day an account of a night in a Casual Ward in
a workhouse made some of those "who sit at
home at ease" ask whether we live in a Christian
city. They have not the less reason to
put the question, when they see those
revelations made the excuse of "a sensation
drama" with a real pauper—Kind Old Daddy
—positively the genuine article, engaged
expressly for the bill. In the name of pity,
decency, humanity, let every right-minded person
discourage and denounce exhibitions, the essential
brutality of which is not redeemed by the
slightest pretext of grace or beauty. We are
busy, and at the time being earnest, in our
resolution to come at Jamaica truths. Should we
be thoughtless in overlooking sores at home,
which, though some may rate them as slight,
indicate deep and widely-spread inner disease?

At which theatre will the thrilling drama of
The Cattle Plague, with a real infected cow
engaged expressly for the purpose, be first
produced?

WHAT WAS IT?

MANY years ago—not much less, I am
concerned to say, than fourscore—it fell, in the
line of professional duty, to the lot of my uncle
—great-uncle, you understand—then a young
officer of engineers, to visit, of all spots in the
earth, the Shetland Isles. His journey, as stated
in his note-book, from which this remarkable
incident is taken, was connected with the
intended restoration of Fort Charlotte—a work of
Cromwell's day, intended for the protection of
the port and town of Lerwick, but which came
to considerable sorrow in the succeeding century,
when a Dutch frigate, storm-stayed, devoted an
autumn evening to knocking it about the ears
of the half-dozen old gentlemen in infirm health
who constituted the garrison.

On the evening that preceded his departure
from Chatham, my uncle appears to have given
a little supper of adieu, at which were present
Captains Clavering and Dumpsey, Messieurs
Chips, Bounce, and The Tourist.

Whether the last three gentlemen belonged
to the service or not cannot be ascertained.
The army-lists of that period have been searched
in vain for their names, and we are driven to
the conjecture that the sportiveness of intimate
friendship may have reduced what was originally
"Carpenter" to Chips, and supplied the other
two gentlemen with titles adapted to their
personal merits or peculiarities.

From my relative's memoranda of the
overnight's conversation, it would seem to have
taken, at times, a warning and apprehensive
tone; at other times, to have been jocular, if
not reckless. The wet blanket of the party
was Dumpsey, whose expressions of
condolence could hardly have been more solemn
had my uncle been condemned to suffer at day-
break, with all the agreeable formalities at that
time incident to high treason!

Chips appears to have followed the lead of
Captain Dumpsey, and (if we may assign to
him certain appalling incidents of the North
Seas, to which my uncle has appended, as
authority, "Ch.") with considerable effect.
Mr. Bounce seems to have propounded more
cheerful views, with especial allusion to the
exciting sport his friend was likely to enjoy in
those remote isles; while The Tourist has, to
all appearance, limited himself to the duty of
imparting to my uncle such local information
as he was able to afford. In fact, so far as can
be guessed, the conversation must have
proceeded something in this fashion:

"Tell you what, old fellow," Dumpsey may
have said, "going up to this place isn't exactly
a hop across Cheapside. If there's any little
matter of—of property, in which I can be
serviceable as administrator, legatee, and so forth
—after your—in the event of your remaining
permanently within the Arctic circle—now,
say so." ,

"Prut!—Pshaw!" probably said my uncle.

"The kraken fishery has been bad this year,
they tell me," said Chips, quietly. "Otherwise,
your friend might have secured a specimen or
two of the bottle-nosed whale and moored them
as breakwaters in the Irish Channel."

"He did nearly as well," returned the
unabashed Bounce. "Bill was bobbing one day
for coalfish in rather deepish water—thousand
fathoms or so—when there came a tug that all
but pulled his boat under. Bill took several
turns round a cleat, and, holding on, made
signals to his sloop for assistance. Meanwhile,
his boat, towed by the thing he had hooked, set
off on a little excursion to the Faro Islands;
but a fresh breeze springing up, the sloop
contrived to overhaul him, and secure the prize.
What do you think it was? You'd never guess.
A fine young sea-serpent, on his way to the
fiords, fresh run, and covered with sea-lice as
big as Scotch muttons!"

"I should, I confess, much like to learn, from
rational sources," said Captain Clavering,
"whether these accounts of mysterious
monsters, seen, at long intervals, in the North Seas,
have any foundation of truth."

My uncle was disposed to believe they had.
It was far from improbable that those wild and
unfrequented sea-plains had become the final
resort of those mighty specimens of animal life,
which it seemed intended by their Creator
should gradually disappear altogether.
Indifference, the fear of ridicule and disbelief, the
want of education, preventing a clear and
detailed account—such, no doubt, had been among
the causes tending to keep this matter in
uncertainty. It was not long since that a portion
of sea-serpent, cast upon the Shetland shores,
had been sent to London, and submitted to the
inspection of a distinguished naturalist, who (the
speaker believed) pronounced it a basking shark.
My relative's voyage must have been made
under auspicious circumstances, since,
notwithstanding a brief detention at Aberdeen, a heavy
tossing in the miscalled "roost" of Sumburgh,
and a dense fog as they approached Lerwick,