formerly much used. According to Albertus Magnus, the right eye of a hedgehog fried in oil, and kept in a brass vessel, imparts a virtue to the oil, so that when used as an ointment to the eye, it imparts such a wonderful clearness of vision, as to enable a person to see as well by night as by day! The fat is still believed by our country-folks to be very efficacious in deafness, and many a hedgehog falls a martyr to the delusion.

We were about taking leave of our hero without saying a word about his domestic relations. He chooses his mate early in the spring, and it is said remains constant to her during the season; but they must be very knowing people who can speak positively upon such a delicate subject. She usually produces from two to four at a time. When first born, they are very pretty little animals, with soft white spines and hanging ears. As they approach maturity, the thorns become harder and darker, and the ears become erect.

THE MISER OF MARSEILLE. MARSEILLE is a city of fountains, and has a fine aqueduct, almost entirely subterranean, by which pure water is brought from the little rivers Huveaume and Juvet. But this was not always the case. Look back with me many, many years, and I will shew you how ill it used to be supplied with water, and how in the fulness of time it came to be otherwise.

Once upon a time-I know not the exact date-there dwelt at Marseille a man named Guyot, with his wife and one son. They were but humble people; and at the time my narrative begins, the child lay sick of a fever, his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth, and his little hot hand pressed to his still hotter forehead, while he ceased not to cry in a plaintive tone for a draught of water.

'Alas, my child,' said Madame Guyot, in reply to his moaning, 'you know I have told you already the cistern is empty. Not a drop of water have I in the house, and I fear all our neighbours are as badly off as ourselves. See, take a draught of milk; I have nought else to give you.'

'But, mother, it is not like water,' replied the boy: 'it makes me only the more thirsty, and almost chokes me, it seems so thick; while water is so cold, and refreshes me for a long time. But, alas! you have none to give me. If it would but rain, for I am burning! Oh, if I were rich, I would care little for the finest wines, if I had but plenty of fresh, pure, cold water.'

Madame Guyot, with true maternal love, strove to pacify the young sufferer; and having succeeded in partially relieving his cravings by means of a draught of water, which a kind neighbour, scarcely better off than herself, sent by the hand of her little daughter, he at length slept. Even in his dreams, however, the memory of his feverish longings haunted him; and his plaintive cry for water at oft-recurring intervals brought tears to the mother's eyes; and she trod softly, dreading to awaken the boy, lest by so doing she should also awaken his desires to greater activity, when she knew she was without the means of satisfying them.

Seven years later, and the fever-stricken boy has grown into a fine thoughtful youth of sixteen. No longer dependent on his parents, the young Jacques Guyot cheerfully performed his part in gaining a living. One evening, after his return from work, as Madame Guyot was busily engaged in placing the evening meal on the table, she said to her son: Jacques, you must be content with less than your usual quantity of water to-night, for again the cistern is nearly dry.'

'I am sorry for that, mother,' replied Jacques; 'but though we have often since been very scarce of water,

at least we have never wanted it so badly as when I had the fever."

'O Jacques, can you ever forget that?' 'Never, mother. No day passes, but the torture I suffered then for a draught of water comes into my mind; and I envy no man his wealth in anything save his more abundant supply of that one good gift. Is there no way of relieving this want by which the poor of Marseille suffer so much, and so often?'

'It is just because the poor are those who suffer that they must continue to do so: wealth might remedy the evil,' answered his father. 'How so?' asked Jacques.

'Easily enough. Only let an aqueduct be constructed to bring pure water from a distant river.' 'And what would that cost, think you, father?' 'More money than you could count, my son,' replied the elder Guyot; so let us to our supper before it is as cold as the water you are always dreaming about.'

The meal over, Jacques wandered in the garden thoughtful and silent, but not unnoticed by his parents. They conversed together in an undertone about the extraordinary manner in which his mind dwelt on the one night of suffering from thirst so long gone by.

'It is strange,' said Madame Guyot, how the lad is always thinking of it. I quite feared to tell him how little water we have left to-night, for it seems to grieve and trouble him so much; not for ourselves alone, but lest some unfortunate should have to bear sufferings like those he experienced seven years ago.' 'Well,' replied the father, even that is not the chief object of his anxiety.'

"Why, surely he does not fancy himself in love yet!' said Madame Guyot in an accent of alarm. Our neighbour's daughter, Madeline, casts sheep's eyes at him, I know, young as he is; and Jacques often tells her how like a little angel she seemed to him when her mother made her the bearer of that draught of water. But it is doubtless only nonsense, for he is still a boy, and she a full year younger.'

"I was not thinking of Madeline, wife,' replied Monsieur Guyot: 'in my opinion, Jacques loves something else better than all the little damsels in the world-I mean money. He is always hoarding every sou he can collect, and trying, by all sorts of extra services, to earn more than his daily wages; and I almost fear our son will turn miser, since he spends nothing he can avoid.'

'Oh, if that be the case, he is doubtless thinking of some girl, and trying to save against the time when he is old enough to marry; but he is a good youth,' added Madame Guyot, brushing a tear from her eye at the thought of having a rival in the love of her only child.

'Ah, wife,' said her husband, you are almost jealous of little Madeline; but remember, you cannot expect to keep this one lamb of yours always by your side; and I say, that if the thought of having some day to provide for a wife makes the lad so saving, I for one am well content."

The return of Jacques here stopped the conversation. Hours after his parents were at rest, the youth sat by the lattice in his little chamber. A luxuriant vine hung over the casement, and, waving backwards and forwards in the moonlight, cast fantastic shadows on the wall. Little knew the parents of Jacques by what strong feelings he was actuated, though both were in part right, the father when speaking of his almost miserly habits, the mother in believing that her son loved Madeline.

The youth possessed one of those thoughtful natures which become old too soon; and those who wonder at love in a boy of sixteen, must remember that in southern France the blood runs warmer than in our

spent; his present home was an old and roomy house, built with a degree of strength which defied any attempt at entrance, unsanctioned by the will of its occupant; at least without a degree of force being used, which must inevitably have led to discovery. Here, then, dwelt Jacques Guyot quite alone. But far worse than alone was he when absent from his house, for the evil repute in which he was held was such, that as he walked, the little children ran shouting after him: "There goes Guyot. See the wretched miser, how thin he is! He grudges himself food to make himself fat, and clothes to cover his lean old body.' Then the mischievous urchins would cast stones at Jacques, and load him with insults, unchecked by their parents. But even this was not the worst. One day he met a friend, or at least he had been such in youth, and whom he had not seen for many a long year. For the moment, Jacques forgot his rags and his isolation-it was so long since a kindly word had been bestowed on him, and oh! how he yearned to win it. Eagerly he advanced, with an indescribable gleam of joy lighting his pinched features; but his former comrade shrank back, holding up his hands, as if to forbid his nearer approach, saying, as he did so: 'I will not hold communion with a thing like you. Did you not love thy money better than her who ought to be your wife? but you suffered a stranger to carry her away, and now the accursed thing is dearer to you than yourself, though you have neither child nor kin to whom to leave it. Away! touch me not!'

Another trial came still later, and it was the hardest of all. A portly dame, elderly, but still fresh and comely-looking, and with a fair daughter by her side, passed leisurely along the streets of Marseille. They seemed to be new arrivals; but the elder one was evidently no stranger, for she pointed out to her daughter various changes which had been made of late. Jacques Guyot looked earnestly at the girl, for her features brought vividly to his mind those of the object of his one love-dream, and as he came near, he heard her mother call her Madeline. Another glance, and he recognised the elder female as the Madeline of his youth. Though so many years had gone over his head, his pale face was in a moment flushed. Again he forgot the curses and the stones daily showered around him; the vision of the brighteyed child, with the little treasured pitcher in her hand was before him, and he too was for an instant young; but for how brief an instant! Madeline, even in her distant home, had heard of the miser Guyot, who heaped up wealth, though with none to share it, and denied even the smallest aid to the miserable, though surrounded with gold. Even at that moment, too, she heard the taunts of the passers-by; so, gathering her skirts closely around her, as though his very touch would poison, she swept by with such a look of scorn as rooted the miser to the spot, and brought back the sense of his loneliness more terribly than ever.

from those around him, he asked from the same Almighty source strength to 'endure to the end.'

A very old man was Jacques Guyot when the end came, but he met it with joy and hope, for he had lived long enough to finish his self-imposed task. Stretched upon his wretched pallet, he smiled and talked to himself. Ah, Jacques,' said he, they will never more call thee accursed. The last stone has been cast at thy worthless carcass, for worthless it may well be called, since even the worms will scarcely be able to banquet on the scanty covering of thy old bones. But, oh, what joy to think the miser has not lived in vain! And thou, too,' said he, taking in his hand Madeline's little pitcher, 'well hast thou performed thy part. Though but a thing of clay, the sight of thee has reminded me each day and hour that, having given up her to whom thou didst once belong, no greater sacrifice could be demanded from me; and more than that-it ever brought before me the memory of the one pressing want which inspired the resolution God has in his goodness given me strength to fulfil. I will indulge just one weakness, and having taken my last draught from thee, no other lip shall touch thee.' So saying, he drank the water it contained, and gathering all his remaining strength, shivered it to atoms. One hour after, and the miser lay dead. Only lifeless clay, senseless as that shivered by his last act, now remained of Jacques Guyot.

As soon as he was missed from his daily haunts, the propriety of examining his dwelling suggested itself to the towns-people, for there were many who would not touch him while living, who would gladly have acted as his executors. Fancy, then, the crowd around the door-the forcible entrance-the curious ransacking each room till they at last stood beside all that remained of the object of their bitter loathing. The authorities of the town, who led the way, took possession of a sealed paper, which Jacques, ere he lay down to die, had placed in a conspicuous position. It was his will, duly executed, and contained these words: 'Having observed from my youth that the poor of Marseille are ill supplied with water, which can be procured for them only at a great cost, I have cheerfully laboured all my life to gain them this great blessing, and I bequeath all I possess to be spent in building an aqueduct for their use.'

Jacques had told the truth. The curses turned into blessings, and his death made a city full of selfreproaching mourners. Many a man has won the name of hero by one gallant deed; but he who made a conquest of a city by the continued heroism of a long life, methinks deserves the name indeed. And thus I have told you to whom the inhabitants of Marseille owe their aqueduct.

SEDENTARY OCCUPATIONS. HEALTH is the greatest of earthly blessings with health a peasant may be rich, for he may be content; and without it, a Croesus may be miserable in the midst of his gold. And yet this inestimable gift is daily and hourly flung away, as if, like money, it was of use only when spent; or as if its preservation was not worth the cost of a little reflection and selfdenial. It is our purpose hereafter to bring before the readers of this Journal some plain and simple observations relating to the preservation of health; but we would now attempt to explain, in a popular way, why sedentary employments are so generally injurious, and to offer some suggestions, by attending to which, our sedentary brethren may avoid in a great degree the mischievous consequences now too often found attending their pursuits.

system. Experience amply proves that vegetable food will sustain the human frame in strength and vigour. Beyond a certain point, it is not so much what we eat, as our power of digesting and assimilating it, on which our physical strength depends. As regards food and air, we are, most of us, dependent on circumstances; and we shall presume that those for whom we write eat such wholesome food as they can procure, breathe the air such as they find it, and can exercise no great power of choice in either of these particulars. It is, then, to the third condition of health-namely, a regular and equable flow of blood to every part of the system -that we shall chiefly confine ourselves, because sedentary occupations interfere directly with this condition; and much may be done, by a little care and forethought, to counteract their injurious tendency.

Man is naturally calculated to sustain, when in health, severe and continuous labour. This, his natural condition, provides for the uniform circulation of which we speak; but when he spends the greater part of his time in bodily inaction, and more especially when at the same time his mind is at work, then, in two different ways, the great rule of health is violated.

It is an ascertained fact, that when any portion of the animal economy is called into action, it is subjected to immediate waste, and requires an immediate succour in the form of an increased supply of the vital fluid. Thus, the engagement of the eyes and brain in sedentary pursuits, tends directly to that state of fulness in the blood-vessels of the head, which, when in excess, is called congestion, and becomes a most dangerous, and too often fatal malady. We say 'in excess,' because, upon the principles just now laid down, an extra flow of blood to those parts is necessary at certain times, and it rests with ourselves to keep it within proper bounds. Now, if we take a healthy man, after half an hour's moderate exercise in the open air, as a type of the human frame in its best state, we shall find that the large muscular lower limbs are receiving-are, in fact, at any given moment in possession of a very large proportion of his blood. Such is by no means the case when the same person has been sitting a couple of hours at a table or desk, especially if exposed to a low temperature. This blood must flow somewhere; and a good deal of it goes to the head-not only what is necessary, as we have supposed-but more than that, and thus a tendency to congestion is established. If all which is withdrawn from the lower limbs crowded at once to the head, the consequences would be immediately fatal, as apoplexy or paralysis would be thereby induced. But nature takes means to prevent this, and the internal organs have their share of the superfluity. They are thus 'engorged' and oppressed, and a tendency to disease is engendered in them also. Such are the effects of those conditions of body in which the equable flow of the circulation through every part alike is compromised.

The great object, then, should be the maintenance of the desirable state of equilibrium which we have supposed above; and failing that, we should aim at as near an approach to it as it is possible to attain. For these ends, it will be well to attend to the following simple rules:

Avoid study as much as you can during the first periods of digestion. The eyes and stomach are both supplied with nerves from the same branch, and the employment of the eyes in reading or writing soon after eating deranges digestion, and throws the whole system out of gear. All who transgress this law, will have a reckoning to pay sooner or later. Avoid the sitting posture as much as possible. This may be done by using a standing-desk for reading and writing, and transferring your work to it now and then. If this cannot be done, get up occasionally, and take a few turns up and down the room; or even stand up and sit down again. If your feet are cold, let your walk!

be on the toes-springing on them, as is done in dancing -a most excellent winter exercise for the sedentary. If need be, wrap your feet and legs in some warm garment when you resume your seat: an old cloak or dressing-gown will do. It is far better to use a hotwater footstool-anything rather than submit to cold feet. You may as well expect to live without air or food, as to enjoy health unless you can contrive to counteract a tendency to cold feet, if you are unfortunate enough to suffer from it.

Never imagine that you are doing yourself justice, if you do not walk as much each day as can be done without absolute fatigue. What this may be, will vary according to age, state of health, &c.; but, as a rule, it may be laid down, that a slight feeling of lassitude is about the best measure you can have. The healthy will only increase their debility by attempting long 'constitutional walks' beyond their powers, and without proper training. Great mistakes are made here by young men in their summer excursions, from which they often return with the seeds of jaundice and fever lurking in their constitutions, in consequence of overheating, chilling, and over-exertion.

Sedentary persons should feed moderately, and avoid fermented liquors as much as possible, especially if of a naturally sanguineous temperament. Those who are naturally pallid and dyspeptic should use a more generous diet, eating a moderate quantity at each repast, and above all things, avoiding that disturbance of the digestive process which is the result of application to study soon after eating. An excellent drink for such persons is bitter beer with a dash of soda-water into it, in the proportion of about 'half-and-half.'

This is by no means a complete system; but it contains nothing which may not be profitably put in practice by the sedentary. They should also avoid small print in reading, small hand in writing, and insufficient or too glaring light at all times.

ARTIFICER-SOLDIERS.

THE Royal Sappers and Miners have now merged into the corps of Royal Engineers. When this useful and distinguished branch of the service was first formed, it consisted of only sixty-eight men, under the designation of the Soldier-artificer Company. In 1813, when the name of the corps was changed to that of the Royal Sappers and Miners, it numbered about 3000 men; and in 1856, when the Sappers ceased to be distinguished from the Engineers, their total force was over 4000. Up to the latter date, the corps was officered by the Engineers, and was, latterly, divided into thirty-two companies, of which twenty-eight were devoted to general service, four being set aside for the national surveys. There was also a small troop of drivers attached to the corps. About two years ago,* we drew attention to the remarkable history of these military artificers, written by one of themselves— Mr Connolly, now quarter-master of the Engineers. Mr Connolly's work was sui generis-a picturesque biographical history, setting forth the leading incidents in the lives of the different members of the corps, with singular impartiality, privates coming in for mention equally with their superiors. The work seems to have proved the success which its merits entitled its writer to expect; and we have it now before us in a second edition, with considerable additions, including minute details of the various operations in which the Sappers were engaged in the Crimea, as well as some fresh notes on the achievements of the survey-companies.

In the Crimea the corps had constantly to work under the fire of the enemy. Read this account of the formation of the double sap between the two

* June 23, 1855, No. 77.