women, were in service. In Brighton, the proportion
was a little lower. In Cheltenham, the
proportion of men-servants was higher—higher
even than at Cambridge—but not so high as at
Oxford, where nearly a tenth part of the men
are in service. In Liverpool, hardly more than
one man in a hundred is a servant. In London,
taking old and young together, one male in
seventeen, and one female in every three or four,
live by domestic service. The proportion of
men-servants in St. George's, Hanover-square,
was a fourth part of the male population of the
district. Of men and women together, three in
five were servants; three were in waiting upon
two. On the other hand, in Bethnal-green
only one man in a hundred men, and five or six
women in a hundred women, lived in this way.
Of the professions in England and Wales (we
need say nothing about their distribution), it
appeared at the last census that one man in a
hundred and eighty was a minister of religion,
schoolmasters were in almost the same proportion;
but there were not two-thirds of the number
of medical practitioners, and of these only
one man in two thousand five hundred was a
physician. The artist, reckoning together painter
and sculptor, proved to be one man in a
thousand, or one woman in ten thousand. One
man in five thousand was an editor or journalist;
one man in ten thousand was an author. In all
England and Wales, the whole number of women
returned ten years ago as engaged in literature,
—a number yielding no appreciable proportion
on the entire population—was but one hundred
and nine.

These suggestive calculations we draw from
some papers founded on the bulky census returns
of 'fifty-one, by Mr. T. A. Welton, read lately before
the Statistical Society. Curious information is
also given in these papers as to the degree of
thickness in the peopling of the chiefly agricultural,
manufacturing, and mining districts, and
the rates at which different parts of the country
grew in population during the ten years from
census to census. Thus it is found that during
the fifty years of which the ten yearly census
has taken account, the population has been
almost trebled in the twenty principal metal
manufacturing districts: while it has increased
only eighty per cent, or has not quite doubled,
in the rest of the country. In the ten years
between the last census and that which preceded
it, the, increase of population in all England and
Wales was rather more than an addition of
twelve souls to every hundred. The whole
population rose, in round numbers, from sixteen
to eighteen millions. So that, for this part of the
United Kingdom, we may expect a return of
more than twenty millions next month. The
rate of increase varied much, as we have said, in
different places. In Wilts, there was even
decrease. In Cambridge, there was very little
more than the average increase. In Durham,
the increase was of above twenty-five; in
London, nearly of twenty-one on every hundred.
London had advanced, and the exact figures are
worth giving in this case, from 1,948,417 to
2,362,236. The present population, therefore,
may not be many thousands short of three
million, for the pace of growth is quickened.

A VERY LIKELY STORY.

A SPARKLING April morning greeted me, as,
after an unbroken absence of thirty years, I
set foot once more on English ground, at Deal.
Circumstances that seemed fatal to my hopes
of future happiness on earth, had induced me, at
the age of twenty-five—at which period I had
served eight years in the British cavalry—to
sever myself from home and country, profession
and friends.

I got into the train at Deal. There was only
one other passenger in the compartment: a stout
middle-aged man, with a rosy good-natured face,
and a curious habit of pursing up and then
separating his chubby lips, with a kind of smack—as
though he were kissing something.

At first, I took this sound as the preliminary
to some observation, and turned, with proper
politeness, to receive it, but nothing followed.
On the contrary, my companion appeared, as we
proceeded, to retire more and more into himself.
He was immersed in gloomy meditation, the lively,
not to say, humorous expression departing utterly
from his face, until, at length, to my profound
astonishment, he suddenly threw himself back
in the corner of the carriage, and burst into
tears!

There was something at once touching and
absurd in the agitated workings of that jolly face,
the quivering of that chubby lip. His emotion
increased; he sobbed aloud. It appeared
absolutely incumbent on me, his only fellow-traveller,
to offer some remark.

"You suffer, sir, I fear," I observed.

"In mind, severely, sir." (He made a manifest
effort at self-control.) "I am smack ashamed
of myself, I ask your smack pardon. Few things,
I may affirm, could have wrung from me an
exhibition of smack feeling such as this: an emotion
strong enough to have engaged the kind and
well-meant smack sympathy of a chance
companion smack," concluded the traveller.

I murmured some words intended to be
consolatory, covered by the rumbling of the train.

"This," resumed my companion, "is the
smack Ann——"

He clapped his handkerchief suddenly to his
eyes, and again his broad shoulders heaved with
the violence of his agitation.

I was not quite certain what he meant by
"Ann," and, having nothing to add to my former
observations, held my peace.

"Smack," said the traveller, at last; "this is
the anniversary of one of the most singular and
mysterious events in the annals of English crime
(I may add, also, in those of medico-chirurgical
science); one, my good smack, sir, that has been
the source of much smack suffering to a very old
and smack valued friend of mine. And, what is