their song, the chorus of which, often
repeated, was—"Jelo, Jelo, Jelo!'' Then
went out to them the daughter of our host,
dressed as if for her bridal; and the whole
group began to dance, still continuing their
chant. Presently the leader of the band came
forward, and threw upon our right shoulder
a napkin of fine linen, embroidered at the
edge with red cotton, and immediately
returned to her companions. Our waggoner
now informed us that we were bound, in
return for the compliment paid us by this
group of young and pretty girls, and to show
to them our sense of their felicitations for
the day of St. Lazarus, to give a present of
money; but the custom of the country was
not to place it in the hands of the leader, nor
to throw it disrespectfully, but to tie it in the
corner of the napkin which was upon our
shoulder, and to give it back to the girl when
she passed before us. He added, that those
who would not, or could not, give presents of
money, gave eggs, flour, or beans, according
to their means; and that everything was
afterwards divided in equal portions between
the songstresses. We now saw two little
boys, standing behind the group of pretty
beggars, each bearing a large basket, full of
eggs, walnuts, and other provisons. Each,
moreover, had upon his shoulders a sack of
flour.

This is not the only opportunity which the
young Bulgarian girls have of amusing
themselves, and of procuring presents at the same
time. They perform the same ceremony
at Christmas, or New Year's-day, and on
Twelfth-day. The custom, under different
forms, is general through the East, in Greece,
and in the Ionian Islands. In the latter
countries, however, there is no dancing; and
it is the boys who, in groups of four or five,
go from house to house, repeating the song
of the festival; partly to amuse themselves,
partly to obtain money. We may add, that
a similar practice is mentioned by classical
authors, and that even the words chanted on
the occasion have been preserved under the
name of the " Song of the Swallow."

The dance performed on this occasion at
Coporani is general throughout Bulgaria, and
is called Kolo. Our waggoner informed us
that the chorus so often repeated meant,
"Come hither, come hither, good girl." The
Kolo is danced both by men and women on
various occasions. When complete, both
sexes join and form a circle, holding hands
and moving round with the monotonous
stamp common to the commencement of the
war-dances of most tribes much further
removed from civilization than the Bulgarians;
or the Greeks, the Zigans, and the Albanians,
who habitually perform the same dance. In
many places it is the custom to interrupt
the song by jests and merry sayings. The
Bulgarian women—who are stout and short,
but very pretty and jovial-looking—give life
and animation to the dance more by their
smiles than by their activity; for they are
not nearly so light and graceful as the Greek
women. However, we shall long remember
our charming visitors at Coporani.

LOCKED OUT.

Preston—situated upon the banks of the
Ribble, some fifteen miles from the mouth of
that river—is a good, honest, work-a-day
looking town, built upon a magnificent site,
surrounded by beautiful country; and, for
a manufacturing town, wears a very
handsome and creditable face. Preston
concentrates within itself all the factories of the
district; so that, with one or two insignificant
exceptions, it may be said that there
are no factories within many miles of Preston
not within the town itself. This seems an
unimportant fact at first, but it exercises a
powerful influence over the state of the labour
market. The feeling of isolation is so strong
in the town, that people from a short distance
are spoken of as " foreigners."

As we glide into the station-yard, our first
exclamation is, " What a dirty place!" Well,
it is a dirty place that station-yard of Preston,
and it doesn't do justice to the town. How
her Majesty contrives to eat her luncheon
within its precincts, when she passes through
from her Highland home, we cannot imagine.
The only pleasant sight within its boundaries,
is the fresh face and golden ringlets of the
little newsvendor, known to every traveller in
this part of the kingdom, whose loyal practice
it is, upon the occasion of Queen Victoria's
passages through the town, to present her
Majesty with copies of the morning papers on
a silver salver.

We pass out of the station, astonished to
perceive that the atmosphere, instead of being
thick and smoky, is as clear here as the air
upon Hampstead Heath. An intelligent
Prestonian explains that now, there are fifty
tall chimneys cold and smokeless, and that
ought to make a difference. Forty-one firms
have "locked out" their hands, and twenty-
one thousand workpeople are obliged to be at
play. Preston in full work is, we learn, different
from many other manufacturing towns.
It is surrounded by agriculture—a smoky
island in the middle of an expansive
cornfield. The consequence is, that it enjoys a
great supply of labour, and has less competition
than at other places.

By this time we find ourselves on a level
plain of marshy ground, upon the banks of
the Ribble, and below the town of Preston.
This is called THE MARSH, and it is at once the
Agora and the Academe of the place. Here,
if report speaks truly, do the industrial
Chloes of Preston listen to the amorous
pleadings of their swains; here modern
Arachnes (far excelling Minerva in their
spinning, whatever may be said of their
wisdom), cast skilful webs about the hearts of