roe's-tears and cinnamon juice. He has hitherto gathered but two ounces of the leaves, one of which has been presented to the Emperor, and the other he has transmitted to me, as being the oldest of his friends. I have brought it here for my darling So-Sli. As you love me, make an infusion of its leaves, and drink..

Nay," said So-Sli, "if it be so choice, you shall drink it, not I. What exceedingly curious leaves and what is most remarkable is, that they are exactly like others. But what is this dust upon them?

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"That, answered Ho-Fi, is a substance derived from the silk-worms, and is what, had they not been buried, would have formed the down on the wings when they became moths. But you must drink this dainty infusion; I have prepared it on purpose for you; and to refuse it would be to show how little you loved your tender Ho-Fi. »

Whilst speaking, Ho-Fi had poured hot water on the leaves, and he offered the cup containing the fragrant infusion to his beloved. She insisted that he should drink it; and an affectionate contest took place, each wishing to give up to the other all the enjoyment of so exquisite a draught. So-Sli at first positively refused to taste a drop; then she would consent that he should leave one sip for her; and then, that if he would take half, she would drink the remainder. Ho-Fi was obstinately determined that she should have all, or at least should take the first draught. At last their affectionate intreaties began to change to tones of anger and impatience; but to settle the matter at once, So-Sli took the cup, and proceeding to the open window, emptied it before him, declaring that, as it had become a cause of quarrel, neither should drink it.

Their anger blew over, and several times since they had taken tea together in perfect amity. One evening they were seated at that important occupation, and Ho-Fi had just finished his first cup, when So Sli observed she did not think the tea so good as usual. Ho-Fi agreed with her in opinion, and using a common Chinese imprecation, wished a rotten root to the tree that bore it.

What! said So-Sli, bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, after all the pains your poor friend has taken to nourish it with silk-worms and spice? That is too cruel a desire ! »

Ho-Fi stared, and turned somewhat pale. "Why do you revert to that subject? » he said. «Methinks it were better to let such a matter rest. »

Nay, said So-Sli, still laughing violently, I said you should drink the tea; and when I pretended to pour it from the window, I poured it only into an earthen pan which lay outside. I have had it warmed for you now, but am sorry you like it so little. »

£

Ho-Fi turned very pale indeed, and his head, which was carefully balanced on his shoulders, assumed a remarkable resemblance to a globular stew-pan with a lid; his pig-tail, with the effect of fear, stood out horizontally and stiffly behind as its handle, and the dropped and protruding lip of his suddenly-opened mouth seemed like a spout; but there is this to be particularly noted, that the stew would have been in the pan, whereas he and his pan were both in a stew.

For a few moments, he was struck motionless, but anon he started up, and called loudly for warm water. « Perfidious woman, he shrieked, hast thou poisoned thy husband? »

"

Poisoned!" said So-Sli. "Was the tea then poisoned? I remember that white dust but can moth's feathers be poison?"

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It burns! it burns! cried Ho-Fi in a frantic manner. For Fo's sake bring me an emetic, a stomach-pump — no, no, that is not yet invented-but blisters - cataplasms-anything!.

He was put to bed; physicians were sent for; he raved till he was exhausted, and then lay asleep or insensible for some hours. When his senses returned, he became aware of the expressions he had used, and, being calmer, he endeavoured to explain them away. He said that the tea was of such wonderful potency as to have deprived him of reason more rapidly

than the strong spirit distilled from rice could have done. He had fancied in his delirium that he had been poisoned, but now fully appreciated the absurdity of such a fear. He should write to his friend who had sent the leaves, to give him warning that if the Emperor should drink an infusion of the ounce sent to him, he, the unfortunate cultivator of this ardent tea, would undoubtedly be put to death by slow

torture.

(To be continued.)

BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

MEN AND COATS.

Own

There is some peculiar influence which no doubt the reader has remarked in his own case, for it has been sung by ten thousand poets or versifying persons, whose ideas you adopt, if perchance, as is barely possible, you have none of your there is, I say, a certain balmy influence in the spring-time, which brings a rush of fresh dancing blood into the veins of all nature, and causes it to wear a peculiarly festive and sporting look. Look at the old sun how pale he was all the winter through! Some days he was so cold and wretched, he would not come out at all he would not leave his bed till eight o'clock, and retired to rest, the old sluggard! at four; but lo! comes May, and he is up at fivehe feels, like the rest of us, the delicious vernal influence; he is always walking abroad in the fresh air, and his jolly face lights up anew! Remark the trees; they have dragged through the shivering winter-time without so much as a rag to cover them, but about May they feel obligated to follow the mode, and come out in a new suit of green. The meadows in like

manner appear invested with a variety of pretty spring fashions, not only covering their backs with a bran-new glossy suit, but sporting a world of little coquettish, ornamental gimcracks that are suited to the season. This one covers his robe with the most delicate twinkling white daisies; that tricks himself out with numberless golden cowslips, or decorates his bosom with a bunch of dusky violets. Birds sing and make love; bees wake and make honey; horses and men leave off their shaggy winter clothing, and turn out in fresh coats. The only animal that does not feel the power of spring is that selfish, silent, and cold-blooded beast, the oyster; who shuts himself up for the best months of the year, and with whom the climate disagrees.

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Some people have wondered how it is that what is called the season in London should not begin until spring.

What an absurd subject for wondering at. How could the London season begin at any other time! How could the great, black, bilious, overgrown city, stifled by gas, and fogs, and politics, ever hope to have a season at all, unless nature with a violent effort came to its aid about Easter-time, and infused into it a little spring-blood? The town of London feels then the influences of the spring, and salutes it after its fashion. The parks are green for about a couple of months; Lady Smigsmag and other leaders of the ton give their series of grand parties; Gunter and Grange come forward with iced creams and champagnes; ducks and green-peas burst out; the river Thames blossoms with white-bait; and Alderman Birch announces the arrival of fresh, lively turtle. If there are no birds to sing and make love, as in the country places, at least there are coveys of opera-girls that frisk and hop about airily, and Rubini and Lablache to act as a couple of nightingales. A lady of fashion remarked," says Dyson, in the Morning Post, that for all persons pretending to hold a position in genteel society » I forget the exact words, but the sense of them remains indelibly engraven upon my mind for any one pretending to take a place in genteel society, two things are indispensable. And what are these? A BOUQUET AND AN EMBROIDERED POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF. This is a self

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