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ployed, but have also pronounced them | last from eleven to eight o'clock, thus more trustworthy, more easily managed, allotting nine hours to each relay; a period and, we may add, sooner satisfied with which may be termed long, if considered lower wages. So well pleased, indeed, are positively; or short, when viewed compathey with the result of their experiment, ratively with the twelve or fourteen hours that about thirty more women are now em- of the miserable needlewoman or dressployed at the branch offices, viz., eight at maker. But though the hours these young Charing Cross, two at Fleet Street, two at women are on duty are long, we must not Knightsbridge, etc.; and eventually, there forget that the machines are not always in is no doubt they will fill posts in all the motion, and even when working are far branch offices in England. As you enter from producing fatigue; we noticed many the long room where these young girls are of the girls employing their spare minutes working, the continual clicking of the with knitting pins, light needlework, and needles immediately strikes the ear; and a books. The young girls now working at little observation teaches us that in one Lothbury are chiefly the daughters of small corner London is holding conversation with tradesmen, but several are the children of Liverpool, while in another Manchester is government clerks-Somerset House or receiving a long message from London; Treasury-men-while three or four are the here Temple Bar is discoursing eloquently daughters of clergymen. of deeds and parchment, there Yarmouth is telling about her fish and shipping. Two girls sit at each machine, the one spelling the words as rapidly as letter succeeds letter, and the other writing it down as the word is pronounced. When the whole of the message is received, it is forwarded to another table, where it is entered, an abstract made and its number registered; it is then passed on to another table where another girl prices, seals, folds, and directs the paper, which is then delivered into the hands of the messenger and despatched to its ultimate destination.

The instrumental clerks earn from eight to eighteen shillings per week, and the superintending clerks from twenty to thirty shillings. These latter are responsible that no message is unnecessarily delayed, that the papers are properly filled in, and the words correctly spelt. The instrumental clerks are, of course, by far the more numerous; they are all young, none being received into the establishment after their twenty-third year, but they may enter as young as sixteen: for, quickness of perception and steadiness of vision being the two great requisites for this business, it will be readily understood that this training cannot commence too early in life. Six weeks is considered the average time for learning the fluctuations of the needle, etc., after which period payment for service commences, nor is any fee required for instruction; but if, at the end of two months, the pupil cannot conquer the movement of the hands, she is dismissed as incompetent to master the

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Should the proposed extension of female clerks to the branch offices be carried out, an inestimable boon will be presented to a very large and most deserving class of women, who, if not gifted with the power of imparting knowledge, have, as is too well known, no resource at present but their needle, for obtaining a livelihood. Other companies, the Magnetic and the London District Telegraph Companies for instance, (the offices of both which are in Threadneedle Street,) are following the steps of the International, and have already engaged a number of hands, who are now being duly instructed for their employment. But the honor and the credit of the movement is due to the Electric and International Company: nor can we close our paper without offering our most grateful thanks to the committee of that company for the liberal manner and practical form in which they have viewed the important question of female labor.

All communications respecting employment may be addressed to Mrs. Craig, International Telegraph Company, Founders' Court, E. C.; or she may be seen there any Saturday, from two until four o'clock in the afternoon, by applicants desirous of being received into the establishment.-Englishwoman's Journal.

DIFFICULTY is a severe instructor, set over us by the supreme ordinance of a parental Guardian and Legislator, who knows us better than we know ourselves, and he loves us better too. He that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper. This amicable conflict with difficulty obliges us to an intimate acquaintance with our subject, and compels us to consider it in all its relations. It will not suffer us to be superficial.-Burke.

THE MAD BALL.

"WELL, young people, if you intend to come with me to the ball, it is time we were away," said my uncle, to a merry party assembled in the Ecclesford drawingroom, one evening in July, 1856.

Where was the ball to be? At the Staffords'? No. At Stonebrook? No. At the grand old manorial hall, which had been in the family of Sir Henry Leigh for time immemorial? No; it was at none of these. Was it the county ball at the assemblyrooms over at N? No; for that had taken place some time ago, and two marriages had been the consequences of it. Then where was this mysterious ball to be held?

AT LITTLE MUDDELHED ASYLUM!!

Now, reader, do not turn away uncredudulously, for I can assure you it is quite true. I do not mean, of course, that invitations were issued by the inmates of the Asylum to the elite of the neighbourhood. The ball was among themselves; but my uncle happened to know the resident physician, and it was by his invitation that we were going to Little Muddelhed on this occasion, to act the part of spectators.

There was a general rush for bonnets and shawls, and away we started. How well I remember that pleasant summer evening walk! Uncle and aunt led the way, followed by the rest of us, in scattered groups; the boys, wild with fun, running about and teasing cousin Ellie about her hat-a recent arrival from London, which_she had now put on for the first time. I was a little behind, with Charles Grey, and yes, and Cousin Harry, for I remember his saying

to me

"I saw the branches of the tree

Bend down, thy touch to meet;
The clover blossoms on the grass,
Rise up to kiss thy feet;"

men of humanity-and half-way up the avenue met Dr. White, coming to meet us. It is a strange place, the Asylum; an old grey romantic building, surrounded by fine old trees, and beautiful gardens. Once upon a time it was called Muddelhed Chase. In those days, however, it was the country residence of an old family, who afterwards got into debt, and managed, somehow, to lose by degrees all their lands; the house went last, and was bought for an asylum. But it had still the air of an old manorhouse. I suspect the old family ghosts did not quit the hall with their descendants, but preferred to remain in the old place, like cats; for it was whispered in the neighbourhood, that, on quiet nights, strange, wild, unearthly sounds might still be heard issuing from that western tower, where it was said that the bad Sir Ralph killed his brother.

We crossed the flower-garden, and came round by the lime-trees at the end of the shrubbery to the turf in front of the house. As I looked up at the turrets, dim and indistinct in the gathering gloom, I thought of Maud coming

"Glimmering through the laurels, At the quiet evenfall, In the garden, by the turrets

Of the old manorial hall."

The Doctor led us through the porch, up a long flight of steps, into a room where we took off our bonnets; from whence again we proceeded up long flights of stairs, and innumerable passages, till we entered a large corridor, at the further end of which was the ball-room. At our first entrance my eyes were dazzled with the blaze of light which they encountered. As they recovered, I began to perceive that the hall was beautifully decorated with flowers-the work, we were told by the Doctor, of the inmates themselves. There were rows of benches round the room, on which those patients who were not dancing were seated. Of course, no one was allowed to be present who was not quiet and well-behaved. They were at a quadrille when we entered. The steps of some of the dancers were certainly rather peculiar, and several grotesque figures caught my eye; whilst among them, The distance between Ecclesford and the on the other hand, there were very many Asylum seemed very short that night. The persons whom no one would have believed air was so cool and pleasant after the heat to be insane, they were so self-possessed of the day, and the perfume of the wild and quiet. We had not been many moroses in the hedges so sweet, that I felt ments in the room, when a good-looking, quite sorry when we reached the lodge gate, gentlemanly man came up, and made some and Harry had to stop the old ballad he was observation to my uncle. I did not hear repeating to me. We were let in by an old what he said, but my uncle smiled, and porter-such a curious shrivelled-up speci-entered into conversation with him. They

and Charlie's overhearing him, and saying, laughingly, that the party spoken of in that poem was on her way to church, whereas I was on my way to a lunatic asylum-a fact which was certainly natural enough, but which rendered the verse inappropriate.

talked on different subjects-the state of the
country, &c., &c. After some time my
uncle was called away, and the gentleman
advanced to me, and asked me how I liked
the ball. I thought he had mistaken me
for some one else, but I did not like to tell
him so, and simply answered, that I liked it
very much.
"Yes," said he, "it is plea-
sant to see the poor people enjoying them-
selves. But, speaking of asylums, did you
ever hear the story of the lunatic who had
escaped from one, and was walking across
the country, when he came to a large build-
ing. He stopped, and asked a man who was
passing, what it was. 'A mad-house, Sir,'
was the reply. You're wrong, then, my
man,' said the lunatic, for it's not the
house that's mad, but the people that are in
it." And, laughing at his own story, the
gentleman left me. "Who is that?" asked
I, of Dr. White; "surely he is not a
patient ?"

"Indeed he is, and has some very odd notions. But here comes our Queen."

Up came a woman wonderfully dressed, with a large red turban wound round her head. She shook hands with the Doctor in the most empressé way.

"I hope your Majesty is well, to-night," said he, with a low bow. "I have taken the liberty of bringing a few friends to see you."

She turned to us with a most condescending air, saying, "I am always happy to see any friends of yours, Doctor White;" and taking the slice of cake which she held in her hand, she broke it into minute fragments, and handed one to each of us, with a gracious smile. Then she turned, and sailed away.

"That is Mary, Queen of Scots! I can assure you, young ladies, we are very aristocratic here. That man leaning yonder is James the Second; he is in a bad humour tonight, for his rival monarch, Queen Mary, is monopolizing the public attention."

At that moment some one touched me, and, looking round, I saw an old woman with what seemed to be a large tower on her head, composed of layers of caps of different kind. She pointed to where the queen was, talking to some of her subjects, and said, in a tone of the most supreme contempt, "Look at her, she is quite mad!" "Do you see that man crossing the room on tiptoe?" said the Doctor, smiling. "He thinks that he is made entirely of silver, and walks carefully, lest he should break himself."

"Oh, Doctor White! are you not imposing on us ?"

"No, my dear young ladies, it is quite true; he threatens to strike any one who ventures to touch him, he is so afraid of being tarnished."

There was a girl whom I watched for a long time. She was standing leaning against the opposite wall, looking dreamily at a bouquet in her hand. She could not have been more than seventeen, and was very pretty, with a soft melancholy expres sion on her sweet face. Her hair fell round her neck in long thick curls; she was simply and tastefully dressed. I called Dr. White's attention to her, and asked if she was really a patient. There came a shade over his benevolent face as he looked at her, and replied, "Yes, poor thing, she is." At that instant she raised her eyes, perceived us, crossed over quickly to the place where we were standing, and said, in a low, quick voice, "If you please, Dr. White, I must go to B- to-night; I must, indeed."

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What, my dear? would you go away, and leave us?" said he, in his kind, fatherly way.

She laid her small hand on his arm, looked up in his face, with a wistful look in her large eyes, and said, "I will be very sorry to leave you all, but I must go."

"But it is too late, to-night; won't you wait for another day?"

"Very well, I'll go to-morrow;" and she walked back to her former position.

"Oh, surely she will get well," said I "wont she?"

He shook his head gravely. Oh, how that sad sweet face haunted me all the evening! In whatever part of the room I was, I could not help turning, again and again, to look at the slight, drooping figure, of that poor young girl.

"I will show you another lovely face," said the Doctor, leading me up the room. "There, look at that lady seated in the armchair."

"That old lady, with the silver hair? Oh, what a very beautiful face! How like it is to that picture of the Madonna, at Ecclesford, though, of course, older looking."

Her's is a strange history. She is happy and contented here, for she has quite lost her memory. It would be a blessed thing if that poor young woman you saw were like her, in that respect."

Soon after this, Uncle made a move to leave, and we were retiring from the ballroom, when that girl came up, and, placing her flowers in my hand, turned quickly away, before I could thank her. I have

those flowers still, I could not have thrown | Ellie caught my hand; her face was very them away.

Cousin Ellie and I were a little in advance of the others. She was telling me some interesting facts about the patients, when she suddenly stopped, and looked round her. "Amy! where are we?" as young ladies always say, when recovering from faints. "Surely, this was the flight we came up and yet I don't remember that stained window; do you?"

"No; I think we have gone wrong; let us go along this passage. I think I heard the voices of the others there, a few moments ago."

"How stupid of me, to forget my way! Come along.'

And so, away we went, up one stair and down another, as soon as we came to the end of the passage, entering another the very same in appearance. We were getting quite bewildered and frightened. What if one of those doors should open, and some furious madman pounce upon us? This was a most uncomfortable idea. What were we to do? Where was the clue by which we were to escape from this per plexing labyrinth? At last we came to a pause, and looked at each other in silence. "I think we are too far down; let us go up that long flight," said Ellie, at length.

Up we went, till we could go no further, for the flight terminated in a broad landing place. "What are we to do now, Ellie? Shall I knock at that door?" said Í, going forward to it.

"Stop, Amy-I hear a step below;" and she looked down. "Oh, Amy, look! look!" I looked quickly, and saw, standing below, one of the patients whom I had noticed in the ball-room, and in whose eyes I had remarked especially a strange wild light, peculiar to the insane.

We stood motionless, watching him. He was standing as if uncertain whether to turn to the left, or come up the stairs which led to us. At the moment, as Ellie stooped over the bannisters, one of her hair-pins dropped from her head, and fell with a tinkling sound on the stone at his feet. He looked up, saw us, and then began slowly to ascend, looking stealthily at us from time to time with his glittering eyes.

Ellie flew to the door behind her, and knocked. No answer. She knocked again -louder-louder-still there was no sound within. She turned the handle, and then shook it with all her strength. The door was locked!

We could do nothing now but await his coming. I stood fascinated with terror.

white, and her lips pressed close together. Nearer and nearer came that slow step up the stairs. There was only one short flight between us now.

Suddenly, we heard voices and rapid footsteps below. Another moment, and the Doctor came running up, followed by Uncle and Harry. The madman stopped, and turned towards them. The Doctor looked at him; and then, putting his arm in his, led him away.

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Girls, girls, what did you mean by running away? A pretty chase you have led us, ," said Uncle, as soon as he could speak. But, poor dears, how white you look! Ellie, take my arm, child. Harry, take care of Amy."

66

What a storm of questions, reproaches, caresses, were showered upon Ellie and me, when we joined the rest; and how glad we were to get fairly outside the porch, out into the fresh air again.

I quite forgot about the fright, in a very short time, listening to all that Harry had to tell me about the insane, and how differently they were treated now from what they were in the days of chains and scourging. But we did not talk all the time about mad people. It was very pleasant walking home through the quiet lanes, beneath the dark blue sky, where the tiny stars sat smiling at us from their golden thrones. I remember that as we were crossing the bridge, and looking down at the moonbeams playing on the quiet water, a nightingale broke forth into a flood of song from the branches of the weeping willow on the river side. I don't know that I would have remembered this, unless Harry had spoken about it.

So we reached home, and I put my flowers carefully in water. I lay long awake that night. I felt almost ashamed of being so happy, when I compared my bright future with the future of that poor young girl.

*

*

*

*

Last year, when I visited Ecclesford, I asked Aunt if she was still there, and Aunt told me that she had died some weeks before.

"Sleep sound, beloved, we sometimes say, But have no power to charm away

Sad dreams, that through the eyelids creep; But, never doleful dream again Shall break the happy slumber, when

He giveth His beloved sleep."

THERE is this difference between hatred and

pity: pity is a thing often avowed, seldom felt; hatred is a thing often felt, seldom avowed,

MISS BAILLY OF INVERNESS. LORD Loudon, lieutenant-general in the service of King George, and colonel of a regiment of Highlanders, being at Inverness, with about two thousand regular troops, the Prince Charles intended to await the arrival of the other columns before approaching_nearer to that town. In the mean time, Lord Loudon formed the project of seizing, by surprise, the person of the Prince, who could have no suspicion of any attempt of the kind, conceiving himself in perfect security at Moy; and his lordship would have succeeded in this design, but for the intervention of that invisible Being who frequently chooses to manifest his power, in overturning the best contrived schemes of feeble mortals. His lordship, at three o'clock in the afternoon, posted guards and a chain of sentinels, all around Inverness, both within and without the town, with positive orders not to suffer any person to leave it, on any pretext whatever, or whatever the rank of the person might be. He ordered, at the same time, fifteen hundred men to hold themselves in readiness to march at a moment's warning; and having assembled this body of troops without noise, and without alarming the inhabitants, he put himself at their head, and instantly set off, planning his march so as to arrive at the castle of Moy at eleven o'clock at night. While some English officers were drinking in the house of Mrs. Bailly, an innkeeper in Inverness, and passing the time till the hour of their departure, her daughter, a girl of about thirteen or fourteen years of age, who happened to wait on them, paid great attention to their conversation, and from certain expressions dropped from them, she discovered their designs. As soon as this generous girl was certain as to their intentions, she immediately left the house, escaped from the town, notwithstanding the vigilance of the sentinels, and took the road to Moy, running as fast as she was able, without shoes or stockings, which to accelerate her progress she had taken off, in order to inform the Prince of the danger that menaced him. She reached Moy, quite out of breath, before Lord Loudon; and the Prince with difficulty escaped, in his robede-chambre, nightcap, and slippers, to the neighbouring mountains, where he passed the night in concealment. This dear girl, to whom the Prince owed his life, was in great danger of losing her own from her excessive fatigue on this occasion; but by the care and attentions she experienced, her health was re-established.

THE FIRST DISCOVERER OF AUSTRALIAN GOLD.

IN January, 1849, a shepherd went to Mr. Charles Brentani's shop at Melbourne, and offered for sale a piece of quartz, thickly interspersed with gold. "A great many questions were naturally asked, and, in reply, he described himself as a shepherd upon a station in the Pyrenees, in which locality he had picked up the gold; he added that he knew where there was plenty more to be procured. Mr. Brentani obtained the assistance of two working jewellers, Duchene and Forrester, and had a proper assay made. The mass was found to be pure gold, and the shepherd, who gave his name as Chapman, was sent for and fed and clothed by Mr. Brentani, who listened in amazement to the description which was given by his lodger of the auriferous regions of the Pyrenees. Excited by dreams of treasure, he planned an expedition that, in company with the lucky shepherd, should proceed to the spot. The party left Melbourne with the utmost secrecy, taking with them a dray which they proposed to fill with gold. M. Duchene returned to Melbourne some time after; it appeared that his more knowing companions had, according to his statement, given him the slip, not desiring that he should share in their good fortune; but this account did not appear satisfactory to Mrs. Brentani, who seemed to have a pretty good guess of the errand her husband had gone out upon, and in her alarm for his safety, she charged Duchene with having taken away his life; and, to save himself, he made a full disclosure of all the particulars. So far from allaying the terror of Mrs. Brentani, these facts only increased it, and Duchene, who was a Frenchman, would most likely have been incarcerated upon the charge of murder had not Brentani and the party opportunely returned. The public curiosity was naturally excited by the strange disclosures which had been made, but all inquiries for a while were avoided. The party, however, had picked up two large nuggets weighing upwards of twenty ounces each. But the most extraordinary part of the affair was, that Chapman had disappeared. How, or under what circumstances, it is impossible to say, as the whole story is involved in mystery. That the gold was found in the place indicated by him appears certain, and it is to this strange individual, therefore, that we are indebted for it—but he never again reappeared on the public stage.

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