PERIODICALS, &c.

ODDFELLOWS' QUARTERLY. (Manchester.) -A pleasant number is the April part of this Quarterly, in which information and amusement are agreeably blended. Mrs. Linnæus Banks, the Editor, Miss Meteyard, Mrs. White, and Mr. Page ("Felix Folio") are represented. Mr. Hardwick has managed to give the oftrepeated subject of "Easter Superstitions and Ceremonies" fresh interest; and "Silverpen's" (Miss Meteyard's) paper "The Shop at Barrow in-Furness" is a pretty story, with a practical purpose, in which, with the simplest materials, she has woven a life-history by no means uncommon in its trials, though all such sufferers have not the good common-sense, courage, and self-reliance of Mary Sinclair to obviate and eventually overcome them. Mr. Page commences a pleasantly-told tale entitled "Kicked Out," in which the comic element prevails. He writes in the character of a traveller for a Manchester-house, and appears to be amusingly well up in his line of business. His mind seems saturated with similes drawn from the silken samples in his pattern-case-which case, by the way, affords an opportunity for the following philippic on the mismanagement of mislaid luggage at the railway-stations:

Its miscarriage on that particular occasion was caused by the stupidity of one of the M. R. C.'s porters on my previous journey. He had stuck a Manchester label over, and quite concealed the name-plate, and, in my endeavours to remove it, I had torn away the first syllable only, leaving the whole of the plate still obscured. When my case reached me it was a curiosity to behold. It was plastered all over with labels, and reminded me of an Irishman's head after a

Belfast riot. Each of these slips had the name of some station, every one of which ended with-chester. Godmanchester covered the dilapidated one which the case had on when it went astray, and around it at every possible angle swarmed Colchester, Porchester, Lanchester, Granchester, Kenchester, Irchester, Ribchester, Binchester, Rochester, Woodchester, and Chester, with the word "Try" written in black-lead over; a pencil-mark run through each name, denoting, I and suppose, that those places had been tried in vain. The freshest-looking label was on the lid, and the one which had brought the wanderer home. I wrote to the presiding genius of the station where my property was first missed to know why I had been kept waiting whilst it had been sent all over the kingdom. He acknowledged that a blunder had been committed in the first place by the porter not looking beneath the mutilated label-and this one acknowledgment I think shows a conscientiousness which totally disqualifies him for the office he holds (from the Company's point of view); that he begged to express his regret, &c.; but that all that had taken place subsequently was ac

cording to system, "without which," he continued, "inextricable confusion would ensue.' That system

was, in case of any luggage being sent to the wrong 'chester, to try all the rest in succession; and as there were twelve 'chesters in all, of course the odds were first time of trying-and, unfortunately in the pareleven to one against its hitting upon the right one the ticular case in question, Manchester chanced to be the dernier resort.

The author's similes, as we before said, are very ingeniously drawn from professional models. The road runs straight as the stripes on a ribbon ;" the sun shines "brilliantly in the south-east, in an atmosphere of glacé French white." On the hill-side there "hung a light lutestring lavender shade, whilst a dull slate-colour of irregular texture like that at two-and-three a yard, was spread over the valleys!" When the sun retreats behind a light cloud, "silvering its edges like the borders of a wedding-favour," and throwing a dark wave across the plain, whilst the rest of the surface gleamed out in rich and varied colours, broken only by the undulations of the ground, Mr. Mulberry can only liken its chameleon-like and changing hues to an "immense and seamless piece of shot silk woven in a Titan's loom." We shall be glad to meet the "commercial gentleman" in the July part, as we find his story is to be continued.

THE ANIMAL WORLD: A MONTHLY ADVOCATE OF HUMANITY. (Partridge and Co., Paternoster Row; Hardwicke, 192, Piccadilly.)

Mr. Harrison Weir has, in the illustrations of this much-needed monthly, admirably seconded the intention of the work. His animals speak that it would be difficult for the most thoughtfor themselves with so much natural expression less observer to pass by without observing them. The cat whose "counterfeit presentment" adorns the current number is a wonder of life-like engraving-a staid, dignified, and well-conditioned cat, in the fulness of fur and good living, with alert ears and watchful eyes, and the strongest and softest pads that ever concealed sharp claws. We are glad to see the character of a fond and faithful animal vindicated, and some pleasant traits given to substantiate this character, which is only rare because, as the writer of " A Few Words about Cats" observes "we do not cultivate, or render to cats the education and justice we award to dogs." And, to echo her language rather than quote it, we "have known three or four cats as faithful, and as much attached to one particular person as any dog could have been, and consider the charges brought against them of treachery and being solely attached to places, not persons, perfectly groundless," "A cat is

a nervous timid animal, and consequently irritable; her claws are soon out of their sheaths, and with her, as with nervous and irritable beings, it is, so to say, 'a word and a blow.' She is rendered suspicious by injustice and illusage"-wrongs which commence, as we all know, at a very early period of life, when, as a kitten, the helpless creature becomes the plaything and the prey of some baby-boy or girl, or two or three of them, and is pulled and beaten and dragged hither and thither to the torture and terror of the unhappy miscalled pet. We hope that as this interesting monthly pursues its course of usefulness and mercy, little children may be taught to regard animals from another standpoint than that of the'r own selfish pleasure in possessing them, and the excellent idea of offering rewards for the best essays written by school-boys and girls on the duty and pleasures of kindness to animals is worthy of the nobly philanthropical lady with whom it emanated, and is certain to bring forth practical fruits. It is really a duty of parents and tutors to foster and second this useful work, which will tend to make the young essayists keen observers of the creatures about which they are to write, and induce them to feel a stronger personal interest in them as they learn more of their habits, their tempers, and their wants. In the present part we have the following story of a cat, the name of the owner, the number of the house, and of the place being given in proof of its authenticity. "This gentleman has a cat who, when he cannot get into the house by the back-door, makes a practice of mounting several garden - walls to reach the front entrance; having accomplished this, he raps at the areadoor by standing on his hind feet, lifting the knocker with one of his fore-paws. At first he rapped only once; but finding the door was not opened quickly, he now gives a double knock." The present writer has had two cats who, when shut out of the sitting-room, would mount on their hind-legs and turn the handle of the door, though without the power of opening it; but it was a sufficient means to an end to ensure their entrance. Nor does this evidence of observance and memory seem to be singular; for on one occasion when a young clergyman was paying a visit, the handle of the door was moved as usual, two or three times, without producing the desired result, when he observed, "That is your cat at the door, I suppose, may I let her in?" and then we found that his cat also had recourse to the same plan. These cats, in succession, had the habit of waiting upon the stairs for their mistress's return when at a party or theatre, and in her absences from home would mope and fret themselves quite thin with literally "the sickness of hope deferred" till her return. Besides Mrs. S. C. Hall's "Few Words about Cats," and divers anecdotes of animal instinct, the present number contains the commencement of a story entitled "The Two Carriers;" a capital article on Sheep-shearing in Winter," poetry, the attractive lessons on "Our Duty to Animals," by Mrs, Charles

Bray, correspondence, &c., some of which are very interesting. Before taking leave of "The Animal World" for the past month, it is as well to remind our readers that it is published by, and in furtherance of the objects of the "Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals;" and that, to the existence of this Society, and the resolution of the Secretary, Mr. Colam, we are indebted for the putting down of the demoralizing attempt to introduce bull-fights in England. We shall return to this magazine from month to month with much pleasure.

THE FOOD JOURNAL. (J. M. Johnson and Sons, Castle-street, Holborn.)—The number for April of this new aspirant for popular favour brings together some very interesting matter in connection with accepted and suggested foodproducts. Notably the leading article on "The Beet-root Question" is one in which growers, manufacturers, and consumers are mutually concerned; and at the present time, when the people of Great Britian consume on an average 38lbs. of sugar per head per annum, and our off-sets in the colonies, particularly those of Australasia, require proportional supplies, while the old sugar-growing colonies are yearly falling off in its production, the cultivation of the white, or Silesian beet (Beta cicula) is daily becoming here, as on the continent, of vital importance. In 1869 the author (Mr. Phillips Bevan, F.R.G.S.) tells us that Mr. Gibbs read a paper before the Society of Arts showing that, in 1843, we derived nearly the whole of our sugar from our home-possessions, 4,000,000 cwts. from the colonies, as contrasted with 70 cwts. from the continent; but by 1859, our consumption having regularly but rapidly risen to 9,000,000 cwts., 5,500,000 cwt. were obtained from the colonies direct, and 3,500,000 from the continent. "Some of the latter," the writer observes, "might have been cane-sugar, but a very large portion of it was made from beetroot." The manufacture of beet-root sugar has obtained in France from the days of the Revolution. Napoleon encouraged its growth, and the present Emperor has promoted the cultivation in every way; and from the statements of Mr. Bevan the experiment made by Mr. Duncan, of Mincing-lane (merchant), at Lavenham, in Suffolk, has been so eminently successful, that it is being tried with the same results in Lancashire, on the borders of Chatmoss, and in Berkshire. The subject is one of real interest to agriculturists generally as well as to the country at large. A paragraph in the journal calls attention to a new potato, a late variety, named the " American red." They boil white and floury, keep well, and have shown no trace of disease. An experimentalist from 7 lbs. planted in the usual manner obtained 6 pecks of splendid potatoes, some weighing 14 lbs. each (recommended for trial to all cottage-gardeners). The paper on Vital Statistics" Public Health" contains some very interesting information, The articles on "Food

I learned the following narrative from the old Marchioness of --, who told it me one night as we were chatting by the fireside. I give you it on the authority of the marchioness, whose veracity is beyond all doubt.

It was a cold disagreeable day in July, 1793; the rain was falling thick and fast, accompanied by a chill wind, and dull grey clouds entirely concealed the blue sky; all nature, in short. seemed in mourning for the crimes of the earth, Everything was very gloomy, too, in Paris; the streets dirty, the houses damp, and the coffeerooms deserted; it was still worse with the inhabitants, for there was a whispered report of new massacres, and everybody was apprehensive for those he loved as well as for himself. The bad weather gave new force to gloomy forebodings, and still further increased the general disquietude and alarm. People are much bolder in the bright sunshine.

In a little mercer's shop in the Rue des Marmousets, a dirty, smoke-begrimed place, although it boasted the pretty sign of the Two Pigeons, a young and pretty woman, in the costume worn by the common people of that time, seemed a prey to the keenest anguish. Her pale and careworn face bore the traces of recent tears; her disordered hair, and the uneasy look she cast into the street, were evidence of some corroding care. Every instant she would go to the door. which, notwithstanding the bad weather, stood wide open, and after looking in the street and seeing no one, she would pass her fingers through her hair and return sad and discouraged to her seat at the counter.

All at once steps were heard in the distance. "O Heavens! if it is he!" she exclaimed, laying her hand on her heart as if to moderate its beating, and not daring to rise for fear of being again disappointed.

A few moments after a man of a certain age, dressed as plain as the young woman herself, walked into the shop.

"Ah! at last!" cried she; and as she rose to rush towards the stranger her door again gave admittance to a stout woman whose harsh and vulgar features made a striking contrast with the young any pretty mistress of the Two Pigeons. "Good-morning, La Giraud; how are you this morning ?" she said, in a hoarse voice.

On seeing and hearing her the person addressed as La Giraud seemed as it were thunderstruck, for she fell back pale and horrified on the chair from which she had risen with such alacrity a few moments before.

"What, are you ill ?" cried the stout dame, laying hold of one of the cold hands of the woman; come, my darling, it will be nothing: will get the neighbour there to fetch a glass of wine for you, and that will make you better." "If you

I

But on a sign from the stranger the patient, who had murmured rather than pronounced these words, said no more.

"I'll go, citoyen, I'll go," cried he, eagerly, as he bastened away towards the wine-shop.

He came back a few moments after, and, as he gave the glass filled with the rosy fluid which he brought in triumph, he dexterously slipped a note into the hand which the sick woman held out with anguish.

On feeling the paper the colour returned to her pale cheeks.

And rising, she exclaimed with a joyful voice: "Your remedy is excellent, La Cornélie; I feel better at only seeing it. If you drank it to my health now I should be all right, I assure you."

La Cornélie gave the young woman a mistrustful look and turned round to continue her scrutiny of the stranger, but he had disappeared.

"Hum! hum! This is not very clear," she grumbled, with a toss of the head; "all this is not very clear; I'll go and tell Spartacus and he must see about it.'

Then taking the glass the young woman offered her, she emptied it at a draught, and after a few words of apology left the shop.

Scarcely was she gone when the young woman sprang to the door, carefully fastened it, and retiring into a dark room which was used as her bedroom she lighted a candle, took out the scrap of paper which she had slipped into her bosom, and eagerly opening it read as follows:

"Your son is saved !"

Then the note fell from her hand, and sinking on her knees," I thank thee, O God! I thank thee!" cried she, raising to heaven her eyes full of happy tears.

"But," murmured she, aftar a few instants of meditation, "I think Durand's note contained something else; what more can he have to say that interests me? While saying this she picked up the paper and mechanically opened it; hut all at once she turned pale, uttered a piercing shriek, and in anguish let her head fall upon her hands convulsively clasped.

X

Here is what she had read: "But you, my lady, you are lost. Your generous ruse is discovered, and your name is the first on the list of persons to be arrested this day."

The marchioness remained for a moment absorbed in meditation or prayer; then rising, with courageous resolution marked in every feature, she threw over her clothes the cloak then worn, left the shop, double-locked the door, put the key in her pocket, and ran towards the Rue St. Honoré, undeterred either by rain, dirt, or the astonished looks of the passers-by, some of whom tried to bar her passage.

Thus she ran on, soaked with rain, and bathed in perspiration, till she came to a very unpretending little house, which was, no doubt, the place she desired to reach, for she stopped quite out of breath, and knocked hard and fast.

A young girl came to answer the knock. "M. de Robespierre ?" asked she boldly. The young girl looked at her with surprise. "Citizen Robespierre is not at home," answered she.

"O God, O God! hast thou forsaken me, then ?" cried the marchioness, striking her head against the door in despair.

The young girl seemed touched.

"Come in, citizen, come in and rest yourself all the same," said she kindly; "and if I can serve you, I shall be happy to do so. I am Theresa, and citizen Robespierre is very kind

to me."

On hearing these consoling words, the marchioness, who had gone into the house, fell at the feet of the generous girl.

"Ah! let me see him! let me see him!" cried she, "and God will bless you!"

“But he is absent,” said she, with emotion.

"Then take me to him," said the marchioness, with resolution.

Theresa was silent for a moment. "Why not?" said she at last, as if talking to herself; "if he scolds me, why, he'll scold me; but at least I shall have done my best to save this interesting woman. Come, follow me quickly," added she, taking the marchioness by the hand; "the citizen is at Versailles; we will take a coach at the Place de la Concorde, and in two hours we shall be with him."

The marchioness eagerly seized the hand that was extended to her, raised it to her lips, and, unable otherwise to express her gratitude, immediately followed her young and charming protectress.

All along the way they had to pass from the Rue St. Honoré to the Place de la Concorde, the marchioness and Theresa spoke not a word, and when they were seated in the humble conveyance that was to take them to that palace, once so brilliant and joyous, now so dull and deserted, both fell into a profound reverie. Perhaps the young woman re

gretted the generous impulse that had made her consent to brave the displeasure of him before whom all France trembled, whilst the pretended shopkeeper of the Rue des Marmousets wept over the bygone times of which she was reminded by the journey she was taking, and also shuddered at the thought of a future which seemed likely to be so short and so bloody for her.

It was in the midst of these different emotions that our two travellers at last reached the iron gates that led to the former residence of kings, but now the temporary residence of citizen Robespierre.

Doubtless he had visited these places, still so full of stirring memories and vanished glory, only to meditate at ease on the nothingness of of all human grandeur.

As soon as they had crossed the threshold of the palace, both the marchioness and Theresa began to tremble, and the idea of turning back presented itself to the mind of each at the same time; but they vanquished this timidity, and the young woman conducted her companion into a spacious hall completely deserted, requesting her to wait while she went to ask whether the person she wished to see would receive her.

"But in whose name must I ask this favour?" said she all at once; "for I don't know your name, madame."

In fact Theresa had forgotten to ask the name of her whom she was so generously obliging, and what claims she had to such a favour. The word "madame," however, which she used instead of "citizen," showed that she guessed, or at least suspected part of the truth, and she appeared almost as much dissatisfied as surprised when the marchioness answered her with a smile

"You will say, my pretty darling, that it is the citizen Giraud, mercer of the Rue des Marmousets, at the sign of the "Two Pigeons," who solicits the honour of an interview."

Then, all of a sudden, with a toss of the head as if to say that she was well aware these humble appellations concealed others more noble, but more dangerous, she darted off like a bounding fawn through the spacious apartments of the palace.

As soon as the marchioness found herself alone, she looked round with a feeling of terror and dismay, for every spot still bore the traces of the bloody tragedy that had been performed there only a few months preceding. Before her eyes passed the venerated image of that anointed king whom they had made a martyr, and of her who was still awaiting in captivity and sorrow the moment when she should be despatched to heaven to share with her consort his glorious and immortal crown, as on earth she had shared his throne and his prison.

Unconscious of the lapse of time, the marchioness indulged these cherished but terrible memories, but was at last aroused from her long reverie by the sound of Theresa's approaching footsteps.

"The citizen refuses to receive you," said she,