quite three inches thick, filled with horse-hair; over this two sheets (which is a luxury; most people use but one), and a pillow as hard as the mattress. But what is most to be admired are the four posts supporting a horizontal rectangle to which is hung the mosquito curtain. This mosquito curtain is used here all the year round. It is a piece of cotton lace, the end turned under the mattress. Behind this slight rampart, if there is no hole in it, one enjoys the pleasure of hearing the mosquitoes hum, powerless and enraged. In December and January there are clouds of them, but one appreciates, while listening to them, the line of Tibullus:

"Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem!"

What is a mosquito? It is first cousin to the European gnat, generally smaller, but just the same shape; it hums and stings like the gnat, only its sting is rather more painful, and is followed by a larger and more lasting swelling. Nothing can preserve one from its attacks: its sting penetrates even a double covering of linen.

These insects are not my only companions. There are, besides, at this moment, in my room, some millions of red or black ants, hundreds of which I crush every day in vain; then there are lizards, which are not mute as in Europe, but which from time to time give us a short song. These lizards give chase to the insects, so I take care not to drive them away. There are also in my room horrible caucrelats (cockroach) great dark brown insects about an inch and a half long, and which have the privilege of inspiring universal horror. To like them one must be as great a poet as M. Victor Hugo, who had an affection for "the toad, that poor monster with the mild eyes." There are little white fish, insects which do not live in the water, but which abound especially in the rainy season. These fish, in less than no time, make large holes in linen and cloth. During the night I sometimes hear the rats and mice scampering about; the mosquito curtain protects me from them. As to bats, owls, and screech owls, I do not think they ever enter our open windows.

Birds of prey are very numerous here, and wherever I may be in my room, there are, I cannot tell how many, kites contemplating me from the tops of the neighbouring houses. The carrion crows are anothe kind of animal, as curious as they are annoying. They frequent the river, into which the Indians throw their dead; and one may often see two, three, or more in the middle of the river apparently sailing in an invisible boat; which boat is a corpse which they devour as they go.

Sometimes the jackals dispute with them for this horrible prey, and you may see these animals, at some distance from the town, trotting along with some human limb in their jaws. In the town the crows live upon scraps of all sorts; they specially frequent the kitchen doors; during our meals there are always from twenty to thirty outside the refectory. There they appear to be begging for bones, crusts of bread, &c., and willingly accept all that is thrown to them. The kites, less numerous and less audacious, but much more voracious, stand sentinel over them; and often rob from them, on the wing, what the

poor crows had picked off the ground. But it is worth while to watch a kite in his turn gnawing a bone of which he has obtained possession. If he is not careful to perform this operation in the air, he is invariably flanked by two crows, one of which pull constantly at him from behind, to provoke him, whilst the other takes advantage of his impatience to peck at the bone between the very claws of the kite. After some time the crows change places, and each in his turn takes the chestnuts out of the fire. I see at this moment in our courtyard, another bird, less common than the two former species, but not at all rare. The name which it commonly goes by here is adjutant, in other places he bears the much more picturesque name of philosopher. To give you an idea of it, imagine an ordinary heron, the size of a small ostrich, the beak is about three inches wide and more than eighteen long, the claws and legs are very white and thin, and nearly a yard and a half long; the neck, which nearly always hangs in folds, and forms a kind of crop, measures nearly twenty inches. Between these two extremities place a large white body, covered with great dark grey wings, you will have a pretty good idea of the adjutant or philosopher, which last name he well deserves by the pedantic gravity of his carriage, and the foolish expression of his countenance. However this bird is very useful. They say he eats an immense number of serpents and dangerous creatures; he looks splendid on the wing; he hates the kites and protects the crows.

From the description of my house I have been drawn on to give you a little course of natural history; let us now pass to other things. There is nothing else curious in my room, unless it be the two partitions which, with the walls of the house, form the enclosure. These partitions are little more than six feet high, but it is 16 feet from the floor to the ceiling. They are arranged thus to give a free passage to the breeze:

As we go downstairs, let us take a look at the back rooms, a dozen in number, in which there is not a single bath, but great earthenware vessels, always full of water, and little copper vessels which hold about a quart. You stand on the pavement; then fill the little vessel from the big one, and pour the contents about fifty times over your head. That is called taking a bath. It is said to be very healthy, everybody in this country takes a daily bath-except me, for want of time; everybody also has been more or less ill-except me, for the same reason.

It would be impossible to find on the European continent a race more devoid of musical feeling than our pupils. It is not taste they want, but good taste. Several amongst them have an instrument, rather like an accordion, which they call a concertina. They have the courage to spend all their recreations for more than three months in playing one air. I have heard "God save the Queen" thousands of times. Once would have been enough to have disgusted you with it for ever; you may judge whether I am in love with it! Besides it is time to take our walk.

The English went very simply to work to create Calcutta. They just traced a large circular road, to make the boundary. Three Hindoo villages, Fort William, and some European factories, were enclosed in

it; time did the rest. Inside the enclosure the construction of houses is under police regulations. Thatched roofs are forbidden, tiles required, &c. All this annoys the Hindoo, who prefers to live on the other side of the Circular Road; thus the suburbs were formed. The European city increases from day to day. Five years ago, our college was at the extremity of the town; it is now nearly in the centre; the new houses have occupied all the free space, and in some places have crossed the Circular Road. A year and a half ago a patch of Hindoo houses disappeared to make room for a fine tank which furnishes us with water. The transformation is slow but sure. This is English tact; they have made of Calcutta a city of palaces, and this is the name it bears. It is an immense town; the streets are of fabulous length, thanks to the way of building here. I really think that if Paris were built on the same system, it would extend to the natural frontiers.

From the month of November to the month of March the Indians have a season which they call winter. With the thermometer at 68° they are cold, at 59° they shiver, and at 53° or 54° they are frozen. You should see the masons, carpenters, and other workmen, who generally live in the country, come into the town in the morning, wrapped up in one or two additional sheets, mouth and nose completely hidden, and suceeeding so well in looking cold, that after some years the Europeans themselves (unhappy effect of bad example) end by persuading themselves that it is cold here in winter, and even now and then manage to catch a little cold.

But here is the palanquin waiting at the door. It is a wooden box about six feet long. The other two dimensions are each a little more than three feet. Two poles, both slightly bent, and fashioned one in front and the other behind, appear to be the continuation of the axis of the parallelopiped. (Pardon this word, I teach geometry.) Two persons in no clothes beyond what is simply necessary, place themselves under the pole in front, so as to let it rest on the right shoulder of the one and the left of the other; they press against each other, because union makes strength. Two other similar Indians do the same with the pole at the back; the palanquin is lifted up, I push aside the doors, and seat myself on the edge, and with all the elegance obtained from a habit of gymnastic exercises, I throw myself inside backwards. On the bottom is a kind of mattress on which you recline at full length, the shoulders are rested on a cushion behind, and the feet are in front; you cry Djao! and the four palki-bearers set off. Generally to mark the time, the cleverest of the bearers throws out some little sentence of four or six syllables, in a very monotonous manner, quite unknown in Europe; the others answer by repeating the phrase in the same tone. In the town they walk at the rate of at least six miles an hour; on larger journeys they go slower.

NEW CHRISTMAS BOOKS AND OTHER BOOKS.

I. Five Little Farmers. By ROSA MULHOLLAND, Author of "Eldergowan," "Hester's History," &c. (London: Marcus Ward & Co., 6, Chandos-street, and Royal Ulster Works, Belfast. 1876.) THE little people of these realms will soon be able to urge vested interests, prescriptive rights, and several other learned pleas, in support of their eager demand for a new Christmas Story each new Christmas from the Author of the "Little Flower Seekers." For some winters past she has given them just in time for Christmas a pretty book, bright within and without, full of rich-coloured thoughts and rich-coloured pictures, and printed and bound in such fashion as to make the perusal of the pages very pleasant in every way. If we are not greatly mistaken, the Christmas books in question form a climax, growing with each successive Christmas more interesting and more thoroughly acceptable to the proper judges. The proper judges in this case are not those dry old bespectacled fogies, the critics. No, the verdict should be left to a jury of children; and we are sure that such a jury, whether packed or not, would decide unanimously that the Five Little Farmers" is the pleasantest of the series. Grown-up folk, especially poets and such like, may be more charmed by the exquisite fancy and poetic feeling running through the Adventures of Trot and Daisy in a Wonderful Garden by Moonlight. But children would find the dealings of Puck and Blossom with the fairies more credible and life-like, and would take a more human interest in them. In this respect the new candidate for Christmas popularity beats all its predecessors; for the "Five Little Farmers" are real human children, and they talk and ramble about, not with flowers and fairies, but with each other and their mother and the servants and countryfolk.

66

Though we have not the slightest notion of giving a sketch of the story, we may say that the Farmers are Eily, Cyril, Sylvia, Frank, and May Hawthorne. Though the last is only Baby," a year and a-half old, she has a little character of her own, almost as well brought out as that of her big sister Eily, aged twelve or thereabouts. Frank and Cyril are fine sturdy little men, whose example will, we have no doubt, affect favourably the behaviour of sundry youths who will make their acquaintance during the next month or two. But poor Ms. Hawthorne is specially to be congratulated on having for her eldest daughter such a wise, cheerful, motherly "wee body as Eily, who, however, is by no means one of those insufferable paragons of perfection, but

A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food.

And indeed her thoughtful arrangements about "daily food" and similar matters, before her mother's arrival at Hillandale, are among

the most edifying incidents recorded concerning her. That is a good touch, by the way, when Bessie's mother proposes something in the shape of that same "daily food"-"We have had our breakfast, though,' said Frank, looking at her at the same time as if he thought her a perfect angel for mentioning the subject."

Sylvia is the least satisfactory member of the little company; but the good feeling she displayed during the visit to the Children's Hospital makes us hope that she will grow more and more unlike those little Wiltons who "could not take an interest in anything that did not concern themselves," and more and more like her own sister Eily, whom they accused of a fondness for talking "about stupid things-poor people, and books, and things like that." We may here interject a suggestion to the compilers of the next Report of St. Joseph's Infirmary for Sick Children in Buckingham-street, that they would do well to extract the account of the visit which these children in the story book paid to a remarkably similar institution—which visit is very well described in the last ten pages of the second chapWe ourselves must be content with a much briefer specimen. The servant, who is conducting the three eldest of the children to their new and humbler home in the country, proposes to take a short cut by the fields—

ter.

"And so they did, walking across a green hill, and down into a woody hollow, and then coming down a winding, sweetbriery path to the back door of the farmhouse. Well, it was a queer old place, I can tell you. It was two stories high, with very low ceilings, and was built of extremely old dark-red bricks, and roosed with a brown thatch. You could step on the gravel out of the lower windows, and the upper ones were pushed up into the thatch, and winking out of it like cwls' faces locking out of a tree. A rose-bush spread all over one side of the house, and a passionflower over the other, and a long garden ran climbing up a hill behind, with a row of bee-hives at the top of it. In this great garden were crowds of apple-trees, and beds of strawberries, and a good quantity of other fruit besides; and there was also a fine supply of homely flowers-hollyhocks, cabbage-roses, tall lilies. gillyflowers, wallflowers, and a great many more which I cannot remember. There was a gra velled space in front, and then a great large field surrounded by trees; and at one side was a very ancient sun-dial, while at the other side was a nice little woody place, which wandered away, and straggled about, and still kept near the old house, as if to keep it warm."

Though this bright little quarto is made brighter with very prettily coloured pictures of May and the Lambs, Sylvia and the Kittens, Frank and his Chickens, and Mrs. Growler and her Pups, it nevertheless belongs to Messrs. Ward & Co.'s Two Shilling Series. At no season is the difference between a crown and a florin felt more keenly than at Christmas-time; and this is another circumstance sure to increase greatly the popularity of the "Five Little Farmers."

II. The Laying of the Stone: A Sermon by the Most Rev. DAVID MORIARTY, D.D, Bishop of Kerry, with Commemorative Verses by the Very Rev. ROBERT FFRENCH WHITEHEAD, D. D., AUBREY DE VERE, Esq., and Rev. JOSEPH FARRELL, on occasion of Lay ing the First Stone of a New Church in St. Patrick's College, Maynooth. (Dublin: M'Glashan & Gill.)

EVERY Catholic, and especially every Irish Catholic, must needs feel