COTTAGE, TOWN, AND WINDOW GARDENING.

LTHOUGH March is generally very windy and boisterous, it is at the same time one of the most important months of the year for the gardener. Vegetation of all kinds is now recovering from its winter sleep, and beginning its new growth; and advantage must be taken of every opportunity to forward planting and sowing.

Plant hardy perennials and biennials in the open border. The following are a few of the

more

In

common:-Sweetwilliams, wallflowers, pinks, carnations, bachelor's buttons, scarlet lychnis, rockets, campanulas, columbines, Canterbury bells, foxgloves, snapdragons, iris, primroses, polyanthus, auriculas, double daisies, London pride, violets, hearts'-ease, etc. planting them, remember to place the smaller sorts in the front, so that they may not be hid by the taller-growing flowers. Give water at first planting, and afterwards occasionally, in dry weather, till the plants are well rooted. Sow the seeds of hardy annuals in the open ground. In sowing, be careful to break the earth fine, and do not sow either too thick or too deep.

Tender annuals, to bloom from June to October, may also be sown, but will require a slight hotbed. Make the hotbed about two feet high, with a few inches of mould on the top of the dung. Sow the seed in the mould, and cover it with a garden-frame or hand-glass. Oiled paper would make a tolerable substitute for glass. China asters do well grown this way; and French and African marigolds, amaranthus, sweet scabious, balsams, marvel of Peru, etc. Take cuttings of chrysanthemums. Box edgings may still be planted, and evergreen shrubs of every description. At the end of the month ivy should be trained and

trimmed, and the growth on walls, etc., reduced to one regular felt or layer of shoots. Look to honeysuckles and other climbing plants, and train them properly. Loosen, with a hoe or spade, the surface of the beds and borders, being careful not to damage the shoots from bulbous roots, etc., just breaking through the earth. Clear away all decayed leaves, plants, weeds, and every other sort of rubbish, and let the borders be raked neat and smooth.

Vegetables.-Advantage must be taken of fine intervals in the weather for getting in crops; for the success of many vegetables depends upon their being sown while the ground is in a good state, and the weather favourable. Another thing to be attended to is what is called the rotation of crops; for although you may sow the same kind of vegetable many years on the same plot by aid of manure, it is, nevertheless, a bad practice, as it soon exhausts the ground. Thus, after potatoes cabbages may be planted; and carrots and parsnips, and such tap-rooted vegetables, should be followed in turn by celery, potatoes, or any of the cabbage tribe. If you have a piece of ground at liberty that was

planted with potatoes last year, dig it well up, the deeper the better, and sow it with carrots. Let the rows be nine inches apart. About the end of the month is the proper time to begin planting potatoes for your principal crop. The sets are to be prepared for planting by being cut into two, three, or more pieces. Take care that each piece is properly furnished with one or two eyes or buds. A very convenient method of planting them is by a thick, blunt-pointed dibble, with a cross piece fastened on it about four inches from the end: this will ensure the holes being all of the same depth. Sow a bed with parsnips: treat them in every way like carrots, and thin them out to six inches apart in the rows.

Onions should be sown on wellmanured ground. Sow also lettuce and radishes. Savoy, purple broccoli, celery, and Brussels sprouts, may be sown this month. You will want some peas: sow plenty of Bishop's long-pod, which run eighteen inches high, and good bearers; or of Prussian blues, an old sort, but a good one. Sow early beans. Make a sowing of mustard and cress: sow the cress at least a week before the mustard. Fruit. Fruit-trees of any kind may be planted this month; but the sooner in the

month the better.

In planting them, pulverise the earth well at the bottom of the hole, and trim the roots by cutting off any decayed or broken fibres, or long straggling roots. The pruning of apricot, peach, nectarine, and plumtrees, and apples, pears, cherries, etc., should be finished by the middle of the month. Prune gooseberry and currant bushes, but it must be finished by the beginning of the month. Cut down the dead wood of raspberries. Dig and hoe frequently between the plants.

The Window. There is not so much to be done in the Window Garden. Remember last month's hints as to light, air, water, etc. Begin to water your plants more freely, and give air on mild days. The leaves of myrtles, camellias, and other smooth-leaved plants, should be frequently washed and syringed. Destroy insects, especially a fleshy insect, called the green-fly, which multiplies exceedingly quick, and is very destructive. mignonette in pots. Single wallflowers sown now will bloom in-doors all the winter. Take cuttings of fuchsias and geraniums, for blooming later in the year.

Sow

R. C.

THINGS WORTH KNOWING. How to Arrange Flowers in a Garden.The Cavendish Society recommend blue flowers to be placed next to orange, and the violet next to the yellow; whilst red and pink flowers are never to be seen to greater advantage than when surrounded by verdure, and by white flowers; the latter may also be advantageously dispersed among groups of blue and orange, and violet and yellow flowers. Plants whose flowers are to produce a contrast should be of the same size; and in many cases the colour of the sand or gravel-walks, or beds of a garden, should be made to conduce to the general effect.

Fattening Fowls.-Fowls or chickens may be fattened in four or five days by feeding them three times daily with rice boiled in milk, always fresh, as sourness prevents them from fattening. Give them clear water to drink. By this method the flesh is made particularly firm and white.

Bone Manure.-The value of bones in almost any form, as a manure for field or garden, should induce farmers and gardeners to save them for this purpose. In the winter large

quantities might be gathered, to be broken in spring and mixed with compost, or applied directly to the soil. For pear-trees, for grass lands, for most kinds of garden vegetables, nothing better can be found. Save the old bones, and you will not fail in benefiting your land and increasing its productiveness by the application.

Succession of Crops in a Cottage Garden.-This is a practice which rural labourers in general are but little acquainted with, though when judiciously executed it is of the greatest advantage. Mixed crops are allowable in cottage gardening: for instance, a sprinkling of radish and coss-lettuce seeds may be sown with the onions, and when the radish and lettuce are drawn, being ready for use, the onions suffer no injury. Broad beans are sometimes planted at the same time, and in the same drill, with potatoes, without any very visible damage to the latter crop. In this way many more useful vegetables may be raised on a given portion of land than by the old-fashioned custom of sowing broadcast only one patch of each of the common sorts, occupying the ground for the whole summer. Even the onion ground may be planted with cabbages just before the former are fit to pull, and these plants, whether savoys or common cabbage, become fine useful stuff for winter

use.

and

Save the Dead Leaves.-A wise gardener will diligently collect, from week to week, leaves that fall from each tree, and by digging them under the soil about the roots, where they will decay and enrich that soil, provide in the cheapest manner the best possible food for the tree. In certain vineyards in France, the vines are kept in the highest; condition by simply burying at their roots every leaf and branch that is pruned off such vines, or that

falls from them at the end of the season.

TARE-SEED.

HAT Solomon says about

strife is true of all sin

the beginning of it is like the letting out of water. Only a few drops escape at first through the bank. But, as they do so, they make the passage through which they flow wider and still wider, till at last the dammed-up waters sweep everything before them in irresistible fury. In the same way, little sins lead to greater, until a man can do things without fear or shame which he would once have blushed and trembled only to think of. A few petty thefts prepare the way for becoming a confirmed thief. A drop too much now and then leads to downright drunkenness. The cruel boy grows up to be a murderer. He who begins by disobedience to parents or teachers may end in the prison or on the gallows.

But

I was impressed by these things one Sunday morning, some years ago, when the superintendent of the Sunday-school called upon me before the service to show me a letter he had just received, and to ask me to address the scholars on the subject in the afternoon. The letter was from Norfolk Island, a place to which the most hardened and desperate criminals were sent. It was written by a man under sentence of transportation for life, who had formerly been one of our scholars. He wrote to give us his history, that it might be a warning to others. The letter went back to the time when he was a Sunday-scholar, and it told us how the writer had been led astray by another boy, and induced to play truant when his aged mother supposed he was at school. One afternoon was especially remembered. He had gone with his companions in wrong-doing to fish at a spot where he supposed himself safe from detection, as it was at some distance from the town. it happened that his teacher was going out to address a small country school in that very neighbourhood on the same afternoon. The truants were discovered, and though they seemed to harden themselves against the affectionate entreaties of the teacher, yet his warnings and invitations were never forgotten, and, as years of wickedness and punishment passed away, they still sounded in his heart and kept him from utter despair. The words were like good seed cast into bad ground. They seemed to bear no fruit, yet they did not altogether perish. The letter went on to tell us that the writer had gone from bad to worse till at length he ran away from home and plunged headlong into crimes which only a few years before would have been punished with death. He now wrote from the chain-gang in Norfolk Island in the hope that some who were then enjoying the privileges he had abused might take warning from his history, and guard against the first steps in that downward course which ends in destruction.

When the great enemy of souls endeavours to put tares in the place of wheat he does not plant the full-grown; but he comes by night, in darkness, when men sleep, and sows the

seeds, little tiny seeds, which grow up and cover the whole field with their rank and poisonous growth (Matt. xiii. 25). Of evil things as well as good, of tares no less than wheat, it is first the seed, then the springing blade, then the full growth. BEWARE, THEN, "OF

TARE-SEED.

PRAY WITHOUT CEASING.
O when the morning shineth,
Go when the noon is bright,
Go when the eve declineth,

Go in the hush of night:
Co with pure mind and feeling,
Put earthly thoughts away;
And in thy chamber kneeling,
Do thou in secret pray.
Remember all who love thee,

All who are loved by thee;
Pray too for those who hate thee,
If any such there be;
Then for thyself in meekness
A blessing humbly claim,
And link with each petition

Thy great Redeemer's name.
But if 'tis e'er denied thee

In solitude to pray,
Should holy thoughts come o'er theo
When friends are round thy way;
E'en then the silent breathing

Of the spirit raised above,
Will reach His throne of glory,
Who is Mercy, Truth, and Love.
There's not a joy or blessing

With this we can compare,
The power that He has given
To pour our souls in prayer.
Whene'er thou pin'st in sadness,
Before His footstool fall;
And remember in thy gladness
His love who gave thee all,

JOHN ROBINS' ENEMIES AND
FRIENDS.-CHAP, II.

JANE
ANE was true to her word; she got employment

was so well content with the prospect of her earnings that he was easy about not finding work so readily for himself.

They hired a very small dwelling, without an inch of garden, in a dingy little court that was crowded with inhabitants, most of the dwellings accommodating more than one family.

John did not like such close quarters; he had never lived a town life, and certainly this was not beginning it under pleasant circumstances; but Mary seemed determined to like everything; and though in her heart she also was disgusted with the loss of the sweet air and elbow-room she had in her cottage in the village, the pleasures that she looked forward to in the town made her resolute to bear everything.

Jack was at first rather shy of the boys in the court, whose mischief was on a much more extensive scale than he had ever aspired to, and whose language almost scared him, but he soon got used to it all, and became quite a hero among them. He was quick and clever, and learnt iniquity with all the readiness of human wit and depravity united.

As to little Annie, she missed her door-step, for she could not sit a moment in peace before the door in the court, the rude children terrified and teased her so; besides, there was no garden to look at, no daisies growing in the grass by the pleasant roadside, no tall hollyhocks standing with their crimson blossoms by the palings, no golden marigolds clustering gaily under the window, no birds to

listen to, no butterflies to watch, no old apple-tree with its crooked branches laden now with flowers, now with fruit, in the orchard below; no, all these delights which had cheered and brightened the existence of the little cripple were gone: in their place she had noise and dirt without, or darkness and close confinement within. She sighed i ! wardly for all she had lost. She could not have told how her happiness had departed, but she felt it more keenly day by day, and her placid temper grew fretful, so that Mary, who had no heart to sympathise with anything but her own pleasure, of which she found none in home duties or affections, often said "she was a very tiresome child, and would never be good for anything." The baby lay all day pretty nearly in the cradle, for druggists sold" drops" that made it sleep for hours together, and this was very convenient for a mother who found nursing a hindrance, though it often sowed the seeds of disease and early decay and death in

the child.

John got employment after a little time as porter to a large grocery house; and, as the wages were better and the work lighter than those of a day labourer, he was well content, for he had plenty of opportunity to enjoy his new taste for drinking with bad company, and he didn't fail to make use of it. What with his intemperance and Mary's etravagance in dress, and theatres, and concerts, the money went faster than it came, so that the rent became backward, very often the children got little beyond bread, and as to clothing, they had nothing but rags, and those none of the cleanest,

How could she be expected to be out at the factory all day and sitting working at her need at home too? Mary would ask. She might have been told that there were hours enough when she was not at the factory in which she might have looked after her little ones, hours in which she was tricked out in gaudy rubbish of ribbons and flowers, and sitting to watch with delight the abominations

of a penny theatre, or jigging away at a penny ball || from which she did not often return quite sober.

Two years of this sort of life made a wonderful difference in the appearance and in the true condition of John and Mary Robins. John had grown bloated in the face, but lean in his body; his eyes were bloodshot and half shut; his matted hair had grown thick, and gave him a wild look; his clothes had become tattered and hopelessly dirty; always had a pipe in his mouth, and when he was not employed in a chance job, for he had lost his regular work, he was leaning against a wall wh the sunshine warmed him, with his hands in his pockets, or sleeping off a drunken fit on the miserable bed of what he called his home.

This was no longer the pent-up place in the eart but a single room in which all huddled together, so small that two beds-one for themselves and the other for the children-left little room for cooking and eating, but it was the best they could get. Mary complained loudly that John was so lazy and drunken she had to support the whole family, when he would turn upon her in all the fury of brutal intoxication and tell her she spent all on herself. and had brought him and the children to ruin by forcing them to live in town.

Mary, too, was much altered; she was growing old in youth. Late hours, indulgence in frequent f of intemperance, and the stifling air in which s slept, combined with very indifferent food want of cleanliness, had withered her comple and dimmed her eyes, so that all her finery col not make her look half as pretty and pleasant is the fresh air and quiet regular living of the country had done. As to the children, Annie was little better than a skeleton, and dwindled instead of growing, while Jack, who had got into child's work, although he was so young, and earned his three shillings a week, was stripping up tall and

away

thin, with a quick bright eye, and a tongue that was free with all the bad language of thrice his age. The baby struggled on as it might, and lived through dirt, neglect, want of proper food, and convulsion fits, as babies do-indeed, looking at the infants of the lower orders in crowded towns and cities, one wonders how they do live beyond babyhood at all.

As to love, there had never been anything beyond liking between John and Mary, so that, though liking, under favourable circumstances, might have grown into love, as it was, there was little to marvel at that it disappeared entirely, and they cordially disliked each other, very often laying the blame of all the misery they suffered on each other, and wishing they had known when they were well off, and kept single!

Jack's wages were always seized as soon as brought home, his mother giving him a few pence to spend out of them, and laying out the rest, as she said, on his board. He allowed this for some time, but when he was raised, and moreover when he found that there were all sorts of delights to be got for money, he made a stand and insisted on having more of it. Afraid of his keeping all, Mary gave way, but now it was soon apparent that she would early reap the fruits of her own doings. For some time Jack, who had outgrown the of the children with whom he used to ascompany sociate, and taken to that of young men and grownup factory girls who had been brought up in homes like his own, had shown the coolest indifference to whatever his parents said. His father he seldom saw or spoke to, for he was generally sleeping on the bed the greater part of Sunday, and in the week he was usually in the public-house while Jack was at home; but his mother, who had, on account of his sharpness, made something of a pet of Jack, and who humoured him for her own purposes when he began to earn money, had frequent battles with him, in which he always came off victorious, for he could fight now, and knew how to give a kick or a blow as well as she did.

It may seem, and it is, horrible to talk of a child lifting his hand against a parent; but when it is remembered that all the bonds of respect, love, and duty were loosened by the mother's own example, can it be wondered at that it should be done? Mary was no more to Jack than any other woman, and every day lessened the fear he had had of her in his infancy-the only fear he had ever had, and the only feeling for her he had ever felt. His father had never beaten him, seldom threatened him. If John had tried to tame his wild spirit by wise kindness, he would have had his reward in his filial love; but instead of being trained like an olive plant, he was left to grow like an ill weed, without care and without restraint.

For many nights it had happened that, although Mary was never at home till very late, Jack was not there till later. John slept so heavily that he did not hear little Annie crawl out of her bed to let him in, and was generally not sober enough to know he was absent when he came home himself.

Mary scolded him, threatened him, and in return was told he didn't choose to be kept in; he knew where he could live cheaper than at home, and he should go if she made more ado about it. This silenced her, for she was afraid of the loss of his wages. John had got no work some time, and could get no credit at any of the public-houses he frequented. When the drunkard loses that which he has made his life, his misery is beyond conception.

It was about five years since he had left the country, rather more, for it was in the winter when Mary at her door invited her friend to "dancing and beer" on the following Wednesday, and now the pleasant spring was over, and summer had come; but what were spring and summer to those who were buried alive in that dirty dark room?

It was one o'clock in the day, the sun glared brightly on the red brick wall, but John shivered, he got no warmth; he was wretched, and looked vacantly at the passers-by, as if he had no hope, no work, no interest in life. While he was thus gazing two or three people from the country passed up the street. The blood mounted to his face, he knew them; they were from his old village; he was afraid to be known, and ashamed to be seen. He pulled his hat over his eyes, and turned away; but he might have been easy, they would hardly have recognised him if he had spoken to them.

As soon as they were passed, he slowly turned off to get to his home and hide himself, for fear he might encounter them again. One woman

had carried a large bunch of flowers, with early

roses and lad's love in it; she had dropped a rose; John stooped and picked it up, and carried it in his hand to his garret. Annie was sitting on the floor with the baby, and with all the spirit that hunger and disease allowed them, they were trying to divert themselves with some fragments of stick left from lighting the last fire.

When John dropped the rose he had carried on the ground, and looking at them with a sad look, drew the crazy chair before the empty grate, and leant his head on his hands that he might not see them, Annie shuffled along the floor, for Her she could not walk now, and seized it. delight was inconceivable. She held it in both hands, showed it to the baby, laughed, hugged it, and made all sorts of expressions of joy. Meanwhile John was weeping bitterly, as drunkards are so apt to do when they are without the stimulant of drink to keep up their false spirits.

The bread and cold potato Mary had left for the children's dinner (she seldom returned to her own, she could get it more comfortably in an eating-house near the factory with her companions) was in the corner of the room, and Annie, supposing by her father's return that dinner-time was come, got it, and with great fairness, parted it equally between them, laying the rose, as if that was the best part of the feast, in the middle, and perpetually pointing to it with a glee she had not felt for many a weary day.

John looked round at them from time to time, and his tears flowed afresh with each look. Were those indeed his children? was that their midday meal bread broken on a filthy floor!

As his sobs grew louder, Annie was attracted by them. Like Jack, she knew little of either of her parents except to fear them, but nature was strong in her heart, and with very little encouragement she would have been a most loving child. After some hesitation, she shuffled up to his chair, and touched the hand that lay on his knee, and looking up very hard in his face, offered him what was left of her dinner. This only made him cry more. She looked greatly concerned, and going back, brought him the rose, already fading through the close air and so much handling.

John was quite overcome; he took her on his knee and sobbed.

This can't be the place, sure-ly!" said a voice loud and clear as a bell, and as cheerful too. 'What! John and Mary Robins live here? Why, there's hardly room to whip a cat in the place, and -pah! what a smell!" With these words in walked the country woman who had dropped the rose, and who still carried the bunch of flowers.

For a moment she stared about as if to get used to the gloom, then cried out again, "Why, John! it's never you? Well, I'd heard bad enough of you, but never thought to see you like this, man."

John looked quite confounded, and was silent. "What! are these the children? Where's Mary and where's Jack? Why that's never little Annie! She's smaller than ever she was."

These remarks, with many others, made John

feel very uncomfortable. He got up, put the chair for his visitor, and sat down on the bed in silence.

The good woman, who appeared as fresh and bright as the flowers in her hand, gave a sharp look at the chair and gathered her clean print gown round her as she sat upon it. She would willingly have taken the children in her arms, but they were so dirty. She gave them a cake from her basket; and what delighted Annie far more, threw the flowers to them, and then began to talk to John.

THE BIGGEST DROP.

you ask any doctor, he will tell you that drops differ much in size. A drop of any kind of medicine that is thin, like water, and flows easily, is not nearly so large as a drop of some thick, clammy stuff. Indeed, you need not go to the doctor to learn this. Look at a drop of water and a drop of treacle, and the thing is plain enough.

But the biggest drop I know is a drop of beer. True, beer is not half such thick stuff as treacle; yet I stick to what I say-the biggest drop is a drop of beer; for a drop of water, or a drop of treacle, means a drop-a drop, and no more. But a drop of beer, who can tell how much that means?

"What made you gone so long with the cart?" asked Farmer Sharp; "did you go anywhere else but to the mill?" "No," replied Tom the carter; "I went nowhere else." "Then you must have stopped somewhere on the way." "Oh, I did just stop and go into the King's Head' for a drop of beer -I was so dry." That drop meant no less than three pints; and Tom had spent his own money, and sat and wasted a good hour of his master's time, and yet he thought nothing of it-it was only "a drop of beer."

"Have you heard that Jack Simple has been had up by the police ?" "Jack Simple? What, that quiet chap? I did not know he ever got into mischief." "No; but last evening he took a drop of beer, and got upset; and then I don't know what he didn't do. However, the police have got him, and he's to go up before the magistrates, and his mother is in a terrible bad way about it." Ah, poor Jack! that drop of beer may be your ruin, if it be not your warning. It was the first time you had ever let them persuade you to drink with them, though they had often tried. Take warning!

"No, Williams, I cannot take you on again; you can work well when you please, I know, but you're too fond of a drop of beer. I can never depend upon you, and I must have men I can depend on." And so Williams lost the best work in all the place. There was not a better carpenter in the yard; but the "drop of beer" in his case meant beer, beer, beermorning, noon, and night, and every now and then several days' absence from work on a drinking bout. What master could put up with that?

"A drop of beer." It does not sound amiss. It sounds like moderation and temperanceenough, and no more. Alas! it seldom means that. It is a smooth name for a very bad thing. Too often it means selfish indulgence, idleness, waste of time and money, neglect of wife and children, drunkenness, riot, want, misery, sin. Is not this true? And will you not be warned?

THE mountainous district of Germany, extending from the frontier of Switzerland northward along the Rhine, a distance of about a hundred miles, is called the Black Forest; and in some respects it well deserves the name. Its barren soil and rough climate scarcely allows of the cultivation of even potatoes and oats. With the exception of a few sunny spots on the southern sides of the mountains, on which vines and chesnuts are diligently cultivated, the ground does not afford sufficient produce for the simplest wants of the inhabitants.

There is very little mineral wealth in this part of the country; but there is an abundance of wood, which is exported in large quantities to England and Holland. The peasantry make good use of this natural production, and become quite skilful in the manufacture of all kinds of articles, such as wooden boxes, tools, sticks, earrings, toys, and nearly everything that it is possible to make from. wood. The greatest mechanical skill, however, is shown in those articles in which wood and metal are combined, such as musical instruments and organs, but chiefly in clocks.

As a rule these branches of industry are carried on in the cottages and homes of the people, after the work in the field is done. It is during the long winter evenings especially that the people of the Black Forest, old and young, employ their time in these occupations. The labour is divided amongst the case-makers, who make the wooden cases and stands for the clocks; the founders of the brass wheels and bells; the chain and chain-wheel makers; the painters and varnishers; and lastly, the

"clockmakers," who put the works together, and finish them ready for market.

From an early age the children, without being overworked, acquire a gradually increasing skill and working power. They begin with carving the roughest woodwork, and advance by degrees through the other

SO TEACH US TO NUMBER OUR DAYS, THAT WE MAY APPLY OUR HEARTS UNTO WISDOM

stages of the work, until they become "clockmakers" and finishers, and are able to work on their own account.

It will be interesting to take a glance at the history of clock-making in Ger many. After the invention of watches by Peter Hele at Nuremberg in 1500, which were called " Nuremberg animated eggs," from their oval form, there was a large demand for clocks. The tower clocks were too high in price to be generally used, and for many years the makers endeavoured to produce a cheaper kind for the house. In 1660 some intelligent wood-carvers in the Black Forest succeeded in making clocks entirely of wood, which, though rough and simple, for the time supplied the want. These clocks only showed the hours, and would go only for half a day. There was no striking work, and the moving element was a balancing piece of wood, with two movable weights. In 1740, instead of the balancing piece a pendulum was the moving principle, and the improvements in a short time went so far that clocks were made which, going twenty-four hours, struck the hours and quarters. Some also moved figures, indicating date, morth, etc. In 1750 the wooden works were replaced by metallic works, wheels, and chains; and with superior tools and a better division of labour many more improvements in the manufacture were produced.

To meet the increasing competition which improved machinery caused in the clock trade, the Grand Duke Leopold, about 1847, founded the Watch and Clock Makers' School at Furtwangen. This institution, sustained by the government of Baden with a yearly contribution of a thousand pounds, was the means of bringing the instruction-seeking population to such a degree of practical knowledge as to raise the clock trade to its present flourishing condition.

The annual exports of clocks from the grand-duchy of Baden alone, not including watches, amounts to one milli pounds sterling. Through the various channels of commerce the productions of the Black Foresters are dispersed all over the civilised world, and have become indispensable articles in the homes of rich and poor.

The peasants of the Black Forest are a remarkably sober class. They are simple in their manners, and persevering in everything they undertake. "To be always true and honest" is their motto. Drunkenness is sel dom if ever to be met with, even when the harvest-time affords opportunity for festive gatherings. Much of their industrial success must be attributed to this gratifying fact.

From this brief account it will be seen that the inhabitants of one of the most sterile parts of Germany have, by means of self-help and industry, become prosperous; thus showing that, even under unfavourable circumstances, earnest working finds its recompense, whilst

indolence is degrading.

י