Once upon a time, there was a dusty dry
old shop in Long Acre, London, where,
displayed in the windows, in tall slim bottles,
were numerous preparations, looking, at first
sight, like unhealthy maccaroni. On a nearer
inspection, these were found to be Tapeworms,
extracted from the internal mechanism of
certain ladies and gentlemen who were
delicately referred to, on the bottles, by initial
letters. Doctor Gardner's medicine had
effected these wonderful results; but, the
Doctor, probably apprehensive that his patients
might "blush to find it fame," enshrined them
in his museum, under a thin cloud of mystery.
We have a lively remembrance of a white
basin, which, in the days of our boyhood,
remained, for eight or ten years, in a conspicuous
part of the museum, and was supposed
to contain a specimen so recent that there
had not yet been time for its more elaborate
preservation. It bore, as we remember, the
label, "This singular creature, with ears like
a mouse, was last week found destroying the
inside of Mr. O— in the City Road." But,
this was an encroachment on the province of
the legitimate Tapeworms. That species were
all alike except in length. The smallest, according
to the labels, measured, to the best of our
recollection, about two hundred yards.

If, in any convenient part of the United
Kingdom, (we suggest the capital as the centre
of resort,) a similar museum could be
established, for the destruction and exhibition of
the Red-Tape-Worms with which the British
Public are so sorely afflicted, there can be no
doubt that it would be, at once, a vast national
benefit, and a curious national spectacle. Nor
can there be a doubt that the people in general
would cheerfully contribute to the support of
such an establishment. The labels might be
neatly and legibly written, according to the
precedent we have mentioned. "The Right
Honourable Mr. X— from the Exchequer.
Seven thousand yards." "Earl Y— from the
Colonial Office. Half as long again." "Lord
Z— from the Woods and Forests. The longest
ever known." "This singular creature,"—not
mentioning its ears "was found destroying
the patience of Mr. John B— in the House of
Commons." If it were practicable to open
such an Institution before the departure of
All Nations (which can scarcely be hoped) it
might be desirable to translate these abstracts
into a variety of languages, for the wider
understanding of one of our most agreeable and
improving sights.

THE BROKEN CHAIN.

CAPTIVES, bound in iron bands,
    Have well-nigh learned to love their chain;
Slaves have held up ransomed hands,
    Praying to be slaves again;
      So, doth usage reconcile,
      Soothing even Pain to smile;
      So, a sadness will remain
      In the breaking of the chain.

But, if chains were woven, shining,
    Firm as gold, and fine as hair,
Twisting round the heart, and twining,
    Binding all that centres there,
    In a knot that, like the olden,
    May be cut, yet no 'er unfolden—
    Would not something sharp remain.
    In the breaking of the chain!

TWO SCENES IN THE LIFE OF
JOHN BODGER.

SCENE THE FIRST.

IN the year 1832, on the 24th December,
one of those clear bright days, that sometimes
supersede the regular snowy sleety
Christmas weather, a large ship lay off
Plymouth; the Blue Peter flying from her mast-
head, quarters of beef hanging from her
mizzen-booms, and strings of cabbages from
her stern rails; her decks crowded with
coarsely-clad blue-nosed passengers, and
lumbered with boxes, barrels, hen-coops, spars,
and chain-cables. The wind was rising with
a hollow, dreary sound. Boats were hurrying
to and fro, between the vessel and the beach,
where stood excited groups of old people and
young children. The hoarse impatient voices
of officers issuing their commands, were
mingled with the shrill wailing of women on
the deck and the shore.

It was the emigrant ship, "Cassandra,"
bound for Australia during the period of the
"Bounty" system, when emigration
recruiters, stimulated by patriotism and a
handsome per centage, rushed frantically up
and down the country, earnestly entreating
"healthy married couples" and single souls of
either sex to accept a free passage to "a land
of plenty." The English labourers had not
then discovered that Australia was a country
where masters were many and servants
scarce. In spite of poverty and poorhouse
fare, few of the John Bull family could be
induced to give heed to flaming placards
they could not read, or inspiring harangues
they could not understand. The admirable
education which in 1832, at intervals of seven
days, was distributed in homœopathic doses
among the agricultural olive branches of
England, did not include modern geography,
even when reading and writing were imparted.
If a stray Sunday School scholar did acquire
a faint notion of the locality of Canaan, he
was never permitted to travel as far as the
British Colonies.

To the ploughman out of employ, Canaan,
Canada, and Australia, were all "furrin
parts; " he did not know the way to them;
but he knew the way to the poorhouse, so
took care to keep within reach of it.

Thus it came to pass that the charterers of
the good ship "Cassandra," were grievously
out in their calculations; and failing to fill
with English, were obliged to make up their
complement with Irish; who, having nothing
to fall upon, but the charity of the poor to