a novelty-were in full force fifty years ago, but have now given way to a nightly illumination, splendid, and happily adapted to great cities.

When the discovery had been appreciated and adopted; and when the smell, the headaches, the drowsiness, the closeness, the injury to the eyes that appeared to attend the use of gas, had seemed for a time to qualify its value, a fresh triumph came in the discovery of means by which it could be thoroughly purified and divested of its injurious properties. We were assured that it could be made comparatively harmless to the eyes and to the lungs, and certainly there was a great improvement, and a great difference between good and bad gas.

But now comes the experience of fifty years. We have competition, we have gas used for everything, in quantities hardly imagined by the sanguine inventors. We have thousands of miles of gaspipes, and almost as many jets as there are lungs in the metropolis. It is time we should ask whether the system is perfect. Is our gas as good as it might be? Have we duly availed ourselves of the means discovered for its purification? We may also ask whether so great a boon is not necessarily attended with some drawbacks? Nobody can have seen the paving of our streets disturbed, as it all is disturbed once or twice a year, without perceiving with dismay that the whole subsoil of the metropolis is saturated with some black, stinking ingredient, of a most sickening nature. It tells its own tale; for common sense assures us that, where the effluvium from such soil can reach the lungs, it must impair strength and shorten life.

As to its effect on vegetable life, we have heard repeated instances of healthy trees suffering by the approach of this underground foe. As the evil is cumulative, what will it come to? The question has recently been answered in some remarks by Dr. Letheby, addressed to the City Court of Sewers, on the subject of his report on the City Gas Companies. "Then, again," he says, "there is a quantity of ammonia, which holds in solution a large quantity of tar, and whenever there 18 a leakage in the streets, it oozes out. During the last fifty years, where it has got into the public roads, it has rendered the soil near to it so offensive, that you can hardly move the pavement without doing a great deal of harm. What it may be in twenty years hence I cannot say, but I think it will be almost unsafe that you should then disturb the pavements at all." In twenty years, or at all events at the end of this century, we shall not be able to move the ground under our feet without the same results as if we were opening a common sewer; but, as waterpipes, drains, and, more than all, the gaspipes themselves, are frequently in want of repair, the ground must be disturbed, in winter or summer, as may be, and that for whole streets at a time.

Thus far it has been found impossible to prevent this leakage, on account of the continual, but unequal subsidence of the soil in which the pipes are laid. The only thing to be done is to take the most stringent measures to compel the utmost possible purification of the gas itself. Perhaps a still more palpable proof of the deleterious properties of the gas now in use is to be found in its effects upon many substances in rooms were it is used. Dr. Letheby says, "There is not a library in the metropolis the books on the upper shelves of which are not tumbling to pieces from this cause!

The destructive effect of gas on furniture and perishable substances, is a matter of universal complaint, and is only tolerated because furniture in London is commonly changed very soon, and few shopkeepers keep large stores of perishable substances. It is the oil of vitriol that does the mischief; and Dr. Letheby says, that so highly is the gas of one company charged with sulphuret, that he has obtained 21 grains of oil of vitriol from 100 cubic feet of gas. Now, if the gas of this metropolis be so destructive to inert matter, how much more must it be so to the vital organs! It is true that gas is only one of the many deleterious agents at work in this metropolis. Dr. Letheby finds the snow itself, apparently so fresh from the purer regions of the sky, charged with sulphuric acid in combination with ammonia; and he has found the same with regard to the leaves of trees. But if mischiefs are so