by steam and electricity, since the previous
morning; but a modest sheet, in the humble
guise of a miniature Morning Post (like the
Morning Post of old), for the registry of the
names and "up-puttings" of the tens of
thousands of strangers who will inevitably be
thrusting themselves into London, like needles
in bundles of hay, where nobody can find
them. Such a humble record as we propose
already exists, and we will describe it:—

About three years since, a brother of the
well-known German philosopher, Heine,
established a paper in Vienna, called the
"Fremden Blatt" or "Strangers' Leaf." One
of its chief objects is to give the names and
residences of such strangers as arrive daily in
the capital, and the dates of their departure.
It is printed on a sheet about the size of a
lady's pocket-handkerchief. It costs rather
less than a penny; the expenses of conducting
it are trifling, and its circulation is very
extensive. There is not an hotel or coffee-house,
not a lounge, or a pastry-cook's shop (the chief
place of resort in Vienna), which does not
take it in, and indeed, among the idlers and
triflers—a very large class of every population
—it is the only paper read at all.

It will, perhaps, however, give a better idea
of it to analyse the contents of the number for
July 31st, 1850, now before us. The first
column, and two-thirds of the second, is
devoted to intelligence connected with Austria
and the provinces; all short paragraphs, most
of them of only three or four lines. Their
matter concerns the movements of persons of
note, and such military and civil appointments,
promotions, and retirements, as are likely to
be of general interest. If they touch upon
any other news, the bare fact is related without
comment of any kind. In the next
column, Foreign news—including the exciting
intelligence from Schleswig Holstein—are
disposed of in a dozen paragraphs, containing,
however, quite as much as it is necessary to
know to be on equal terms with one's friends
after dinner. Then come the domestic on dits
of Vienna with the current topics of
conversation and a spice or two of scandal; by
no means to be imitated here, or anywhere
else. Births, deaths, marriages, accidents and
offences, follow. All this is, however, merely
the prelude. The rise and fall of nations, the
mere change of a dynasty, or the details of an
earthquake, are but accessories to the grand
aim, end, and purpose of the Fremden Blatt's
existence. As Sarah Battle relaxed from the
serious business of whist, to unbend over a
book, so the editor of the Strangers' Leaf
dallies with the great globe itself and its most
terrific catastrophes to recreate the minds of
his readers previous to the study of—
"arrivals and departures." Upon these the editor
fastens all his care—all his genius. They are
alphabetically arranged with great precision.
They are his leading article. Should a mistake
occur in geography, or should he be a few
thousands out in his statistics, it is nothing;
but the accidental mis-spelling of a title of ten
syllables; if he happen to leave out a "z" in
the name of Count Sczorowszantzski; he
inserts, next morning, an apologetic "erratum"
of great length.

The utility of such a register in London, at
the approaching Industrial Fair, as we presume
to call it, is easily seen. Let us suppose Count
Smorltork arriving in England with the
intention of writing an account of the Exposition.
He has only a few days to make his
observations; and it is not till he has driven
half over London, that he discovers of Lord
Tomnoddy and Sir Carnaby Jenks—from
whom he expects to derive his chief information
—that one is at Leamington, and the other
in Scotland. Or we may imagine Dr. Dommheit,
with the grave Senor Eriganados, and
their volatile coadjutor, M. de Tête-vide,
arriving in our capital on a scientific excursion.
It costs them a month's income in
messengers and cab-fares, and a week's
waiting while their strangely spelt letters are
decyphered at the Post-Oflice, before they
learn that Mr. Crypt is off with Lord Rhomboid
and the Chrononhotonthologos Society,
somewhere in the provinces; Dr. Dryasdust
is looking for antiquities in the Hebrides;
and the oracle of their tribe, Earl
Everlasting—having been left alone with the
secretary and the porter at the sixth hour of
the reading of his paper on the antediluvian
organisms of a piece of slate—has gone down
to his "place" in Dorsetshire in a huff. On
the other hand, the famous Dr. Ledern
Langweile, Monsieur de Papillon-Sauvage, and the
great Condé Hermosa-Muchacha-Quieres, are
going crazy because they cannot find each
other; yet all are perhaps dwelling within a
stone's throw of each other; perhaps in the
same street or square—most probably Leicester
Square, which they have been given to understand
is the most fashionable quarter of the
town. This is exactly the condition of things
which may be expected without such a register
of names and addresses as we suggest.

To our own men about town, also, or to
"ladies of condition," as Addison's Spectator
has it, the Strangers' Leaf will be invaluable.
None have so little time as the idle; and how
severely Indolence will have to work for the
benefit of its foreign and provincial friends
in 1851, it must tremble to anticipate. To
relieve it a little, some such means as we
suggest should be adopted, for allowing
Indolence to find out easily those strangers
who have been recommended to his attention
and good offices. One glance at a
list of "arrivals" would save it a world of
trouble.

The duties of the editor of the "London
Strangers' Leaf" would not be very onerous.
The names and intended addresses of every
individual coming from abroad it will not be
difficult to obtain. To reach us Islanders
every visitor must arrive by sea, and at each
port we are blessed with a custom-house. The