thing among her sex, and ought to be as generally known among ours, that a lady who wears her hair in this manner desires thereby to signify that she means to take time by the forelock, and to close with the very first offer she gets. Such is the meaning of the frontal fringe, and bachelors and widowers will regulate their proceedings accordingly. When next you go to the play observe how many fringed ladies there are in the audience. Procure an introduction wherever your fancy is most fascinated-it is no difficult matter; and, relying on the forelock, be sure of success. And, à propos of plays, you must not suppose that the people of Ramsgate are without dramatic entertainment in winter. True, they have no theatres of their own, but, thanks to the enterprise of the London, Chatham and Dover Railway Company, they are provided with ample means of access to the London play-houses. It may seem incredible, but it is none the less-but rather all the more-true on that account, that there are what are termed "theatre excursion trains" between Ramsgate and the metropolis. One of these started at 8.45 A.M., the other day, arriving in town about noon. The enthusiastic playgoers travelling by this conveyance might have seen the pantomime at the Crystal Palace in the afternoon, and that at Drury Lane in the evening, and leaving Ludgate Hill Station about midnight, might have hoped to be home at Ramsgate, say 3 o'clock in the morning. This was assuredly a smart stroke of business, and as remarkable an example of the pursuit of pleasure under difficulties as any on record. And be it borne in mind, to the credit of the railway company, that, not unmindful of the dear price of coal, and everything else as well, they have fixed the tariff at a scale so low as 7s. 6d. for

the first-class return ticket, and 3s. 6d. for the secondclass, so that people who, though on pleasure bent, have "still a frugal mind," like the worthy Mrs. Gilpin, will find that they can combine economy with enjoyment. What would our forefathers have said had they been told that the day would come when playgoers would be carried from Ramsgate to the London play-houses, and back again-some 160 miles in all-for 3s. 6d., and that they would be drawing their own bed-curtains cosily around them in three hours after the curtain had fallen at the theatre? They would have regarded the man uttering such a prophecy as a maniac, and would possibly have sent him to the nearest mad-house, with directions that his head should be shaved with all possible expedition.

But it must not be supposed that the residents of Ramsgate are compelled to go so far as London, however cheaply or however quickly, in search of recreation. Though the place is placid, it is not stagnant. Lonely it is in mid-winter, but by no means desolate. There are gentle excitements worthy of refined minds. To see Mr. Pearce, the poet, flying a kite upon the sands is so touching a spectacle of the combination of child-like simplicity with exalted genius that it were well worth while to come down here from London, though for no other purpose than to behold the bard thus innocently employed. We are irresistibly reminded of Sir Isaac Newton gathering pebbles on the sea-shore. Then, again, the Vicar illustrates his continental travels by means of dissolving views so artistically contrived that one longs for their dissolution. There are "Readings" for those who, not knowing how to read themselves, like to hear others do so, and there are Singings" for

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those similarly situated in regard to vocal melody. The Aquarium is closed, much to the relief no doubt of the octopus and the sea-horse, who must have been worried to distraction by the frequent intrusions of Lord and Lady Whitechapel last autumn; but students of zoology are not without subjects that will well repay their curious examination. Live soles are to be inspected and even purchased every morning. I caught a cockle at Broadstairs yesterday. I saw a crab walking after the peculiar fashion of his species upon the wet sands near Kingsgate on Sunday morning, and on the following evening I bought a pot of shrimps at Mr. Banger's, in Pegwell Bay. No sooner had I made this purchase than my thoughts took a meditative turn and I began to philosophize. What man is there who has not wished to be some other creature than a man? "I would I were a bird!" says the old song. Have you ever "would-ed" you were a bird, sweet reader mine? I know a man who is a goose, but, ungratefully oblivious of the fact, he still keeps woulding" he were a bird. It is as though a fellow should keep shouting for his spectacles while they are upon his nose. Professor Wilson longed to be a deer of the desert, some other poet sighed to be an eagle on the mountain top, and one of Shakespeare's gentlemen talks about exchanging his humanity with a baboon; but all these people shoot wide of the mark. They all miss the true type of felicity-a potted shrimp. When one looks around one and sees how full of sorrow and tribulation is human life, who would care to be a man? Who would not rather be a potted shrimp. A sweeter, gentler, nobler, more dignified destiny, it is not in fancy to imagine, nor in words to express. To be a potted shrimp under any

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circumstances must be exceedingly nice; but to be a shrimp, potted in one of Mr. Banger's gorgeous pots, with a flaming picture of Ramsgate Harbor or Pegwell Bay upon the lid, were simply such a fate as Mausolus himself might envy. But, not to digress further upon this enchanting topic, it may suffice to say that the zoölogist will find much to delight him at Ramsgate. Finally, Ramsgate has this pleasant peculiarity, that the piers of its harbor are respectively adapted to the comic and the tragic temperaments. If you feel happy, walk upon the east pier and rejoice in the society of the beautiful young women occasionally to be found there; if you are moody and disconsolate, betake you to the west pier, where the significant words "Perfugium Miseris-Refuge for the Unfortunate "-are inscribed upon the light-house, and where the chance is as a thousand to one that your shadow will be your only companion-a companion, by the way, who, like the rest of the world, will be sure to forsake you when your dark hour comes on. Thus you will perceive that, be your mood of mind what it may, you can go to no better place than Ramsgate when, as at the present moment, Ramsgate is on her good behavior.

THE ART OF TALKING.

THAT HAT the art of conversation-an art intimately associated with the dignity and comfort of social life-should be so little studied is one of a thousand unaccountable things in an inexplicable world. It is not simply that men and women frequently speak with

out reflecting, but that even in cases where they may have reflected and adjudged rightly enough as to the wisdom of the words about to be uttered by them, they too often neglect to consider the time, place, and manner of utterance. The absolute truthfulness of a remark is no sufficient justification for it if it had been spoken in a harsh, ungracious tone, at an inexpedient moment, or under circumstances calculated to needlessly hurt the feelings of the hearers. "It is ill talking o' hemp to one whose faither was hanged," says one of the personages in Sir Walter Scott's story of Rob Roy, and there is as much philosophy as humanity in the observation. Yet how often do we find that people will hazard the most audacious assertions, in accents the most galling, without ever pausing to consider how they may be wounding the sensibilities or shocking the prejudices of their neighbors? One man will say that he abhors Protestants, a second that he hates Catholics, a third that he execrates Jews (amongst whom, by the way, may be found some of the best of Christians), a fourth that he cannot abide the sight of a Dissenter; and all these virulent persons who give free expression to their respective antipathies, knowing little and caring less, though the very person with whom they may be in conversation should belong to the category thus fiercely denounced. Prejudice is the bane of goodfellowship, and the greatest possible hindrance to the flow of free and friendly conversation. There are, of course, occasions when a man of earnest nature and righteous purpose will at all hazards make fearless profession of his faith, and endure any extremity of persecution rather than abjure it; but such occasions are rare in these days of religious liberty, and most assuredly they do not