seems to lie now by general consent between
France and Great Britain; our neighbours
priding themselves upon the exquisite beauty
of their ladies' watches, whilst we, on the
contrary, carry off the palm for the soundness and
finish of our men's watches. But there is one
branch of horology in which the French cannot
even attempt to compete with us, and that
is in the making of chronometers. English
chronometers are held incomparable the whole
world over, and this is no wonder when we
remember the severe tests to which all official
chronometers (that is those used in Her Majesty's
Navy) are subjected before they are approved
by the  the sign-manual of the Astronomer
Royal. All naval chronometers have undergone
a probationary stage of six months, a
year, and in some cases two years, at the
Greenwich Observatory, before receiving their
liceat to go over the seas. During this time
they are submitted to a whole series of scientific
experiments, comprising all possible changes
of temperature, ordeal by fire, and ordeal by
water. So that it may well be said when one
of them passes the examination, that the man
who has made it deserves something better than
the title of mechanic; he should take rank as
an artist, and a first-rate artist too.

In conclusion, we may remark that the
Greenwich Observatory is often a depository
for other chronometers than those which are
intended for the fleet. Conscientious makers
send the chronometers they intend for the
public to be tested there before offering them
for sale; and we should advise anybody about
to purchase one of these valuable time-keepers
to insist on the Greenwich mark upon it, as he
would for the Hall mark if buying silver plate.
It is well to be always on the safe side.

                LOTS OF MONEY.

IT is a common notion among the poor and
struggling that it is a fine thing to be rich;
and that if wealth is not happiness, it is a very
near approach to it. Doubtless it is a good
thing to be rich, if the rich person knows the
value of riches, and turns them to a proper
account, for his own advantage, and that of his
family, his friends, and his fellow-creatures.
Doubtless, too, it is a very sad thing to be
poor, to endure cold, hunger, and nakedness;
or to owe debts which one cannot
pay. But when the mass of people come
to the conclusion that, as a rule, the rich
are much happier than the poor, and that the
poor have no compensation for the hardship of
their lot, and the rich no drawbacks on the
luxury of theirs—an error of serious consequence
to their own well-being takes possession
of their minds, and leads to that worst
kind of idolatry, money-worship, and that
worst kind of heresy, that it is everybody's
duty to get rich.

In the course of a not very long life I
have known the histories of many persons
who had, to use the common phrase, "lots
of money"—money that they either acquired
by speculation, by industry, or successful
commerce, or that they had inherited
from their ancestors. Out of seven such people
whose histories I knew, five were either very
miserable in their minds, disappointed in their
hopes, or would gladly have exchanged all
their money for something that poor people
had, but which unkind Fate had not bestowed
upon them. The first of these little histories is
that of a gentleman who had acquired a million
of money, at least, by successful commerce, and
was able to retire in the prime of life and
strength, and marry for love, a young lady,
well-born, accomplished, and beautiful. The
world was fair before them. They had a
town house and a country house, and a
shooting box in the Highlands. They had
a large library, and a picture gallery,
carriages and horses, and a yacht. They had
troops of friends, and the respect of everybody
who knew them. They were hospitable
and charitable, and adorned every society
into which they entered. But they were not
altogether happy after the first two or three
years of their wedded life. Not that their
love diminished, but Fortune, which had given
them so much, did not give them everything.
The gentleman desired an heir to his estates,
and the lady, with a large maternal heart,
desired a child, for the sake of a child; and the
blessed boon, for which she would have been
so grateful and so happy, was denied her.
Beggars came to her gate with twins in their
arms, and she sometimes thought that such
beggars were happier than she; at last the sight
of an infant would so excite her envy, and would
so deeply impress her with the sense of loneliness,
and of undeserved misery, as to produce
paroxysms of passionate hysteria.

Another little story is that of a successful
manufacturer, but rude, unlettered, and without
much mental resource to help him to pass away
his time, who retired from business at the age
of sixty, and built himself a splendid mansion—
he called it a castle—on the shore of a lovely
lake, in the Highlands of Scotland, far away
from the highways of travel, in order that his
aristocratic seclusion might not be invaded
by tourists, or desecrated by the plebeian
rail and the whiz of the democratic locomotive.
When the "castle" was furnished, and
his grounds were laid out to his order, he
suddenly discovered that he had nothing to do,
or to occupy his time. He was no company to
himself, and he and his wife were mentally as
opposed to each other as vinegar and oil.
Friends and acquaintances occasionally came
to visit him; but he lived too far out of the
beaten track, to expect visits from any but
idlers, and what the Scotch call "sorners,"
and as his conversation was not amusing, and
he never lent or gave away money, even
such waifs and strays from the great fold of
humanity seldom ventured into his remote
seclusion. He was too proud to go back to
the great city and recommence business, which
might have been the best thing for him to have