doubt make a proper reply to proper applications
made by proper persons.

Those who are inclined to experimentalise, may
be told that the eggs of the ailanthus silkworm
hatch at a temperature of from 18° to 20° centigrade,
or from 64° to 68° of Fahrenheit. It stands
to reason that they must be kept in a cool place
until the ailanthus plants are well in leaf. When
hatched, the young caterpillars may be placed
either on ailanthus leaves in a tray, or on young
branches furnished with leaves, and whose extremities
are stuck into a jar of water. After the
first moult, they may be transferred to the growing
trees and left there in the open air until the
cocoons are ready to be gathered. M. Méneville
advises the stems of the ailanthus plants to be
cut down level with the ground, and only to use
the suckers of the same year, which will start
with great vigour. In the spring, all last year's
shoots must be pruned close, so that your ailanthus
copse consists only of ligneous stumps and
herbaceous branches, whose large and succulent
leaves are more suitable for feeding the worms
than those produced on the tops of tall trees.
The ailanthus may be planted in rows or in quincunx;
it will grow even in stony soils where
little else that is useful, except the vine, will
thrive—and that demands a far better climate
with the best of aspects.

The cocoons are oval; their colour is exactly
that of a dead leaf. The caterpillar is larger than
the mulberry silkworm. It is of a mealy green,
very difficult to describe, marked with black spots.
Its spiny tubercles are bluish green. The feet,
head, and the last segment of the body are light
yellow; in short, it is as pretty a caterpillar as
you would wish to see. The moth is clad in more
sombre hues. Finally, it was introduced into
Europe by two Piedmontese naturalists, Signore
Griseri and Comba, who received it from Father
Fantoni, a missionary in China. Who will try
whether it can or cannot be turned to good account
in the United Kingdom?

A PUBLIC RECEPTION.

THE sign manual which I am in the habit
of attaching to my familiar letters, formal
documents, cheques, and receipts, is Badger
Spring Badger. But I have not signed
Spring Badger for months, having been what
is grandly called a martyr to rheumatism.
Friends tell me that this vulgar affection is
completely gone out, and that I should take
comfort in the more exquisite but genteeler suffering
of what is called neuralgia. I wish it
were gone out—of my wretched bones. Neuralgia
or rheumatism, it is all one to me. I
know that I have lain for weeks stiff and rigid
as the ossified man; that an undue weight of
bed-clothing seemed to fry and grill my flesh;
that I could only turn by a slow and painful
process, moving cautiously at about a hair's
breadth per minute; and that a hasty movement
in a moment of forgetfulness, resulted in a yell
of such protracted agony as to bring all the
members of the household rushing to my bedside.
My eldest son, a fighting Indian warrior
newly returned from the wars, being brought in,
had to be cautioned against too filial a greeting:
his hearty military warmth would have undone
me utterly. My second son, who serves his
sovereign not less honourably in harmless domestic
warfare—I allude to the militia—comes
rushing from his tented fields: I am compelled
sternly to refuse his proffered hand. Both insist
noisily on taking me northwards to the country.
Alas, take down northwards to the country, unless
for exhibition purposes, an ossified man and
living skeleton!

The only thing that helped to soothe the later
stages of this wretched probation, was the
opportune occurrence of a most interesting
murder. I say it advisedly, a most interesting
murder. But for the well-known Burton-on-
Trent murder case I should have given way. It
stimulated me. I had all the details read to me.
How one Mr. William Rudd, of Burton-on-
Trent, and manager of one of the opulent brewing firms,
by a steady attention to business, became
a paragon among the brewers. How,
rising every day in estimation, he at last had
the happiness of intermarrying with the opulent
brewing firm's daughter. How they lived happily
together. How it came to be remarked with
surprise that Mr. William Rudd was falling
into expensive tastes—keeping race-horses,
four-in-hands, opera-boxes, besides other less
excusable luxuries. How of a sudden he became
very pressing with Mrs. William Rudd to
effectuate a heavy policy on her life: a mere
formality, as he put it. How Mrs. William
Rudd was taken ill in a mysterious way shortly
after, with spasms and sickness which the best
medical advice could not account for; especially
as after each visit of the best medical advice
Mrs. William Rudd seemed to grow worse.
How Mrs. William Rudd died eventually, and
how the heavy policy was paid, with reluctance
certainly. How the opulent brewing firm had
dark suspicions; suspicions strengthened into
certainty when a gentleman who was in the
habit of drinking with Mr. William Rudd in
familiar intercourse, died suddenly; Rudd having
also, as a matter of pure form, effected a
policy on his life. How the late Mr. William
Rudd was taken up, and portions of Mrs. William
Rudd sent up to London to Doctor Alkaly,
F.R.S., for analysis. How Mr. William Rudd
was eventually placed upon his trial. These
things, I say, are familiar to the world, who for
many weeks devoured all details greedily.

I was deep in the exciting trial. I had followed
the convincing but uninteresting address
of the state prosecutor, and found the wretched
man at the bar Guilty unanimously. I had
heard the bubbling enthusiastic harangue of the
serjeant on the other side, and with my hand
on my heart pronounced my own verdict of
Not Guilty. I listened (from my bed) to
Doctor Alkaly, F.R.S. (of London), who, in a
curious series of experiments, had administered