[It was probably during this year that the little poem of "Queen Mab" was written. I think "Precocious Piggy" must have been written about the same date.

The rest of this year contains Notices of various books for the "Athenæum."]

QUEEN MAB.

A LITTLE fairy comes at night,

Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,
With silver spots upon her wings,

And from the moon she flutters down.

She has a little silver wand,

And when a good child goes to bed
She waves her wand from right to left,
And makes a circle round its head.

And then it dreams of pleasant things,
Of fountains filled with fairy fish,
And trees that bear delicious fruit
And bow their branches at a wish:

Of arbours filled with dainty scents
From lovely flowers that never fade;
Bright flies that glitter in the sun,

And glow-worms shining in the shade:

And talking birds with gifted tongues,
For singing songs and telling tales,
And pretty dwarfs to show the way
Through fairy hills and fairy dales.

But when a bad child goes to bed.

From left to right she weaves her rings,
And then it dreams all through the night
Of only ugly, horrid things!

Then lions come with glaring eyes,
And tigers growl, a dreadful noise,
And
ogres draw their cruel knives,

To shed the blood of girls and boys.

Then stormy waves rush on to drown,

Or raging flames come scorching round,
Fierce dragons hover in the air,

And serpents crawl along the ground.

Then wicked children wake and weep,
And wish the long black gloom away;
But good ones love the dark, and find
The night as pleasant as the day.

REVIEW.

THE MAID-SERVANT'S FRIEND. By a LADY BROUGHT UP AT THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL. London: Onwhyn.

THE housekeeper who peruses the above title, and then reads the work itself, will meet with an agreeable surprise. Every master and mistress in the United Kingdom knows what a maid-servant's friend is-sometimes he is a brother, sometimes a cousin (often a cousin), and sometimes a father, who really wears well and carries his age amazingly. He comes down the area, in at a window, or through a door left

ajar. Sometimes a maid-servant, like a hare, has many friends; the master of the house often, washing his hands in the back kitchen, feels behind the door for the jack-towel, and lays hold of a friend's nose-friends are shy; sometimes he breaks a friend's shins while plunging into the coalcellar for a shovel of nubblies. We speak feelingly, our own abode having been once turned into a Friends' Meetinghouse, a fact we became aware of through a smoky chimney, but a chimney will smoke when there is a journeyman baker up it.

Having perused the little book, a work of all work, by a lady brought up at the Foundling, and having an earnest desire to "put our houses in order," we determined to set our establishment upon the lady's footing, and to act ourselves, and make our servants act, as though our conduct was in print. We confess we are not quite satisfied with the results -a few of which our readers shall know. They are of course our masters, and we are naturally anxious, like all good servants, to give them warning.

Touching Fires. The following are the lady's directions:—

"When a fire happens give an instant alarm. Beware of opening doors, windows, &c., to increase the fire by a current of air. Endeavour to remain as collected as possible. See that the family are assembled, and that none are missing. First save lives, then property. Think of the ways of escape-by the stairs if no better way. Creep along a room where the fire is, and creep down stairs backwards on hands and knees (heated air ascends), come down stairs with a pillow before your face and a wet blanket round the body, hold your breath, or try the roof of an adjoining house. Throw out of the window a feather-bed to leap upon in the last extremity; fasten fire-escapes to the bed-posts; first send children down by a sack fastened to a rope, taking care of the iron spikes and area; then lower yourself."

We got our new servant to work the foregoing problem, as she is strange to the ways of the house. She did creep down stairs backward on her hands and knees as advised,

but for want of a good look out, took a wrong turn and escaped into the coal-skuttle. She then returned and tried the front way, with a pillow before her face and a wet blanket round her body, and would, no doubt, have had a lumbago if she had walked straight into the flames. Again she returned, with unwearied industry, and stepped on to the roof of the next house,-but it turned out that there was no next house, and she gave over any further attempt at escape. The footman fastened fire-escapes to the bed-posts, the consequence of which was, that the house was gutted by two gentlemen of easy honesty-servants' friends, no doubt. The children were carefully let down in a sack as directed, but the servant "lowered herself" by carefully balancing them, into the burning parlour, in her care to avoid the spikes.

Touching Thieves. The book says,

...

"On Sundays, during Divine service, when the family are at church, it is extremely dangerous to open the door to any one that knocks. . . . I would therefore advise you to answer all strangers who may come at that time from the area or an upper window. . . Let no person who is not well known to you enter the house, either when you are alone in it, or early in the morning before the family have risen. These villains sometimes come as footmen, with a message from some person whose name they make use of; sometimes as porters, with a basket from an inn, with a present from the country; . . but whatever their pretences be, let them wait-it is preferable to appear uncivil than by your carelessness expose your master and mistress to be robbed, and yourself probably ill-treated."

.

On a given Sunday, our servant Sally acted as per advice. The consequences were, that on returning from church, we were refused admittance into our own house-a friend's invitation to an agreeable Literary Dinner was not taken in ; and a couple of ducks and a goose from the Swan with Two Necks were refused. A young man, however, was let in, who was well known to her, and he quitted the house with a

VOL. VI.

20

dozen tablespoons and a soup-ladle. There are many wholesome warnings against what Winifred Jenkins calls the mail sex, whether master, lodger, or apprentice; but there is an unaccountable omission of the New Police-those friends of social order and servant-maids. Neither are the wily arts of bakers' men, glaziers, or butchers sufficiently guarded against, who get so frequently into the hearts of housemaids, and leave them again without a month's warning. We would advise their introduction in the next edition.

For the rest, "this little book," as the lady says, “must speak for itself"-or in other words, give itself a written character. We heartily recommend it to be read and studied by every maid-servant, that is to say, when every maidservant can read-and that the trouble of the perusal be "considered in their wages." Sincerely, also, do we join in the confident anticipation that "the noblemen and gentlemen who preside over the Fire Insurance Companies will feel a pleasure in giving publicity to a work" which recommends, in cases of house-warming, the creeping down stairs backwards on the hands and knees-and that, by way of "making assurance doubly sure," they will befriend the servant-maids by furnishing each with an appropriate brazen badge to be worn on the occasion.