consider the little moss pulled up by the roots,
and visited with its full retribution.

The long series of ages is past; the valleys
have been filled up with sponge, four thousand
acres large; and they are in course of being
cleaned out again. What then? Will the
lakes and ponds be brought back, and the
woods made to spring afresh upon the hills?
Will all things be as they were before, except
the men who live there? No: such a restoration
as that is a thing that never happens.
We should like to see some woods in the
hollows, and on the ridges; but there are
none planted yet. Where the lake was, the
soil is ploughed up, and drained, and fertilised;
and the valley will in time be smiling with
waving corn and green pastures. Where
there were fish, there will be flocks. Where
there were perishable islands, there will be
human dwellings. Where there was the
howling of wolves, there is already the lowing
of herds. Where there were murderous
conflicts with barbaric swords, there will be
reaping and binding by men armed with
nothing worse than the peaceful sickle. So
we may hope it will be in the end; but there
are hundreds of acres of desolation to clear
away first. It is only in prospect and in
purpose that we have yet plucked up the l
ittle moss by the roots.

MORE WORK FOR THE LADIES.

HAVING given a useful hint, by the instance
of the female dentist, to those of our country-
women who are deficient in pocket-money to
exactly the same degree in which they are
overburdened with leisure, I now add a few
more like examples which have fallen in our
way as we moved along our road.

In all French towns where any respectable
concourse or transit of strangers is going on,
there, a deadly rivalry, a fierce opposition of
Daguerréotypists exists. It is not the two of
a trade who cannot agree, it is a good half-
dozen hungry hunters after the heads of man,
woman, or child, who, in defiance of their
opponents, stick upon their staring collection
of trophies the motto, "No connection with
the Daguerréotyper over the way." It is
supposed, as of course, that every tourist
passing through every one of these towns must
be taken; the tug of war is, who shall take
him, and add the newly arrived head to the
previously decapitated victims.

As I never had been done—in this way—
and as it was hopeless to run the gauntlet
through the horde of Daguerréotypists with
the least chance of escape, I looked out for
the most generous enemy to whom to surrender
as prisoner, in the hope of being dealt with
on the most merciful terms of portrait-
painting warfare. Among the hostile chiefs
was a female warrior; and I beg to hand
you her card, with an assurance that she
operates upon her patients with the utmost
humanity:—

"Mademoiselle Lebour, Painter in
Daguerréotype, Pupil of M. Sabatier, of the Palais
National at Paris, is at this time stopping at
(wherever she may happen to be). If required,
she Daguerréotypes ladies and gentlemen at
their own houses."

I went, and was received by two ladies,
one about twenty-five, the other perhaps fifty
years of age. They had been doing some
other people: a pretty, costumed, fish-woman,
with her baby; a family party of English
folks—for when you want a large dish of
heads to be served, it only costs a trifle per
head extra on the original plate. A middle-
aged French officer had just descended from
the sanctum in a pleasing state of expectancy
as to how his weather-beaten face would look
upon the smooth silver ground. The ladies
pursued their vocation like workwomen; in
and out at their dark closet, polishing the
metallic panels for their portraits, handling
their secret pickles, preserves, and pigments,
giving a suggestion as to arrangement of
dress, and chatting merrily on the gossip of
the day.

They spoke no English, and some of their
sitters spoke no French, which was awkward.
From the table, on which specimen heads
were lying, I picked up a scrap of paper,
which I took for a talisman, or charm—as it
was—to get over that difficulty. It was
inscribed with short sentences, alternately in
French and Magician's jargon. The jargon
I leave unaltered, replacing the French by
English; thus:—

"Quip your 'ed strait.
Keep your head straight.
Oui must bi gain et gain.
We must begin again.
Oh! peigne hieure haies.
Open your eyes;''

and so forth, unintelligible as abracadabra.
Then came my turn to proceed to the mysterious
apartment. With a fluttering heart I
took a final glance at the looking-glass, and
accompanied the ladies.

"It feels very much like going to have a
tooth drawn," said I.

"You would have thought so, if you had
been here the other day," replied the elder
artiste. "An English lady became quite
nervous when she sat down in the chair, and
as soon as it was all over, she burst into tears,
and threw herself into her husband's arms."

"The chair does look formidable with that
head-rest fixed to its back, and might be
taken for a milder mode of garrotting criminals. I
will venture, nevertheless. Will that
do, ladies?" I asked, trying hard to assume
a careless countenance and an easy attitude.

"Oh, no! Monsieur; that won't do at
all;" said the younger one, laughing. "Have
the goodness to rise for one moment, and I
will show you something better than that.
Voilà; try if you can place yourself more
naturally, thus."