whether they should nevertheless give Mr.
James Mutton Fletcher the money. The
reply was in effect, Yes; give Mr. James
Mutton Fletcher the money. So Mr.
Fletcher had it. Then a fresh storm arose, and
there were petitions sent to England, which
resulted in the retirement of Mr. James
Mutton Fletcher for two years on sick leave
from his very arduous duties. I know no
more of the tale.

Tom Log came to Valetta, mysteriously, on
board ship: young, fat, and stupid: with a
letter for a high official, which he omitted to
deliver for some time. He began by spending
what money he had, at an hotel, then he
ran into debt, then sank into distress and
tears, and was a Valetta mystery until somebody
discovered that he had a letter of
introduction undelivered. When the high official
read it, Tom Log's debts were paid, and
Tom was appointed to a clerkship. The head
clerk in less than a week wrote to the
high official indignantly protesting that his
new subordinate could neither read nor
write. The reply was, "Teach him!" Tom
was taught, and Tom was helped, and Tom
has prospered. Tom married two rich women,
(in succession, I hope), and is now one of our
consuls somewhere.

Doctor Basket was a doctor's boy, who
picked up no more than a few sweepings of
physic. His master was an Examiner,
who used to boast that he could pass his
house-dog if he liked to have him for a
colleague, and he wished so to befriend
young Basket. Nevertheless, Basket was
rejected—his ignorance being too actively
gross—and so, as nothing could be done with
him on shore, he was sent out as a ship
surgeon. Afloat he proved himself so
unqualified, even for the rudest kind of ship
surgery, that he was held prisoner on board
his vessel in the harbour of Valetta, and
condemned to ride the boom. Appeals were
made on his behalf; the high official inquired
whether he knew anything of anything; and
it was found that he could speak Maltese and
English. Then he was the very man his
Excellency required to go about with him as
interpreter! As such, he was installed, and
he became very useful in the house; he went
to market for the high official's lady, cheapened
provisions, served sometimes in the capacity
of courier, and made himself so generally
useful and agreeable that it was determined
to do something for him under Government.
Accordingly, one morning Dr. Basket was
appointed Medical President; Chief Medical
Officer on the Island! Uprose the profession,
and resisted the insult. The decree was
cancelled; a new place was expressly made
for the favourite; a salary of three hundred a
year was attached to it; he was to be
"Head of all the Charities." But, it was said,
every charity has its own Board of Guardians,
and the Bishop presides over them all. His
Excellency replied, "Never mind. If the
charities are provided for, let him look after
the prisoners." But, it was said again, the
Superintendent of Police gets five hundred a
year for doing that. It did not matter. Dr.
Basket had his salary, and was supposed to
look after the prisoners.

Now, I found the people in all directions
telling me in Malta that this is the sort of
civil government to which they are
accustomed. Lazy dogs keep the mangers and
the stables too, while there are your horses
with a hard day's work before them made
to lie down in the road. Ought anybody
to look into the matter?

A MANCHESTER WAREHOUSE.

A MANCHESTER warehouse. Why a
Manchester warehouse? Why not a Liverpool, or
a Bristol warehouse? Simply because they
are distinct species of the genus; because the
Manchester warehouse is a warehouse per se,
distinguishable from the seven-storied red-
brick piles which line the quays of our great
seaports, and are merely the storehouses of
that comprehensive article, raw material.
The Manchester warehouse is an affair of
infinitely greater complexity and interest than
these homelier compeers.

The Manchester warehouse is a striking
exemplification of the influence which
railways and the other appliances for rapid
transit have brought to bear upon the
commerce of the country, and especially upon the
operations of its external trade. In the olden
time (blest age of romance!) when the journey
from Yorkshire to the metropolis was
performed (D.V.) within the miraculously short
space of six days, before the steam horse
began to fly across the country, bearing some
hundreds of tons at its back, the mode in
which the manufacturers and the retail
dealers transacted their business together
differed widely from the present system.
Each manufacturer kept his stud of travellers
—gentlemen who saw a great deal of
the world, and exercised their experience
upon the simplicity of rural haberdashers.
Studying mankind from the point of view
afforded by a gig; waging unflinching war
with knavish ostlers; ogling buxom
chamber-maids; eloquent in praise of full-
bodied port,—more eloquent in eulogy of
their masters' wares; great in whisker and
loud in voice; good-natured, vulgar, jocular,
overwhelming, persevering, and industrious
to the last degree; the commercial traveller of
old was a very different personage to his easy-
going, locomotive successor. His journeys were
long and his visits infrequent. Say that he
came out of Nottingham, with lace and stockings,
and, in a gig well stocked with samples and
patterns, perambulated the length and breadth
of the land during six long months. Making
some great commercial Inn his head-quarters,
he would drive about from village to village,
until all the district was exhausted of its orders,