you might have taken me to be. So I will give you a sentiment of much importance to the working bees in the busy human hive, and that is

A HAPPIER PRODUCTION AND A BETTER DISTRIBUTION OF WEALTH.

And clapping his magic lantern under his arm, he wished me a good evening and disappeared.

"Why, Tom!" said a sweet voice close to my ear, at the same time a soft little fist thumped me on the back: "Why, Tom," said Anne, "you have been talking such strange things in your sleep this last half-hour. I told you how 'twould be, eating so many nuts." And truly I had gone fast asleep with my feet on the fender, and saw this vision.

And now, gentle reader, do not be angry with me if, imitating the tactics of the newspaper puffs, which begin with some alluring title and gradually lead on to the "Mart of Moses,” or the as inevitable "Macassar," I have struck in your heart upon an universal sympathy, and thus beguiled you into the less interesting channels of social economy. But for once the puff, like the foam of the tankard, is all on the top, and it will be seen, perhaps, that there is more substance in the matter below than the title warrants. Considering how important a portion of the community are the productive classes, it is no slight matter that we endeavour to rid their daily occupations as much as possible of the needless repulsiveness and danger that in too many cases at present attaches to them. As for the proposition of "A better distribution of wealth," it has occupied the attention of all the most enlightened economists, but they have looked upon it as a thing rather to be desired than capable of accomplishment. In the various joint-stock associations, however, and mutual benefit societies, which have spread lately so widely among the middle and working classes, by which profits are diffused through the masses instead of centring in large capitalists, one of the methods by which the problem is to be worked is perhaps hit upon.

THE PASSING OF THE STORM.

SLOWLY had sailed away the heavy rack
That hung between us and the god of day;
And there remained but one lone cloud and black,
That noiseless moved against the sunny way.
And as it passed, beneath its under edge,
The sun sent down his smile upon the earth;
Spreading from field to field, from tree to sedge,
As laughter spreads around a tale of mirth.

The sunshine now with joyous step moved on
Until it reached a corn-field, spreading wide,
That, pale before the wind, ran swift along,
All blanched with fear, like foam waves on a tide.

But every ear soon felt the sun-light fall,

And quick upreared its head against the sky,
And shook its yellow beard and form so tall,
As cowards do when danger has gone by.

Released, the glorious orbéd sun did rise,

And earth smiled gladly through her crystal tears, Glad as the looks that gleam from brimming eyes When joy doth take the place of haunting fears.

And then the splendours of the arch did grow,
The moist earth spanning with its glorious sweep;
A frame of coloured tears its gentle bow,
For many a village spire and rural peep.

Slowly away I saw that lone cloud ride,

Its sluggard shadow loitering o'er the plain; But swift anon it climbed the mountain side, Contorted strange, like some huge thing in pain.

I

THE DESERTED COTTAGE.

RANK nettles grew sidling the barren walls,
Grass peeped atween the pathway stones,
Green thistles and long ivy falls,
At night made sighs and moans.

Yet were there lingering remnants there,
Between the tangling of the weeds,
Of plats, and such trim gardening care,
That still showed faintly through the reeds.

High up the second lattice frame,
Showed all a hollowness behind;
No light was there, no cheerful flame,
No shadow moving thwart the blind.

This mouldering lattice sill upon,
A large dog-daisy breezes wooed;
And by it when the eve came on,
A lizard crept to seek for food.

The noontide ever found all peace,

No latch did clink, or creaked the floor;

No motion for a lengthened lease

The spider had across the door.

OLD THINGS BY NEW NAMES.

THERE seems to be a rage just at the present moment for rechristening all articles of wearing apparel. Genuine old Saxon appellations appear to be on the point of being driven out by foreign invaders, just as our indigenous population fled before the banners of the White Horse. A French and Latin dictionary is become almost indispensable in elucidating one

half of the advertisements to be found in the Times. It is quite bad enough in Scotch gardeners to astonish a clump of cowslips, or a bed of edging stock, by ticketing them with some outlandish name as long as my arm-(poor things! I often think how, in the early mornings, they must try and repeat over to themselves their new names, and at last give it up in disgust)—but for honest, downright coats and hats and breeches to be so served, is quite intolerable.

I was making some purchases the other day, in one of the splendid outfitting establishments in the city, much given to this sort of absurdity, when a scene occurred which placed the ludicrousness of the practice in rather a strong light. A roughlooking farmer came in, and after gaping round at the establishment a minute or two, wiping his brow and slapping his handkerchief into his hat with force enough to hit the crown out, he gave a bang on the counter with his crooked ash stick, and shouted out to "Cash," as the lad is called who receives the sales-money from the different shopmen in his isolated pulpit. 'Young man, I do want doo or dree dthings."

(Undeniable "down-along" Zummerset," thought I to myself).

"Cash" took not the least notice of this appeal, however, but went on apparently at a difficult calculation.

The farmer kept gazing up at him a minute or two longer, like the man in the illustrated spelling-book, at the boy who won't come down out of the apple-tree.

At last he shouted out, "Co-am down and serve I, hool'e?” At this new and rather more energetic summons, "Cash" lifted his eyes, as a superior being might, who surveyed an inferior world, glared at the customer, and fell to his work again as though nothing had occurred.

Two or three assistants, however, who had heard the noise, now pressed forward to supply the new customer.

That portion of Somersetshire which lies between Bristol and Bridgwater, is called by the inhabitants, "Down-along."

"I ben' calling up to dthick veller in pulpit, like mad. If I had'n in my vive acre at who-am, I'd make'n look a bit livelier, I reckon ; I do want to zee a gurt co-at."

The shopman drew an invisible tape round the capacious chest of his customer with his eye, and took down a bundle from a shelf. "I think this paletot" but ere he could complete the sentence the farmer was down upon him.

"Paletoe, what's a paletoe? what be thick veller telling about?" he said, turning to me.

The shopman in astonishment, stood stock still, and stared with the string of the still unopened parcel in his mouth.

"I do want a gurt co-at-zummut like dthick," went on the farmer, buttoning his great sack of a top coat, and turning round, "only, we' a little more cut like."

The little dapper assistant had by this time collected his senses, and, undoing the parcel, he handed out the paletot, this time prudently omitting its name.

"We do a great deal in this article,” said he.

The farmer pinched up the material between his great thick finger and thumb, then held it up with both hands between him and the light.

66

Why I should bust'n out in the zeems in vive minutes! uh be dthinner than our Mall's bumbazeen petticoat! Noa, noa! that on't do vor I."

After a great deal of rummaging, a "slop" great coat was fixed upon, which chiefly recommended itself because of a sidepocket that would be "handy-like for a vlem."

"What's the next article I can do for you?" said the shopman. "Well I do want doo or dree szhurts."

"Carratzza's?" said the salesman, interrogatively.

The farmer looked up and down as if he did not quite catch the question; then, as if he fancied his dog must have been addressed, he whistled and said, "Snap, tell the gentleman can you kill a rat, zur.”

"You mistake me," said the shopman. "This is the car