HONEYCOM B. THE FEMME DE MENAGE OF PARIS. passion if Heaven had not endowed him bountifully As to the femmes de ménage, they seem never to with carelessness as a buckler against adversity. have had any youth; never either to have inspired He is the undisputed prey of this household harpy; or felt any tender sentiments-to have been born whatever he leaves within the grasp of her claw he sixty years old, with a snub nose, a pair of horny is sure never to see again. He employs her to purfists, an asthma, and a rheumatism, with the counte-chase provisions, and pays, through her, fifty per nance of a pippin which has been kept for six months cent. above the market price for everything he conin a fruiterer's shop. All the waters of all the sumes. He invites his friends to see him, and profountains of Paris would hardly freshen them up. the materials in store. At night a band of joyous mises them a bowl of punch, knowing that he has They monopolise among themselves all the types of antiquity created by the imagination of romancers companions assemble round his hearth. They smoke, Elspeth, Meg Merrilies, La Sachette, Peg Slider- they laugh, they exchange quibbles and puns, and skew, and other heroines of Walter Scott, Hugo, their throats are dry-and then they unanimously discuss questions, metaphysical and political, till When a woman of notable incapacity has made demand the promised punch. But where is the twenty attempts at servitude in as many different sugar? The large loaf has miraculously subsided houses, and has been summarily discharged from into a diminutive lump. And where is the rum? them all-when her ignorance and stupidity have The bottle, alas! is empty as the brain of a romanceprevented her from retaining any post whatever- writer. Conquerors leave behind them ruins and when, bent with age, she finds herself verging towards smoking wrecks-the femmes de ménage leave the hospital-then she is qualified for a femme de nothing. They are liable to a peculiar sensation in ménage. the stomach, which can only be appeased by the exhibition, as doctors term it, of gratuitous spirits. Hoffman, and Dickens. The femme de ménage is hired by the day, like a cab; and her emoluments depend of course upon the terms of her engagement. She undertakes, for a consideration, any or every branch of domestic service. She makes the beds, sweeps, scrubs, serves at table, runs on errands, or washes dishes; she might be compared to an ordinary servant were she boarded and lodged, which she is not. She comes at a fixed hour, does anything there is to do for the time agreed upon, and then departs, to repeat her service elsewhere, or to her own home. There was a certain king-I think it was Charles the Fifth-who amused himself by scattering grain to pigeons, and remarking that each one flew away so soon as he had pecked his crop full. "See," said he, "these age the true counterparts of courtiers." They are also the true counterparts of the femme de ménage, who invariably pounce upon everything which it is possible to purloin, and disappear immediately. Being bound to you by no tie of gratitude, they pillage you without remorse and without scruple. The sum of ten, fifteen, or twenty franes, which you pay them monthly, does not appease their avidity. They have always on their arm a large bundle or an immense basket; and when your back is turned, and they are out of the reach of observation, they stuff this receptacle with any thing that falls in their way, from the sugar to the sheets, from the pots of preserves to the bottles of wine. They are more occupied with plunder than with their labour. They leave the dust upon your furniture, and smash your chimney ornaments, hiding the broken pieces in the drawers-pursuing really but one object, that of making a booty of something-no matter what. Sometimes they make a descent upon the larder, and abstract a joint of meat, which they easily conceal in the vast capacity of their pockets. The unfortunate youth who, engaged in the pursuits of law, literature, and commerce, leading the life of a bachelor, far from his friends in the heart of Paris, has no other housekeeper than the femme de ménage-he it is who is the devoted object of her depredations. He would be a real object of com Therefore, young bachelors all, if you render homage to our veracity, if you recognize the justice of our observations, avoid the femmes de ménage, and, rather than have recourse to their services, fear not to make your bed yourself, to go down four pairs of stairs in search of your own provisions, to polish your own boots, and to light your own fire, or, indeed, marry a wife, and take care, in spite of your love of independence, that you do not believe the remedy to be worse than the disease. THE PAWNBROKER'S WINDOW.-There is more philosophy of life to be learned at a pawnbroker's window than in all the libraries in the world. The maxims and dogmas which wise men have chronicled, disturb the mind for a moment, as the breeze ruffles the surface of the deep still stream, and passes away; but there is something in the melancholy grouping of a pawnbroker's window, which, like a record of ruin, sinks into the heart. The household goods-the cherished relics-the sacred possessions affection bestowed, or eyes now closed in death had once looked upon as their own-are, as t were, profaned; the associations of dear old times are here violated; the family hearth is here outraged; the ties of love, kindred, rank-all that the heart clings to, are broken here. It is a sad picture; for spite of the glittering show, its associations are sombre. There hangs the watch, the old chased repeater, that hung above the head of a dying parent, when bestowing his trembling blessings on the poor outcast, who parted with it for bread; the widow's wedding-ring is there, the last and dearest of all her possessions; the trinket, the pledge of love of one now dead, the only relic of the heart's fondest memories; silver that graced the holiday-feast; the giltframed miniature that used to hang over the quiet mantel-shelf; the flute, the favourite of a dead son, surrendered by a starving mother to procure food for her remaining offspring; the locket that held a father's hair; or, more gloomy still, the dress, the very covering of the poor, is there, waving like a rags of wretchedness and misery. It is a strange flight. To those who feel aright, there are more touching memorials to be seen at a pawnbroker's hunger and want that drive these poor creatures to window than in all the monuments in Westminster the river's bed; and miserable enough are their gains. Abbey. AN ATTACK ON OPERA-GOers. Fashionable opera-goers are, generally speaking, the most unmusical persons of one's acquaintance. Half the audience at Covent Garden go to bask in the smile of a handsome tenor, and the other half go to stare, to flirt, to talk, and to show that they are no poorer than their neighbours. At least nine-tenths of the dandies and beauties who furnish the house so prettily, laugh with the most unaristocratic vehemence at any ignorant individual who ventures to hint that Handel and Beethoven wrote as good music as Bellini and Verdi; while it is notorious that the mass of the subscribers vote" Don Giovanni," the "Zauberflote," and "William Tell" insufferably slow, and that the audience drawn by those operas is set down by fashionable supporters of " I Puritani" and "Linda di Chamouni" as a coarse, uncultivated, presumptuous, illmannered, and ill-dressed mob. But though perfectly innocent of music, they can detect a very bad singer or a very bad scene; and they will sometimes, if well led and supported by the press, condemn a very bad opera.—Fraser for July. THE MUDLARKS OF THE THAMES.-If the tide is sufficiently low, we may discern figures in the foreground, through the distance formed by the dirty mews and the littered yards; they are the "Sons of the Thames," but in appearance and habits they are more like its reptiles. They live in mire, and subsist on the gleanings of the mudfields of the river. Were our climate always mild, they might suffer no more than frogs and tadpoles. But, reader, these poor vagabonds are our brethren; they have warm blood, and they shiver when they have to carry on their amphibious pursuits in spite of keen east winds. True, there are some natures that prefer any description of wandering to a settled and regular life; so we may be throwing away our sympathies, and wasting our tears, in shedding them over the river-finders" or' "mudlarks" of the Thames. We ourselves can understand the cry for "a crust of bread and liberty;" but then mud is not introduced. Mud is an ingredient from which nature recoils, and Dante mentions it as one of the torments of his "Inferno." We fear it is absolute 1 Of course some parts offer more fruitful fields than others. Bits of wood, ends of rope, copper-nails, bones, and, above all, coals, are the treasures sought for-procured without money; but at what an expense of cold, toil, and suffering! We heartily wish our fair country women would get up a bazaar for these "river-finders," as soon as they have held one for the benefit of the soldiers' wives and children. The fair ones would benefit themselves, as well as others, by plying their crotchet needles for the poor Thames gleaners.-Miss Gordon. THE CULTIVATION OF THE MIND.-Great and almost incredible have been the effects of diligence and industry in the cultivation of the mind, even in those persons who have enjoyed the fewest advan tages. Of this, our own country has afforded several illustrious examples; many instances have occurred of persons who, amidst all the disadvantages of poverty, and destitute of the usual means of improvement, have soared to such heights in the regions of literature, as have astonished the world, and will cause their names to be remembered with veneration and delight, as long as a taste for science continues to exist; the labours of these untutored geniuses are so many striking proofs of the powerful effects of patient, persevering exertion. It will be well if the careless and indolent consider this circumstance, and blush at their own folly! If we take a survey of those countries which have not yet experienced the blessings of civilization, upon whom the light of science has not yet dawned, dreadful are the scenes which present themselves; ignorance and superstition maintaining an unlimited influence over the human mind, and introducing a thousand barbarous customs, at the thought of which the feeling heart shrinks with horror and disgust. The little appearance of religion that is to be found amongst them is overclouded with most shocking absurdities, and its utility destroyed by the most impious and cruel rites. Can we reflect on these circumstances, and not be sensible of the value of those superior means of improvement which we enjoy? How diligent ought we to be, in appropriating them to our own advantage, and in rendering them subservient to the best interests of society! THE GARDEN.-MARCH. "How many a thing, that pretty is, delays With hundreds of its gentle kindred blows; And speckled daisies, that on uplands bare Their round eyes opening, scatter gladness there. Presuming that our former directions have been (as far as possible) carried out; that the laying of turf, the preparing of soil, the planting and repairing of edgings, the forming of new paths, the reshaping of beds, &c. &c., have been completed, it is only necessary to add, in the way of general directions, that where any of these essentials have been neglected or postponed, no time should be lost in completing them; and that on the other hand, if finished, little remains to be done beyond the turning and regravelling of walks (where requisite), and the rolling of turf, but the hopeful task of planting. The hoe, indeed, must be in active requisition, to keep the surface of the ground loose, and prevent the growth of weeds, which spring up in abundance | struck in heat; beds of this plant look well either under the warm bursts of sunshine that occasionally by itself, or mingled with one or other of the lilacsoften the "winds of March." Annuals. flowering annuals of its own height. Carnations.-Plant out the cloves and common sorts in beds, or in masses, giving them a soil equally composed of loam and cowdung, with some sand. If planted in beds, they require considerable space-say one foot apart in the row, and two between. About the middle of the month choose a fine calm day for sowing hardy annuals: sow in small patches, and cover lightly with fine dry mould; a garden-pot forms a good protection from birds and frost, if turned over the patch. Care should also be taken, where good taste is studied, to arrange the situation of each variety, according Fuchsias.-If in pots, remember one leading to height and colour, so that the placing of red stem makes the handsomest plant. When they are flowers next to orange, or blue beside violet, or budding out, shift them into a compost of leaf white next to pale yellow, may be avoided. White, mould, rotten dung, and sandy loam. When indeed, relieves every colour, but looks to most ad-growing luxuriantly, give abundance of water; vantage contrasted with rose or pink; yellow har- those plants in sheltered situations may now be monises well with lilac or violet, as every lady partly uncovered; cut the shoots back to fresh knows; and orange beside pale blue has a fine buds, or, if much injured, down to the very ground; effect. The end of the month will be early enough they will then throw up young shoots from the for the planting of holyhocks, columbine, sweet- roots, and make handsome compact bushes; where william, campanula, carnation, &c. this is not necessary, train to one leading stem. Autumn-sown Annuals should now be transplanted to the situations in which it is intended for them to flower; and the remaining biennials and perennials should be permanently placed. Antirrhinums, as our vary-coloured and homely snapdragon is called, makes a lively addition to the flower-garden, whether planted singly or in beds. It is not dainty with regard to soil, any ordinary ground will do for it; and its long contiuuance in bloom renders it valuable as well as attractive. Seeds sown now will flower in autumn. Bulbs grown indoors, such as narcissus, Persian jonquils, crocus, and hyacinths, will at the end of this month be in full flower. Be careful to give them sufficient water, and to keep them shaded from the mid-day sun. Crocus. These goulden floures of the old botanists make a fine show in the borders this month; the soil must be kept fresh and clean around them, and a trap on the premises is sometimes requisite to protect the roots from the depredations of mice. Now is the time to mark the best varieties for future planting. Calceolarias. If the weather be fine in the early part of the month, the plants will require to be shifted. If new pots are used, let them be exposed to the atmosphere, or soaked in water; and if they have held plants before, let them be well washed before receiving a new occupant—having taken care of the drainage, as directed in a former paper. Turn the plant that is to be repotted upside down, with your left hand across the pot, and the stem of the plant between your fingers; give the edge of the pot a few taps on any solid substance; lift up the pot, extinguisher-fashion, and you have the plant and ball of earth in your left hand. Lay as much mould in your new pot as will raise the ball of earth to three quarters of an inch from the top; place the plant, with this attached, in the centre of the pot, and fill up all round with fresh soil, pressing the mould down firmly; fill to within half an inch of the top, which space must be left for the purpose of supplying water. Strike the bottom of the pot flatly on some solid substance; water sparingly, and place in the shade till the plant has recovered from the change. These rules will apply generally to the repotting of plants, using proper discretion as to whether larger (or, as is sometimes the case where the roots have rotted from imperfect drainage, or injudicious watering) smaller ones are required. The best of the shrubby and herbaceous sorts of calceolaria should be increased by cuttings Honeysuckles, Jasmines, &c., may still be propagated from cuttings; those which have been protected may be uncovered gradually; and no time should be lost in pruning and nailing them up. Tulips. Be careful to protect at night, and in wet weather; at the end of the month the bed should be dressed; and if any mild soft showers occur, let them enjoy them. To keep the snow-drops, primroses, and violets, which (in places favourable to the approaching Verna) are blooming towards the end of the month, from the earth-stains which the showers dash upon them, it will be necessary to lay a little moss between and around them, a precaution which by no meaus takes from the beauty of the plants. THE AMERICAN GARDEN is another special department of the flower-garden, and is consecrated to the growth of those shrubs and other flowering plants which thrive best in a peaty soil. It by no America, though undoubtedly the greater part of means holds good that all these plants are natives of them come from that continent. We refer to the rhododendrons, azaleas, kalmias, andromedas, &c., which, growing spontaneously in the temperate regions of both the old continent and the new, and being sufficiently hardy to endure the climate of Great Britain, contribute very largely to the beauty of our gardens and dressed grounds. It is desirable that they should have a separate department allotted to them; but they should not be confined to it, for they may be scattered throughout all the shrubberies of the place. When in a distinct locality, and well arranged, the American garden may be made the most permanently evergreen portion of the grounds, and therefore may not inaptly be denominated the Pleasure-ground Winter Garden. As such, it should contain glazed structures, in which the heaths of the Cape, the rhododendrons of India, and the azaleas of China, may find a climate, and receive a culture suited to their natural habits. Many plants in the American garden do not necessarily require a moist peat soil; they may be grown to great perfection in a healthy sand, in a sandy loam, or sandy clay, or in a vegetable earth composed of the decayed leaves of trees. They do not thrive in common garden soil. The American garden may be either a section of the flower-garden, or may be formed in some detached spot on one of the lawns. If the site is naturally suited for this class of plants, some expense may be saved in the formation of a proper soil. Portions of the site may |