a lacquered tray. With his right hand he scatters the beans, here and there, uttering in a loud voice a cabalistic invocation, the refrain of which is," Avaunt, Demons! Fortune, enter!"

13. Everything being thus prepared for the inauguration of the new year, the inhabitants of the capital allow themselves a little rest; but at sunrise every one is awake and stirring. Men, women, and children hasten to put on their festival garments, and the first congratulations are exchanged between the members of families.

14. The wife places upon the matting of the saloon the gifts which she offers to her husband. As soon as he appears, she prostrates herself three times before him; then, rising to her knees, and bending her body forward, not a graceful position, but required by Japanese custom, — she offers him the compliments of the season.

15. The husband squats down, facing the wife, with his arms hanging over his knees until the ends of his fingers touch the floor, inclining his head as if to listen. more intently, and testifying his satisfaction, from time to time, by singular guttural sounds, long sighs, or subdued whistling.

16. When Madame has finished, Monsieur formally replies, and then their presents are solemnly exchanged. The children come next in turn, and, after them, the grandparents. Then, having breakfasted together, the rest of the forenoon is spent in making and returning visits. M. Humbert.

XL. THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE.

'TWAS

WAS a jolly old pedagogue, long ago,
Tall and slender, and sallow and dry;
His form was bent, and his gait was slow,

His long, thin hair was as white as snow,
But a wonderful twinkle shone in his eye;

And he sang every night, as he went to bed, "Let us be happy down here below;

The living should live, though the dead be dead,"
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

2. He taught his scholars the rule of three,
Writing, and reading, and history, too;
He took the little ones upon his knee,
For a kind old heart in his breast had he,
And the wants of the littlest child he knew:
"Learn while you're young," he often said,
“There is much to enjoy, down here below;
Life for the living, and rest for the dead!
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

3. With the stupidest boys, he was kind and cool, Speaking only in gentlest tones;

The rod was hardly known in his school, Whipping, to him, was a barbarous rule, And too hard work for his poor old bones Besides, it was painful, he sometimes said: "We should make life pleasant, down here below; The living need charity more than the dead," Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

4. He lived in the house by the hawthorn lane,
With roses and woodbine over the door;
His rooms were quiet, and neat, and plain,
But a spirit of comfort there held reign,
And made him forget he was old and poor:
"I need so little," he often said;
"And my friends and relatives here below

Won't litigate over me, when I am dead,"
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

5. He smoked his pipe in the balmy air,
Every night, when the sun went down,
While the soft wind played in his silvery hair,
Leaving his tenderest kisses there,

On the jolly old pedagogue's jolly old crown;

And, feeling the kisses, he smiled, and said,
""Twas a glorious world, down here below;
Why wait for happiness, till we are dead?"
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

6. He sat at his door, one midsummer night,
After the sun had sunk in the west,

And the lingering beams of golden light
Made his kindly old face look warm and bright,
While the odorous night-wind whispered, “ Rest!"
Gently, gently, he bowed his head-

There were angels waiting for him, I know;

He was sure of happiness, living or dead,
This jolly old pedagogue, long ago!

7.

GEORGE ARNOLD.

XLI. — JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT.

THE HE manner of my daily march was this. About an hour before dawn, I rose, and made the most of about a pint of water which I allowed myself for washing. Then I breakfasted on tea and bread. As soon as the beasts were loaded, I mounted my camel and pressed forward. My poor Arabs, being on foot, would sometimes moan with fatigue, and pray for rest; but I was anxious to enable them to perform their contract for bringing me to Cairo within the stipulated time, and I did not, therefore, allow a halt, until the evening came.

2. About midday, or soon after, Mysseri used to bring his camel along-side of mine, and supply me with a piece of the dried bread, softened in water, and also (as long as it lasted) with a piece of the tongue. After this, there came into my hand (how well I remember it!) the little tin cup, half-filled with wine and water.

3. As long as you are journeying in the interior of the

Desert, you have no particular point in view as your resting-place. The endless sands yield nothing but small, stunted shrubs; even these fail after the first two or three days, and, from that time, you pass over broad plains, you pass over newly reared hills, you pass through valleys dug out by the last week's storm, — and the hills and the valleys are sand, sand, sand, and only sand. The earth is so samely that your eyes turn toward heaven, towards heaven, I mean, in the sense of sky.

4. You look to the sun, for he is your task-master, and

by him you know the measure of the work that you have done, and the measure of the work that remains for you to do. He comes, when you strike your tent in the early morning, and then, for the first hour of the day, as you move forward on your camel, he stands at your near side, and makes you know that the whole day's toil is before you; then, for a while, and a long while, you see him no more, for you are veiled and shrouded, and dare not look upon the greatness of his glory; but you know where he strides overhead, by the touch of his flaming sword. No words are spoken, but your Arabs moan, your camels sigh, your skin glows, your shoulders ache, and, for sights, you see the pattern and the web of the silk that veils your eyes, and the glare of the outward light.

5. Conquering Time marches on, and by and by the descending sun has compassed the heaven; and now it softly touches your right arm, and throws your lank shadow over the sand, right along on the way for Persia. Then, again, you look upon his face; for his power is all veiled in his beauty, and the redness of flames has become the redness of roses; the fair, wavy cloud that fled in the morning, now comes to his sight, once more, comes blushing, yet still comes on, comes, burning with blushes, yet comes and clings to his side.