shower of rain is its so-called antidote-an ( begged at his carriage door, and the footman umbrella! had said, "Out of the way, woman; don't you know you're annoying Lord Glitter?" I wonder if it rained as much in England before the invention of umbrellas as it has since; it must have been expensive work travelling in those days if it did. The owners of coaches looked upon the inventor of umbrellas as a mean-spirited and low-minded person, and, moreover, their sworn foe. They reviled you openly in the streets if you sheltered yourself beneath one of the obnoxious articles instead of riding in their carriages, and in fact did all they could to shame people out of using so vulgar a convenience. Now everybody uses umbrellas. Tempora mutantur; indeed, even in the very use of umbrellas there are changes. The huge family article of the Mrs. Gamp class, adapted for large parties, but inconvenient when rolled up, now gives place to the elegant useless fabrics which display their rainbow colours in our streets. But the sky has cleared, the rain-drops no longer patter on my window-pane, and the sun comes timidly through the broken clouds. I have told you what I have seen when wandering on a wet day: let us go forth now into the sunshine. Mark that pale-faced woman who stands so still against that hospital railing: she is a beggar, though she does not speak, and she stands there all day long; at least I see her sometimes when I start off in the morning, and she is still standing there when I return in the evening. She is not there every day; once or twice a week, perhaps. I suppose it is her station on certain days, for beggars have a method in their trade. "She is an impostor," says one of the Mendicity Society: perhaps she is, or, on the other hand, perhaps she is not. At all exents she is very thin and pale, and not overwell clad: she is hungry, doubtless; if so, there is no imposition there; people do not feel hungry for the pleasure of deceiving others. I think, as I look at this beggar woman, if she is of an observant disposition what a picture of life she must meet with in that crowded London thoroughfare as she stands there for eight or ten hours with her back to the hospital railing! What a study for a moralist! She ought to be one, though I doubt if she understands the meaning of the name. Does she ever speculate, I wonder, on the character and modes of life of all the thousands that pass her in the day? Does she ever think what sort of homes they have, what sort of lives they lead, how many of them are better off than herself, how few worse off? There is Lord Glitter going past in his carriage; she knows it is he, for he once told his footman to take her out of the way when she She wonders, perhaps, whether my lord is very happy; she thinks he must be, with that carriage, and all those servants, and the lots of money he has. O yes; without doubt, Lord Glitter is very happy! But why is it that rich people do not like giving to the poor? That is the question which the thin white-faced woman is probably asking herself very often during the day. What difference could a few pence make to my lord with his thousands, or to my lady with her lap-dog and two footmen to carry it? And then she may perhaps turn over in her mind that text which she learnt once, but did not quite understand, at a Sunday School, about the rich getting into Heaven with more difficulty than a camel can go through the eye of a needle. Was it really so? Would the poor really have their good things, and were the rich so very wicked because they happened to be rich? But perhaps, after all, the beggar-woman never thinks of any such things, and I have been all this time attributing false sentiments to her. Perhaps she never thinks at all! And yet she must; she cannot stand all day and stare at the park fences opposite, and think of nothing. If it is only of the wretched dirty room with the three small children who are always crying, which she calls "home,"-surely she must think of something. Whilst he was at OYSTER CULTURE.--The system of oyster culture in France was practically inaugurated at the Ile de Ré, off the shore of the Lower Charente, near Rochelle. It was begun by a man of the name of Beef, a stonemason, in 1858. This clever fellow noticed that the spat required holding-ground, and having procured a few bushels of oysters, he laid them down upon a small portion of the foreshore that he had enclosed with a dyke, scattering his oysters in the "pare" thus enclosed among some rough stones. work at his trade, the oysters went on increasing until the year 1862, when he sold forty pounds' worth. His neighbours noticed what he was doing, and sea, and now speedily there was a perfect rush to the Rivedoux and Point de Lame is one vast oyster park, the foreshores of the island from between Point de cultivated by hundreds of persons. It is, indeed, one of the great industrial facts of the present age, and we have only to follow the lead of the stonemason Beef to give employment to thousands of our poor fishermen round these islands. THE CHIGNON; OR, FINDING THE HARE (HAIR). (A Norfolk Sketch.) BY R. E. THACKERAY. A coursing lady, out one day, [brow "Why, Marm," said Hodge, and touch'd his I found your hair an hour ago! I took our wheeler to get shod, And on the ground I see this clod! Says I, Why, Hodge, you've found a prize!' She that wore this may have some wealth, "Give me my hair!" the lady cried: LINES. (Written for the opening of a Lady's Album). BY THE LATE JAMES EDMISTON. Friendship and Love together walk'd, Of its dearest things, how frail they are, That scarce was the taste of their sweetness known, Ere death or stern Fate In ambush would wait, And seize on the dearly-prized joy for its own; Then wounded, bereft, No solace left But to think of their loss, and to weep alone. Invention came by With her sparkling eye, And her fancy imagining something new, And she held to their sight A volume all white, And she said, "Poor complainers! this book is for you. True joy is brief, But every leaf Inscribed by the pen of some friendly heart Shall catch a gleam Of the setting beam, Though the sun, which gave it at first, depart Homerton. [We copy from the Athenæum of the 16th of the past month the following notice of the writer of the above, several of whose lyrics and poems have, from time to time, appeared in our pages:-"Among the minor, yet estimable men of letters who have recently passed away, is James Edmiston, who, without being a great poet, may claim a record as having written a few sacred lyrics which bid fair to keep his name in remembrance. Among these, the most popular, though hardly the best, is his Evening Hymn, Saviour breathe an evening blessing,' which is now to be found in most hymnals. Three evening hymns have been produced in our own time, which have found wide favour with all sections of the church, and have apparently fixed themselves permanently in our psalmody. Among these Edmiston's occupies, perhaps, the second place. If it wants the simplicity of Keble's 'Sun of my soul, thou Saviour dear,' it is less diffuse, sentimental, and song-like than Lyte's 'Abide with me, fast falls the eventide,' which commits the fault of employing figuratively and spiritually a sentence used originally in its simple and direct meaning." Mr. Edmiston was by profession an architect, and died recently at his residence in Homerton, aged seventy-six. One or two of his minor pieces still remain in our hands]. MEMS OF THE MONTH. We seem lately to have been passing feathers, and dries herself-note how proudly through a fourth edition of winter; and, at a and complacently she struts about again. season when we ought to be expatiating on Such, however, is the uncertainty of our cliall the delights of spring, we find none of mate, that all these remarks are purely matters its attributes to support us in our rejoicing. of speculation. The writers for monthly maNo: we have certainly not had the least glimpse gazines are often obliged to have their imaginaof spring yet. Where are the primroses and tions many days in advance; thus it is not unthe violets? Where is the early verdure of the likely that, by the time these lines appear in London squares, and where the cart of early print, we may possibly be reading in bright flowers, "all a-blowin', all a-growin'" so sunshine, and, with the true Englishman's typical of the advance of the season to the smoke- prerogative, find ourselves grumbling about the begrimed Londoner? Where are your spring "inconveniences of sunshine," especially as radishes? And echo, or somebody else, answers, evinced in its searching exposure of shabby "Frost, snow, slush, drizzle, and east wind." garments, which the green wintry weather had The only thing we have seen bearing the name allowed to pass muster unmolested. of this coy season is "spring soup❞—a composition which, we believe, thanks to preserved vegetables, is to be obtained all the year round. It may be remembered a wonderful parody on the Laureate's "Locksley Hall" appeared in the Month-we do not mean that somewhat heavy monthly, devoted to the interest of the Roman Catholics, which is current at the present day, but Albert Smith's lively little brochure, which ran for some time in '51. The lines to which we allude are as follow: "In the spring a young man's neck is in a brighter In the spring a lighter paletőt is by Messrs. In those days seasons were seasons, and behaved themselves in a seasonable and reasonable manner: now it is all changed. Instead of our young men arraying their necks in brighter ties and donning coats of more zephyr-like form, they are obliged to assume warm woollen comforters, and garments of double thickness. They become particular as to double-soled boots, critical as to the make of mackintoshes, and conservative with regard to umbrellas. As for the ladies, they are, perhaps, even worse off. Those mysterious articles of attire, known to drapers as "spring-goods," are by no means in request; whilst sealskin-jackets and warm furs are more esteemed than ever; indeed, the West-end shopkeepers are complaining sadly of the badness of the times. Not only are spring-dresses not wanted, but the weather has been so unutterably wet and dull, that people are content to rub on for some time longer in a state of gloomy shabbiness. If any of our readers ever saw a hen in a shower of rain, they can at once understand the matter. How miserable she looks! how her feathers droop, and how little she cares about her personal appearance! But see the same bird when the storm is over, and the sun shines once more-regard how she shakes out her The Central Avenue, Covent Garden Market, is about the only institution that keeps its place in the calendar and supplies us with green-peas, early strawberries, and rare flowers at the same date every year, no matter whether the season be early or late. Stay-there is another institution, not far off, also informs us that it is really spring; that is the Royal Italian Opera. We have seen Mr. Gye's prospectus for the season, and a very capital programme it seems to be. When we mention that Verdi's "Don Carlos " and Gounod's "Romeo and Juliet" will be amongst the attractions, we feel quite sure that amateurs will know that there is a rich musical treat in store for them, especially when they know that Adelina Patti and Mario will support the parts of Juliet and Romeo in the first named piece, and that Pauline Lucca, Fricci, Naudin, and Graziani will be included in the caste of the second. It would take too much space to go through the prospectus; but, when we state that Mr. Costa will again wield the conductor's baton—that Mr. Augustus Harris will, as usual, look after the mise en scène, and that the scenic department will be admirably cared for by those accomplished artists Mr. Grieve and Mr. Matt. Morgan, our readers will know what they have to expect. -an entertainment of no ordinary kind during the ensuing season. We have not yet seen Mr. Mapleson's prospectus of his arrangement with Her Majesty's Theatre, but we believe it will shortly be before the public. It was only last month that we alluded, in the same paragraph, to the serious illness of John Phillip and Artemus Ward. Almost before the printed words were before the public we received the melancholy intelligence that they were no more. In the former we have lost one of the finest, if not the finest colourist of the English school; in the latter one of the most quaintly original humorists of our time. In both we have to mourn the loss of two great minds and kindly hearts. Both were genial and generous; in short, both were gentlemen. Those who knew them most will grieve for them the deepest. The many changes that have taken place in town during the last few years, and which are proceeding at the present time, are particularly distasteful to such a thorough Londoner as Your Bohemian. Everything old-fashioned and quaint seems to be passing away. Our old houses and streets are unceremoniously knocked down by the London, Chatham, and Dover; and our cozy, mouldy, dingy inns and chambers removed to make way for garish and blatant law-courts. Our dear old town will soon be one vast mass of glaring stucco and modern | improvement. Your fair readers will, however, grieve to hear that there is even a worse catastrophe in store for them than this-the Pantheon Bazaar is going to be closed shortly! It is a long time since Y. B. visited it. His first recollection of it was being taken there, as a treat, when he came home from school, and not caring much about the place; but he remembers it was a sort of paradise of school-girls, who seemed never to be tired of bargaining for flaxen-haired dolls, and attempting to play on the harmonicon, and subsequently refreshing themselves with amber-coloured jellies and peculiar arrowrootbiscuits, in a refreshment-room something between a museum and a wax-flower shop. He has an indistinct impression of falling violently in love with a chubby child of eight, and walking hand-in-hand with her in a glass-covered hall, which was called the "Aviary," and which, he is still under the impression, was as large as the Crystal Palace. During his more mature years he has visions of a pleasant Saturday afternoon passed with a sunny-haired damsel amongst the grim pictures in the gaunt galleries upstairs. All that is over now, alas! and the Pantheon Bazaar will soon become as much a memory of the past as the love-making of Your Bohemian. It is said the building will be converted into a place for concerts and dramatic entertainment, for which purpose it was originally designed. On dit that several ladies' boating clubs have been started in different parts of the country. The cirumstance of starting clubs may be new, but the fact of ladies practising the art of rowing is by no means so. Many of us could point to a variety of skilful rameures amongst the fair sex; indeed it is one of those exercises that they can accomplish with ease and grace: it is infinitely less dangerous than riding, and yet how little, in comparison, it is practised. Muscular Christianity has made great progress amongst the fair sex as well as amongst their brethren. Thanks to the progress of sanitary knowledge, it is no longer believed to be injurious to the complexion to undergo violent exercise, or the frequent application of cold water. How our great-grandmothers whose only ablution seems to have consisted in dabbing their cheeks with elder-flower or rose-water, and whose only exercise consisted of a languid walk of half-an-hour, would have stared at the energy of the young ladies of the present day! The girls of our time know that beauty and health depend principally on cleanliness and exercise and trust to these for a clear complexion and rosy glow, before all the cosmetics that Madame Rachael could furnish. How the old ladies, to which allusion has been made, would have been horrified to see the energy with which our belles take their "tub❞ of a morning, or the skilful manner in which they can disport themselves at Brill's Baths, at Brighton, or the fearless way in which, arrayed in gay-coloured flannel jackets and knickerbockers, they swing, leap, turn, climb, and perform the most marvellous evolutions in gymnasia devoted to their private use. All this exercise tends to the development of strength, and, in the present time, there is many a girl who has a biceps beneath her dazzling white skin, that causes her to cut a very creditable figure when she takes her place in a boat wherever it may be. was The past month has been pretty full of the atrical events, though scarcely one of them can be called a great success. "A Rapid Thaw," which was produced at the St. James's, has thawed away rapidly, for it soon withdrawn: let us hope this is the last we shall hear of such an original writer as Mr. Robertson adapting from the French. Mr. Leslie's drama at the Surrey, “Tide and Time,” was certainly a success, and will probably keep its place on the bills for some time. Mr. Callcott's scene of the Emigrant Ship was very charming. Mr. Watts Phillips' "Lost in London," the production of which has been so long delayed, has been finally placed before the public at the Adelphi. There are one or two strong situations in the piece, but the third act is weak. The drama was, however, much applauded, and it will doubtless run for a long while. The "Dream of Venice," at the Gallery of Illustrations, is very charming, and will doubtless draw large houses-at least as large houses as the gallery (the pleasantest but most uncomfortable gallery in London) can contain. By the way, a new comedy by Mr. Robertsonthe author of the above-named entertainmententitled "Caste," will be produced at the Prince of Wales's, on Saturday the 6th. There will probably be a great house on that occasion, as every one will be anxious to see anything new from the pen of an author who has given us two such successful comedies as "Ours," and "Society." A musical piece de circonstance, of which much is expected, is in rehearsal at the Adelphi. The new moderately Conservative journal, The Day, looks well it is capitally printed, the paper is first-rate. Though it is scarcely fair to speak of its contents at so early a period, we may mention that some of the literary matter might be improved. The parliamentary reports are admirable. A penny weekly publication entitled St. Paul's, will shortly be published. Mr. Arthur Sketchley, whom we have missed some time from the pages of Fun, and still longer from the Egyptian Hall, has commenced, some more experiences of "Mrs. Brown," in the pages of Cassell's Magazine. One day last week he gave the frequenters of the Crystal Palace a treat, by introducing this distinguished lady to their notice. Mr. Edmund Yates, whom we have not seen before the public in propria persona since he gave his " Invitations at the Egyptian Hall, gave a pleasant lecture on "Modern Society," at Westbourne Hall, on the 26th ult., and at the Mechanic's Institution, Southampton Buildings, on Wednesday evening: the room was well filled, and the frequent applause of the audience testified their high appreciation of the lecturer's graphic power displayed in his description of "Society," high and low. YOUR BOHEMIAN. OUR PARIS MY DEAR C CORRESPONDENT. Here we are again in Lent, reduced to dinners, concerts, and penitence. The jours gras went off wth great éclat: the bœuf gras was drawn about in his triumphal car as usual, attended with his escort of masks on horseback, and dirty-fine goddesses in cars, decked with paper flowers and waving tricolours, and thousands of eager spectators rushed about to salute the god OX, and to see the few masks that still parade the streets in Paris in honour of the end of Carnival. Now and then, on the Boulevards, a pretty little child, in a fancy dress, gladdened our eyes, and brought a smile on the face, after so much grotesque nonsense, which all go to see; those who exclaim against it as much as the rest, let them say what they may to the contrary. On the whole this has been a very gay season, and is only slightly interrupted by Lent to be re-commenced again at Easter. At the last ball at the Hotel de Ville, a pleasant incident occurred, to the confusion of a poor man who for the first time had honoured Monsieur le Préfet with his presence. Monsieur Haussman had remarked a Counsellor of State, perfectly unknown to him (although one himself) and was puzzled to imagine who he could be. A friend, another member of that august body, made the same remark to Monsieur le Préfet, and, feeling intrigued, went and accosted the unknown: "I beg pardon, monsieur, but I see you are a brother Counsellor of State, and I am sure you will excuse me if I inquire whom I have the honour of addressing?" "A Counsellor of State !" exclaimed the unknown; "no, no, monsieur, I am Monsieur X., manufacturer of tin wares. It is my dress, I suppose, that has led you into error. Having received an invitation to this ball, and having never yet seen a ball at the Hôtel de Ville, I desired to come. I was told that I could not appear but in an embroidered dress, so bought this, thinking that it was merely a fancy dress, and not aware that it was the uniform of the Counsellors of State." Monsieur Haussman laughed heartily when his friend related the fact; but the unfortunate manufacturer was, of course, obliged to withdraw, not wishing to be ridiculous, but no doubt annoyed at having spent his money for nothing. The same evening one of the huissiers (a kind of gentleman-usher) took off the silver chain which distinguishes them, and, sans cérémonie, invited a lady to dance, imagining, I suppose, that he would not be recognized in the crowd; but he was born under an unhappy star, and lost his place in consequence. On Shrove Tuesday the Marquis d'Osmont, with a large party of huntsmen, hunted the wild boar in the woods of Chantilly, and, according to traditional custom, each noble huntsman wore a false nose. In the interest of the wild boar, I propose to put a false nose on each dog as well. Will the proposition be approved? I doubt. (his rue The Duchess of Hamilton has lately purchased the splendid Hôtel de Montmorency, and has given several grand fétes there. Lord Brougham is also entertaining a select party at his residence at Cannes, where private theatricals are the order of the day. His friend and rival in eloquence, Monsieur Berryer, is in hot water about his Penates, that Monsieur landlord) is menacing. Fifty-one years has the eminent lawyer occupied an apartment in ". Neuve-des-Petits-Champs," and at seventyeight years of age one is rarely disposed to transplant the household gods after 51 years' sojourn in the same locality; but our Préfet has so upset Paris, that the retired spot occupied by Monsieur Berryer has now become an important place, and the landlord naturally desires to profit by it, and turn his ground-floor into a vast shop-or magasin, as we say here to increase his revenue. The spring races have had very cold weather as far as this: a fall of snow welcomed them the first day, and prevented the fair ladies who generally attend these rendezvous of fashion from gracing them with their presence; so that the tight trousers, short coats, and low hats now in vogue amongst the gentlemen portion of Parisians, had no admiring eyes to gaze on them; therefore their sufferings were in vainI say sufferings, for I can never believe that human legs can be imprisoned in such tight cases as fashionable trousers are now, without great bodily pain; how the unfortunate youths manage to get into them I cannot imagine, or |