Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 728, December 8, 1877

On the arrival of the females, the younger males appear to do duty as ushers, in marshalling the 'cows' to their places on the rocks and cliffs above the beach; and the work of the selection of mates by the males proceeds apace, until each happy family, consisting of a male with a dozen or fifteen cows, has been duly constituted. The progress of selection and sea-lion courtship is frequently, we regret to say, attended with disastrous consequences to the lady-members of the community. When a male, envious of the choice of his neighbour, sees an opportunity, he does not hesitate to avail himself of the chance, and not only to covet but literally to steal his neighbour's mate. The desired 'cow' is unceremoniously lifted in the mouth of the captor, and transferred with all possible expedition to his own family group. Great is the sorrow of the bereaved male; but woe to both intruder and female should the thief be discovered in the act! A fierce and sanguinary fight ensues, and the hapless, passive, and altogether innocent cause of the combat, may get dreadfully injured while the combat lasts.

The young sea-lions usually appear to be born almost immediately after the parents have landed and been allocated to their respective establishments. One young is produced at a birth; the infant sea-lion being of black colour and attaining the length of a foot. When they are four weeks old, they enter the water, and speedily become expert in swimming and diving; but it is alleged, and on good authority, that occasionally the females encounter refractory offspring, and have to exercise great patience in coaxing unwilling youngsters to enter the sea. The families have settled down to their wonted existence by the beginning of August; and we are informed that during the whole of the period which intervenes between the arrival of the females and the period last mentioned, the males have not only been most assiduous in their attendance upon their families, but that they have also been existing independently of any nutriment. The males exemplify a case of living upon self, and appear to subsist by the reabsorption of their fatty matters; in the same fashion as the bears, which retire fat and well nourished to their winter-quarters, and appear in the succeeding spring in a lean and emaciated condition.

Regarding the sea-lions and their young at present in captivity in the Brighton Aquarium, it is interesting to note the incidents connected with the first 'bath' of baby Otaria. This prodigy in the way of an aquarium specimen, tumbled accidentally into the water of his tank, and apparently caused his mamma much anxiety. It is stated that he plunged voluntarily into the water on a subsequent occasion, and appeared to be perfectly at home in his native element; swimming and diving with all the dexterity of an accomplished professor of the art of natation. Being startled by some sound, the young otaria dived beneath the surface of the water, the mother seizing her progeny by the neck, and swimming ashore with it in her mouth. On the occasion of the writer's visit to the Brighton Aquarium, the mother and young were disporting themselves in the water; the male sitting up in the tank, and giving vent to repeated sounds, resembling exactly the hoarse bark of a dog. We may heartily re-echo the wish, that the happiness and amenity of this interesting family may be disturbed by no untoward accident, if for no other reason that they exist among us as the representatives of a most interesting and now comparatively scarce group of quadrupeds.

It has often been disputed by naturalists whether or not the sea-lions possess a mane. There can be no doubt that the old males of one species at anyrate, the Otaria jubata or Cook's sea-lion, the most common form on the South American coasts, possess a mane on the neck and shoulders. Nine or ten different species of sea-lions are known to zoologists, these species being distinguished from each other by very distinct variations in the form and structure of the skull, in the fur, &c. It must, however, be borne in mind, that the recognition of the exact species to which a sea-lion belongs is frequently a very difficult matter, owing to the differences perceptible in the fur of the two sexes and in the fur of either sex, at different ages.

The complaints of zoologists regarding the ill-regulated and indiscriminate slaughter of the sea-lions are, it is to be feared, as well founded as have been our own repeated remonstrances against the wholesale slaughter of seals. The United States government, however, it is satisfactory to learn, still regulate their sea-lion fisheries at the Pribylov Islands in a methodical manner. Thus the young males alone are killed, and the period during which they are taken extends from June to October; whilst the total number of sea-lions killed annually is limited. In the South Sea Islands, these animals were killed in such numbers that they are now exceedingly scarce; British and Americans alike, slaying the sea-lions without in the slightest degree discriminating between the sexes, or between young and old seals. It is to be hoped, for the sake of science as well as of commerce, that time has taught us wisdom in this respect. We have seen how necessary legislation has become to insure the prosperity of our home-fisheries; and now that the Royal Commissioners have finished their labours in behalf of crabs and lobsters, salmon and herring, it would be well for the public interests if Mr Frank Buckland and his coadjutors were empowered to look after the sea-lion and the seal.

ANCIENT STREETS AND HOMESTEADS OF ENGLAND

With kindly regard for the names, the places, and the landmarks of our forefathers, which may be called the sentimental side of our national stability, are usually, but unfortunately not invariably combined the good sense which improves but does not destroy, and the good taste which recognises the intrinsic beauty of antiquity, its harmony with our history, and the dignity which it lends to the present. Foreigners are always deeply impressed by the 'ancientness' of England, by the maintenance of the old names, and the blending together in our cities of the convenience and luxury of modern life, with the memorials of a past as grand as any country has to boast of, and marked by far less vicissitude.

Among the evidences of the stability of England to which the attention of her own students of her history and that of foreign visitors may most worthily be directed, is the minor monumental history which Mr Alfred Rimmer illustrates, and whose value and interest the Dean of Chester points out in an interesting volume entitled Ancient Streets and Homesteads of England (London: Macmillan & Co.); the history of the old buildings which still remain in the old streets of our old cities, in our villages and in our hamlets.

It is pleasant to ramble with Mr Rimmer from county to county of the old land, gathering as we go a great company from the past; and assuredly all will agree that no better starting-point can be found than Chester, the pride of archæologists, the boast of historians, the city whose renown has been touched into equal brilliance and tenderness by the genius of Sir Walter Scott. An American traveller has well described the charm of the city. 'It is full,' he says, 'of that delightful element of the crooked, the accidental, the unforeseen, which, to eyes accustomed to eternal right angles and straight lines, is the striking feature of European street scenery. The Chester streets give us a perfect feast of crookedness – of those random corners, projections, and recesses, those innumerable architectural surprises and caprices and fantasies which offer such a delicious holiday to a vision nourished upon brown stone fronts.' Shrewsbury perhaps gives at first sight a more vivid picture of a fine old English town, but it has not so many treasures hidden away under modern exteriors. It is likely, Mr Rimmer tells us, that even the oldest inhabitant of Chester is ignorant of the ancient relics which the city contains. Though the origin of the famous 'Rows' is disputed – some antiquaries holding them to belong to the Roman era of the city, and to have been simply an extension of the vestibule of Roman architecture; while others consider that they were built as a refuge for the citizens during any sudden attack of the Welsh – there is but one estimate of their quaint old-world beauty; and perhaps there is no relic of the past in all England which has more stirring memories to arouse than Chester Castle, with its Julius Cæsar's tower still standing firm against the influence of time, and its tradition of Hugh Lupus Hall.

Next to the completeness of the ancient walls of Chester, its carved woodwork strikes the visitor as an instance of conservation. The carved front of the house which belonged to Randal Holme, who left valuable records of the city, is much more ancient than the date it bears (1664); and though the house called Bishop Lloyd's is now divided into tenements, the splendid remains of its ceilings and fireplaces are preserved. A little beyond it stand the beautiful cottages, with their carving intact, into which Stanley House has been divided. Here the Earl of Derby, who was executed at Bolton in 1657, passed his last day. Some of the famous carved oak furniture of this historic mansion found its way a few years ago into the possession of Mr Sly, the landlord of the celebrated King's Arms Inn at Lancaster, and was sold in the spring of the present year at the dispersion of his collection. One magnificent black oak bedstead splendidly carved is now in the possession of the Duke of Norfolk. Looking at the beautiful carved fronts of the cottages, and thinking of the terrible time in which the chief of the great House of Stanley left his ancestral home for ever, we are reminded of the quaint story which the earl's gentleman, Mr Bagaley, related concerning that departure. 'One Lieutenant Smith, a rude fellow,' he says, 'came in with his hat on, and told my lord he came from Colonel Duckenfield the governor, to tell his lordship he must be ready for his journey to Bolton. My lord replied: "When would have me to go?" "To-morrow, about six in the morning," said Smith. "Well," said my lord, "commend me to the governor, and tell him I shall be ready by that time." Then said Smith: "Doth your lordship know any friend or servant that would do the thing your lordship knows of? It would do well if you had a friend." My lord replied: "What do you mean – to cut off my head?" Smith said: "Yes, my lord; if you could have a friend." My lord said: "Nay, sir; if those men that would have my head will not find one to cut it off, let it stand where it is."'

The Blue Posts, 'God's Providence' House, with its inscription of thanksgiving that its inmates had been spared from the plague; the beautiful gabled house in Whitefriars, with its fine mouldings and traceries, are but a few of the memorials of the past over which one lingers in Chester, before passing on to the eastern part of the county, where one finds a special treat in the old town of Congleton, which presents features of successive periods of antiquity in its still and picturesque streets, and is surrounded on all sides by venerable family seats. Mr Rimmer's drawing of the old Lion Inn gives a charming idea of a black-and-white gabled hostelry, with a vast porch resting on stone pillars, and supporting a room above it. The interior preserves all its old characteristics, and has a quiet ponderousness about it, as of an inn to which wayfarers came in coaches with armed outriders on horseback, with led-horses charged with baggage, or in heavy wagons. The idea of railways or smart dog-carts, or the pertness of all modern vehicles in fact, in connection with the Lion Inn, has a kind of impertinence about it.

Over the Cheshire border in Shropshire there is a great deal of interest for the student of the street architecture of the past; and in that county picturesque old inns abound. We find one at Ellesmere, with the grass growing in the vast courtyard, built round by the now empty stables, which were so full of life and bustle in the old coaching days. Mr Rimmer's very brief mention of Ellesmere implies that it is a much less important place than in reality it is; and all he says about Shropshire conveys an impression that he has not studied the antiquarian aspect of his subject at all so deeply as its artistic.

Two miles from Oswestry lies Whittington village, a perfect example of the solid and beautiful in village architecture, with the gateway of Peveril's Castle opening into it, and the birthplace of Sir Richard Whittington left to the choice of the visitor. Oswestry itself is an exceedingly interesting town; portions of the old wall still remain, with several stone and half-timbered houses of great antiquity; but it is seldom thoroughly explored, because the tourist is generally anxious to reach the county town of Shropshire, that famous city of Shrewsbury, which we know better perhaps through Shakspeare than through the historical chronicles of its life. The author might, however, have accorded more lengthened notice to Oswestry, which, if tradition may be relied upon, dates from the fourth century of the Christian era, and which undoubtedly derives its name from the overthrow and martyrdom of Oswald, the Christian king of Northumberland, who was vanquished there by Penda, the pagan king of Mercia.

Oswestry is stated to have been the site of a castle built in 1149 by Magod, one of the princes of Powys. It then passed, by marriage, into the hands of a Norman lord of Cher; and it was here that in 1164 Henry II. assembled the army with which he marched to Chirk, in his vain attempt to subjugate the principality. In 1277 Edward I. surrounded the town by a wall which was a mile in circumference, had four gates, and was further defended by a moat. In the thirteenth century both castle and town were destroyed by fire. Many scenes of our martial history pass before the mind's eye of the visitor to Oswestry. In 1403, Owen Glyndyr (or Glendower) marched from thence towards Shrewsbury at the head of twelve thousand men, intending there to unite his forces to those of the Earl of Northumberland and his son. Tradition, however, alleges that by the time he reached Shelton, two miles from Shrewsbury, he found the royal forces were engaged in battle with their enemy. The story of that eventful day is one out of which to make a mental picture as one contemplates the approach to Shrewsbury. Hotspur and his father had encamped on the previous night at a place called Berwick, nearly opposite Shelton, and they calculated on being joined there by Glendyr. They sorely needed his aid; the rebel army numbered only fourteen thousand men, while that of the king numbered twenty-six thousand. In vain they waited; in vain a few unsuccessful attempts were made at a compromise, and then at a place still known as Battlefield, and in a field yet called 'the King's Croft,' the battle was joined. Before, however, the first blow was struck, Harry Hotspur called for his sword, and was informed by his attendant that he had left it at Berwick. The iron warrior, who was about cheerfully to encounter a force greatly outnumbering his own, turned pale. 'I perceive,' he said, 'that my plough is drawing its last furrow, for a wizard told me that I should perish at Berwick, which I vainly interpreted of that town in the north.'

The Welsh chieftain climbed into the tree and beheld the conflict; at what period of the engagement is not told; but as he concluded the king would be victorious, he quietly came down again, and leaving Percy to defeat and death, marched back to his mountains. The old oak yet remains; but for the forty years during which we have known it, it has been in a failing condition. One by one its great boughs have yielded to the storm, or broken beneath their own weight; and it is now propped up with crutches and bound together with iron hoops. Probably in another half-century the place which has known it for at least six centuries will know it no more.

One of Mr Rimmer's illustrations shews us a street in Shrewsbury which may justly claim to be one of the most perfect examples of English streets yet remaining, if not the most perfect. The beautiful old gabled houses with their projecting richly carved fronts are in excellent preservation, and for a considerable distance a person walking down the middle of the street can touch them on each side; such was the economy of room in walled cities, which renders their physiognomy just the opposite to that of villages, in which the wide spaces constitute an especial beauty. Behind the city rise the Haughmond hills, clear and sharp, and wooded to their summits. Mr Rimmer tells us, that when the sun rises red over these hills, and especially if this red rising be accompanied by noise of wind, it is a certain sign of a stormy day; thus proving the truth of Shakspeare's description of how 'bloodily the sun began to peer above yon bosky hill,' upon the fatal day of the battle of Shrewsbury. Says Prince Henry to his father:

The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes;
And by the hollow whistling in the leaves
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

We wish we could find in the facts a sanction for the author's statement, that in no town in England are the interesting remains, dear to the antiquary and the student, more scrupulously taken care of than in Shrewsbury; but we have before us the eloquent and pleading testimony to the contrary of Mr Ansell Day, the enthusiastic and indefatigable champion of the rights and the dignity of the old city; and on comparing his description of Shrewsbury a hundred years ago with Shrewsbury as it now is, we learn how much has been lost within a century. A hundred years ago, Shrewsbury boasted five churches of renowned beauty. The Abbey and the collegiate church of St Mary still remain, deeply interesting to the antiquary and to the visitor. But what has been the fate of the three others – of St Chad's, of St Alkmond's (so spacious, so beautiful, famous for its exquisite tower, and built by a sister of King Alfred), and of St Julian's? St Chad's requiring reparation, a country builder was employed, whose well-intentioned performance caused the tower to fall in and destroy a portion of the church. Instead of the damage being repaired, the old church was pulled down, and an expensive, hideous, and inconvenient structure was erected in its place. The other two churches were destroyed, without even the excuse of preliminary damage; indeed so strong and in such perfect repair were they, that their demolition was an exceedingly costly process; and the buildings which replace them are curiosities of ugliness. A hundred years ago, the ancient town was surrounded by walls with square towers at intervals, alike interesting and characteristic; only a few hundred yards of the wall now remain, and one tower alone stands, the solitary memento of the past. The ancient Abbey buildings too have been swept away; the Guesten House, formerly the scene of splendid and historical hospitality; the Refectory, where a parliament once assembled to meet its king; and of all the grandeur of the past, only the ancient pulpit remains, a beautiful object indeed, but an unmeaning one in its isolation.

Wenlock, Bridgenorth, Ross, and Monmouth with its ancient massive gate, bridge, and market-place, are full of beautiful remains; and Worcester brings many a remembrance of the historic past before our minds while we gaze on Mr Rimmer's drawings of the Corn-market, Friar Street, and the Close of the beautiful cathedral, where Henry II. and his queen were crowned, and King John is buried. In old Worcester, the days of the Great Rebellion seem quite modern, and Charles II. and his unlucky brother, men of only the recent past. A beautiful and impressive drawing is that of the New Inn, Gloucester, that hostelry of a strange history, for it was designed to accommodate the pilgrims who used to go in crowds to the shrine raised in the Abbey Church of Gloucester over the remains of the murdered King Edward II. The vast old hostelry is enormously strong and massive, and covers an immense area. It is fully half of timber, principally chestnut-wood. Tewkesbury, Exeter, and Glastonbury are full of beautiful remains, finely rendered in this book. The Abbot's Kitchen at Glastonbury is one of the relics of the past best known in all England; here St Patrick passed the last years of his life, and here King Arthur is said to have been buried.

At Winchester are found grand examples of the domestic architecture of the fifteenth century, in addition to the superb ecclesiastical edifices of the city; Cardinal Beaufort's Tower, and St Cross, whose noble gateway, approached from the Southampton Road, is seen through great elms and walnut-trees, where the long lines of quaint high chimneys form with the church and the foliage an exquisitely picturesque combination. We pass on in the artist's company to Guildford, where the gateway of Esher Palace still remains to remind us of Wolsey's residence there after his downfall; to Salisbury, which differs from other old cities in having nothing Roman, Saxon, or Norman about it, but being purely English and unique; to Canterbury, with its wonderful wealth of antiquities, ecclesiastical, domestic, and military, all preserved with jealous care; to Rochester, with its grand and gloomy castle, and the noble cathedral, around which there hangs an atmosphere of romance; to Rye, with its ancient grass-grown streets, gabled houses, and church clock, said to be the oldest in England; to St Albans, which has just been raised by the Queen to the dignity of a city; and from whose abbey the first books printed in England were issued; to Banbury, with its Old Parliament House, where Cromwell's fateful parliament sat, and the Roebuck Inn, which contains a room accounted the most beautiful Elizabethan apartment of the early style in existence. This was Oliver's council-chamber, after the taking of Banbury Castle.

After visiting Ely, Ipswich, Norwich, Lady Jane Grey's house at Leicester, and the crumbling ruins which only remain of the Abbey, we are bidden to the Fen counties, whose picturesqueness few are aware of, though their architectural beauties, especially those of Lincolnshire, are well known; and we are shewn among many other curious things the market-place at Oakham, all roofed and shingled with solid old oak. There is a singular custom at Oakham: every peer of the realm on first passing through the town has either to pay a fine or to present the town with a shoe from his horse; the shoe is then nailed up on the castle gate, or in some conspicuous part of the building. Queen Elizabeth has left a memento of this nature at Oakham, as also have George IV. and Queen Victoria. These shoes are often gilt, and stamped with the name and arms of the donor.

The county of Nottingham is also amply illustrated; and we find a drawing of the famous Saracen's Head Inn at Southwell, which dates from the time of Henry IV., and where Charles I. gave himself up to the Scotch commissioners. The beautiful Minster, and the splendid ruins of the palace, once the residence of the archbishops of York, and many an old house and quiet glimpse of the home-life of the long past, are to be seen at Southwell, the place which monarchs and nobles vied with each other to endow and adorn. Warwickshire is but little noticed in this book beyond the inevitable Warwick Castle and Kenilworth; and yet how rich the land of the elm is in village, street, and homestead antiquity.

We would have welcomed further details of Coventry, that most interesting ancient city, the scene of the first days of the triumph of Henry VII., and of one term of the dreary imprisonment of Mary, Queen of Scots; the city of the wonderful church of St Michael, which may truly be called a dream – a poem in stone. York, Beverley, Durham, Lancaster, and Carlisle, all these the artist-author sets before us with their treasures of architecture and illustration of the social life of the past. Perhaps we linger longest over the noble views of Durham Castle, and the majestic cathedral with its three grand towers, which occupies one of the finest sites in England, and with the wooded bluff beneath it, is reflected in the broad bosom of the Wear. The author leads us so far north as Carlisle, but has not much to point to there of great antiquity. The Border city had to fight too hard for ages for her mere existence, to have means or leisure for the beautifying or refining arts. Her name is otherwise writ in history.

We are grateful to Mr Rimmer for this work, which will, we hope, give the impulse to much more literature of a similar order. There is a great need of closely studied and well-written histories of the old cities and towns of the United Kingdom, which, if not conceived merely in the dry antiquarian, nor yet in the simply picturesque artistic spirit, would induce readers to recognise, and lead them to explore the archæological treasures of their own countries, which may be reached with ease, and might, with the assistance of books of this kind, be studied with equal pleasure and profit.

JAPANESE FANS

During the past few years, Japanese fans have become so popular in this country, that a few brief remarks respecting them and the manner in which they are manufactured – culled from the published Report by Her Majesty's Consul on the trade of Hiogo and Osaka – may perhaps prove acceptable to our readers.

Osaka, we learn, is the principal city for the manufacture of the ogi or folding fans, which are those almost exclusively exported, all descriptions of the bamboo kind being made there; the figures, writing, &c. required for their adornment are executed at Kioto. The prices vary from a few pence up to six pounds sterling per hundred, and occasionally even higher prices are given, though the bulk consists of the cheaper sorts. The superior kinds of fans, it may be mentioned parenthetically, which are termed uchiwa by the Japanese, are manufactured at Kioto, and are extensively used by the better classes of the natives.

The following are the principal features in the account which Mr Consul Annesley gives of the details connected with ogi or folding fans. As in many other branches of industry, the principle of division of labour is carried out in the fan-making trade. The bamboo ribs are made in Osaka and Kioto by private individuals in their own houses, and combinations of the various notches cut in the lower part are left to one of the finishing workmen, who forms the various patterns of the handle according to plans prepared by the designer. In like manner the designer gives out to the engravers the patterns which his experience teaches him will be most likely to be saleable during the ensuing season; and when the different blocks have been cut, it still rests with him to say what colours are to be used for the two sides of each fan. In fact, this official holds, if not the best paid, at anyrate the most important position on the staff in ordinary. When the printed sheets which are to form the two sides of the fans have been handed over to the workman, together with the sets of bamboo slips which are to form the ribs, his first business is to fold the two sheets of which the fan is to be composed, so that they will retain the crease, and this is done by putting them between two pieces of paper, well saturated with oil, and properly creased. The four are then folded together and placed under a heavy weight.

When sufficient time has elapsed, the sheets are taken out, and the moulds used again, the released sheets being packed up for at least twenty-four hours in their folds. The next process is to take the ribs, which are temporarily arranged in order on a wire, and 'set' them into their places on one of the sheets, after it has been spread out on a block and pasted. A dash of paste then gives the woodwork adhesive powers, and that part of the process is finished by affixing the remaining sheet of paper. The fan has to be folded up and opened three or four times before the folds take the proper shape; and by the time the fan is put by to dry, it has received far more handling than any foreign paper could stand; indeed foreign paper has been tried, and had to be given up, as unsuitable for the work; but with great care the Osaka fan-makers had been able to make some fans with printed pictures which had been sent over from America, though they were invariably obliged to use one face of Japanese paper.

The qualities of native paper now used are not nearly so good as those of which the old fans were made, and in consequence, the style of manufacture has had to be changed. Instead of first pasting the two faces of the fan together and then running in pointed ribs, the ribs are square and are pasted in their places in the manner described above. The outside lacquered pieces and the fancy-work are all done in Osaka and Kioto, and some of the designs in gold lacquer on bone are really artistic; but the demand for the highly ornamented description of fans is not sufficient to encourage the production of large quantities of first-class work. When the insides are dry, the riveting of the pieces together, including the outer covering, is rapidly done, and a dash of varnish quickly finishes the fan.

The highest price that was ever given for a fan in the days of seclusion from the outer world rarely exceeded a sovereign; but since the arrival of foreigners in the country, some few have been made to order at prices varying from two to three pounds sterling. The general prices of ordinary fans range from two or three shillings to three pounds per hundred, though an extraordinarily expensive fan is turned out at ten pounds per hundred. The sale of fans in olden times seldom exceeded ten thousand a year for the whole country; but in recent years no less than three millions per annum have been exported from the ports of Osaka and Yokohama alone. In concluding these brief notes, it may be interesting to mention that the number of fans ordered in Japan for the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia reached the large figure of eight hundred thousand, the estimated cost of which was ten thousand pounds, and that these were over and above the ordinary annual export alluded to before.

THE PIXIES

Among the superstitions still far from being extirpated in Wales and some parts of Devonshire, is a belief in exceedingly small beings known as pixies. From anything we can learn, the pixies resemble the fairies of old English superstition, but with this difference, that pixies possess that love of fun and mischief which reminds us of the Puck of Shakspeare. When a pixy has been successful in any trick upon travellers, it is said to send forth a peal of laughter and to tumble head over heels to shew its delight; this has become proverbial in Devonshire; so that if any one laughs immoderately, he is said to laugh 'like a pixy.' The following pixy story is still current.

In a little country-place in the prettiest part of Devonshire there lived a miller's daughter, who was betrothed to a young farmer of the neighbourhood. For some time their course ran as smoothly as could be desired. But the young man began to cast looks of suspicion on another admirer of his betrothed, and to let a jealous demon rankle within him, whispering to him that he no longer held the first place in the damsel's affections.

The miller's daughter, besides possessing considerable personal attractions, had the reputation of being the neatest and most industrious housewife in the place; and so the pixies, who invariably tried to aid the industrious, took her under their especial protection. They removed everything harmful from her path, and were always at hand to do her a service; she herself meanwhile being quite unconscious of the presence of the small people. One pixy used to place flowers on her window-sill every morning, and the maiden innocently dreamt that they were offerings from her lover, and prized them accordingly. One morning early about this time the young man passed before her house, and noticed the flowers upon the window-sill. Jealousy immediately took possession of him, and he saw in the simple flowers the offerings of a more favoured admirer. Just then the window was opened gently, and the miller's daughter appeared; and unconscious of the watcher lurking behind the hedge, she took up the rosebuds which formed her morning's gift and pressed them to her lips. Then she withdrew, taking the flowers with her, and leaving him to rage inwardly at what he considered her perfidy.

From that morning his behaviour towards her was changed, and he became gloomy and morose, throwing out hints of his suspicions from time to time, which troubled the gentle maiden, without her being able to comprehend any reason for it all. But the pixies, seeing how matters stood, determined to convince the moody fellow of her truth, and at the same time to punish him for his unreasonable jealousy. So one evening, when he was coming home from a market-town (perhaps top-heavy), he was pixy-led in a meadow just below the miller's house, through which he had to pass. Hosts of pixies gathered for the occasion, armed with nettles, thistles, and small bushes of thorn-trees. With these formidable weapons they pricked, stung, and mercilessly belaboured the unfortunate young man, dancing around him with mocking gestures, and chasing him from one end of the field to another.

Thus harassed, they kept him until the morning dawned, when one pixy came forward with a beautiful bunch of flowers, which he delivered to another pixy, who carried it off, and climbing up the vine that covered the side of the miller's house, laid the bouquet on the maiden's window-sill. Then he disappeared, followed quickly by the rest of the pixies, leaving the young man (who now saw from what quarter the flowers had come) to meditate on the matter. The result of his meditations was, that before another day was gone, he went to his betrothed and told her the doubts he had gone through, and the manner in which the pixies had freed him from those doubts; and the whole affair was then settled to the satisfaction of everybody concerned, including the pixies.

Stories of this sort are wonderfully poetical, and may amuse young folks, but they are two centuries out of date, and we may hope that matters are educationally in train to supersede them by materials quite as droll and a little more rational.