imitate all the natural conditions, and when we cannot estimate the effect of those omitted, only direct observation will instruct us in the best methods. Now, if my experience and that of the friend spoken of, a gentleman of high scientific attainments, can warrant a conclusion, it is one unequivocally in favour of sunlight. The anemones are the best tests, because they seek obscurity in a state of nature; yet morning after morning I observe them closed until placed in the direct rays of the sun, when the oxygen bubbles begin to hang like jewels among the weeds, and the anemones expand their tentacles, rejoicing in the stimulus. To syringe the water is also an excellent

plan-and not taxing to your energies, mental or physical. Of course the sun must not be allowed to make the water tepid; the blind should be drawn down as the sun approaches the meridian. But you will have no difficulty in ascertaining the amount of exposure which is beneficial; all I wish to intimate, is the advantage of direct sunlight as a stimulus. And now, like the Gracioso in the Spanish plays, I step forward to the footlights, lay my right hand on the place under which popular anatomy supposes the heart to be, and persuasively exclaim :

"Con que fin el autor da
A esta historia verdadera ;
Sus defectos perdonad."

ON a bit of English lawn-under the shadow of some half-dozen of those benevolent and magnanimous trees, which do not refuse to grow to their full height and flourish in their full verdure amidst all the dust and noise of London-the sober September sunshine falls at this present writing upon one of the oddest and most picturesque groups that ever delighted a painter's fancy. Through the leaves one catches continual gleams of colour-colour which has not the shallow brightness of European dyes, but rich full tones, subdued and tempered in the glowing looms of the East-and masses of dazzling white, which bear as little resemblance to the airy feminine draperies which we are accustomed to see, as they do to anything in the sombre suit of English wear. Then those dark figures-slender, straight, and supple-gliding about singly, with something of a tragic stride, gathering in graceful groups upon the grass, or squatting in a knot upon the dry gravel, which safe seat they prudently prefer to the softer and damper greensward; the black elflocks, the turbaned heads of some, the minute white skull-caps and immenge muffling veil in which the hea shoulders of others are bright-coloured sliplegs and arms of

ensemble more animated, strange, and curious than any which London streets or London sightseers have seen for many a day. The scene altogether reminds one something of the old picturesque accounts of "Muscovy ambassadors," in days long prior to the time when Muscovite diplomates and soldiers began to be linguists and cosmopolitans, and of wild Czar Peter driving his coach over Evelyn's trim hedges at Saye's Court. But these orderly and good-humoured heathens ride down no hedges; on the contrary, they bear the observations of a continual mob around their gates with perfect temper and friendliness-exhibit enviable mouthfuls of white teeth in the broadest smiles-shake cordial hands with their tormentors

make friends with the very boys, happily unaware of their unintelligible "chaffing," and turn admiring looks upon the rosy wondering English babies-bright little groups from the adjacent park, brought here to stare and marvel, whose strange infant beauty seems to touch some universal chord of nature in the strangers' hearts. It is pretty to see the dark liquid Indian eyes brighten at sight of the Saxon bloom of the little children and throws a certain sentiment of ness even upon the curious, ano means courteous, crowd. use which contains these

picturesque draperies, and bound on their old-world romantic mission, one would suppose them scarcely out of place at those gorgeous ceremonies lately enacted at that old capital of the North, where the young Emperor might, if he would, signalise his beginning of empire after the old princely fashion by granting a kingdom to a woman's prayer; but Heaven save the poor souls where Lords and Commons, Chancellors and Courts of Law, even the Times and public opinion, are more omnipotent than king or kaiser-where Una herself, were she in presence, instead of claiming a knight, must fee a barrister-and where there is nothing but a gaping crowd to press round the door of the temporary palace, and pry into the state of the dusky queen!

In the mean time, there can be no doubt that, in these dull days, when everything but business is suspended, the establishment of the Queen of Oude is as pretty a spectacle as people imprisoned within dusty streets and walls of brick would desire to see. As many British men in hats and frock-coats, with no brightening trace of womankind among themwhat a tame crowd they would be! But not so these many-coloured Orientals, with their glowing shawls, their bright robes, their perpetual variety a variety so great, that no two figures are alike, and that the same individual, by a sudden trick of his arm, or motion half involuntary, alters his own appearance in a moment, and changes out of his identity to another man. The shawls which wrap round him loosely and gracefully," anyhow" and anywhere, shoulders, hand, or waist, as the fancy may be, and the great white enveloping veil, one of the most original of vestments, older than the plaid of the Highlander or the blanket of the Arab, the primary use of which seems to be, to shield the head from the stroke of that sun which does not shine in England,- admit of innumerable changes, and a constant and most picturesque diversity. With our formal and regulated costume, it is almost impossible to understand, without seeing it, the perfect ease of the Eastern in his flowing garments-how the end of his robe flings

over his shoulders if it chances to be in his way, or droops over his arm if it is not; how these same lithe arms slide out of the closer-fitting tunic as their pleasure serves, fastening the robe over the brown breast, and leaving the empty sleeves to dangle, by no means inelegantly, by their side; how the square white plaid, hanging over the head, coils about the neck by a rapid movement -an instantaneous disguise. The action, the ease, and the variety of these miraculous folds is quite inimitable. An English copy, we are persuaded, would elaborate this constantly-changing outline into something fixed, rigid, and systematic. Everybody must have seen some hapless townsman, Scotch or English, as the case might be, bandage himself up, like a broken limb, in a plaid, which the South-country shepherd, or Highlandman to the manner born, threw over him with a careless grace, not to be imitated; but neither the mauds of Galloway nor the tartans of Inverness would bear comparison with the "veils" of the East-and the dark faces looking out from those white mantles, the gleam of the sidelong half-savage eye, and glistening brown of the naked arms, give something wild, striking, and magical to the general effect. Even the darkcoloured tunics and loose cloaks which sometimes appear among them, turn out bits of bright lining, rich and harmonious in tone, and define themselves with lines of coloured and embroidered binding, which show the truest skill in costume, and a thorough natural aptitude for that old, old "cut of dress," which we in these days, making a virtue of necessity, hand over, as their undisputed prerogative, to our wives and sisters. We are grieved to be obliged to confess that all these pretty draperies stand somewhat in the way of ordinary occupations-that the unloading of the railway vans which conveyed the goods and chattels of these picturesque people was the most amazing scene of "muddle" we have had the fortune to see. And in the midst of all-a climax to the amusement of the bystanders-one willing member of the splendid party quietly and deliberately unwound himself, cast off his bright plumage

IF exploratory travel continues to be as popular a pursuit among the adventurous youth of our Own country as it has recently become, before the close of the century they will have exhausted the source from which so much interest and excitement is at present derived, the few geographical problems still remaining will have been solved, no portion of the earth's surface will have been unvisited, and, like the pages of a well-thumbed book, not a leaf will be left uncut.

We attribute the achievement of these important results to "the adventurous youth" of our own country, because we believe that, of late years, that rapidly-increasing class has contributed in a greater degree to geographical discovery than mere scientific men; indeed, we are well assured, that while here and there a German professor, with spectacles on nose, armed with his butterfly-net and geological hammer, may be poking into the natural history of distant lands, there are at this moment scores of our own countrymen, armed with revolvers, skimming the rivers of North America in bark canoes, rambling and scrambling across the Rocky Mountains, taking a personal inspection of the Central American difficulty, or galloping across the Pampas. Some are living on damper in the wildest bush of Australia, others sailing among South Sea Islands, shooting Himalayan pheasants or Thibetian goats, ascending Mont Blanc or Mount Ararat, journeying in Cape ox-wagons, following on the backs of uneasy camels the winding caravan across the infinite sands of Arabia, camping out on African deserts, or mayhap lying in some walled city, the prisoners of a suspicious and fanatical ruler in Central Asia. The object which has impelled these gentlemen to place themselves in these various attitudes of discomfort and danger, has, in the majority of cases, been simply "the fun of the thing —a love of adventure, which

seems to be a more powerful motive in the minds of Englishmen than a love of science, and which has the merit of increasing in intensity in exact proportion as the chances of existence diminish. That this characteristic is almost purely AngloSaxon, is proved by the fact that no other country produces a similar race of travellers. Foreigners regard with astonishment men who, with wealth and position at home, leave their own comfortable firesides to encounter unknown perils; while the contempt which we feel for so great a want of enterprise on their part, may perhaps in some measure account for that unpopularity which we enjoy abroad, arising from a dislike which is not unnaturally felt by those who shun danger towards those who court it.

We

Undoubtedly the most promising field for developing the energies of this class of our countrymen is at the present moment Africa. have no reason to complain of a want of enterprise in this direction, but still much remains to be done. Within the last few years a great deal of light has been thrown upon this interesting country. Livingston has bisected its southern extremity as far as the ninth parallel of southern latitude, and crossed over from Loando to Quillimane; Galton has discovered and lived amongst the Ovampo; Gordon Cumming has shot upon the banks of the Limpopo; Barth has navigated Lake Tchad, and spent nearly a year at unvisited Timbuctoo; Baikie has forced a steamer into the unexplored waters of the Binue; Werne has traced the White Nile to the base of snow-clad mountains; and Mansfield Parkyns has been naturalised in Tigrè; Krapf and Erhardt, from behind Zanzibar, bring us astounding news of the enormous reported extent of the unknown lake Nyassi; and Mr James Hamilton has given us an account of his explorations amid the ruins of the Cyrenaica and Agharme; while