the leading counsel for the Poisoner,
concluding, as to his own innocence, with a So
help me God! Before his trial, the Poisoner
says he will be at the coming race for the
Derby. Before his trial, Thurtell says, "that
after his acquittal he will visit his father,
and will propose to him to advance the
portion which he intended for him, upon
which he will reside abroad." (So Mr.
Manning observed, under similar circumstances,
that when all that nonsense was over, and
the thing wound up, he had an idea of
establishing himself in the West Indies). When
the Poisoner's trial is yet to last another day
or so, he enjoys his half-pound of steak and
his tea, wishes his best friends may sleep as
he does and fears the grave "no more than his
bed." (See the Evening Hymn for a Young
Child). When Thurtell's trial is yet to last
another day or so, he takes his cold meat,
tea, and coffee, and "enjoys himself with
great comfort;" also, on the morning of his
execution, he wakes from as innocent a
slumber as the Poisoner's, declaring that he
has had an excellent night, and that he hasn't
dreamed "about this business." Whether
the parallel will hold to the last, as to "feeling
very well and very comfortable," as to
"the firm step and perfect calmness," as to
"the manliness and correctness of his general
conduct," as to "the countenance unchanged
by the awfulness of the situation"—not to say
as to bowing to a friend, from the scaffold
"in a friendly but dignified manner"—our
readers will know for themselves when we
know too.

It is surely time that people who are not
in the habit of dissecting such appearances,
but who are in the habit of reading about
them, should be helped to the knowledge
that, in the worst examples they are the most
to be expected, and the least to be wondered
at. That, there is no inconsistency in them,
and no fortitude in them. That, there is
nothing in them but cruelty and insensibility.
That, they are seen, because the man is of a
piece with his misdeeds; and that it is not
likely that he ever could have committed the
crimes for which he is to suffer, if he had not
this demeanour to present, in standing
publicly to answer for them.

CHIP.

THE SALT IN THE SEA

In the first chapter of the article entitled
The Minerals That We Eat, published in
Number Three Hundred and Twenty-two of
Household Words, it was stated* that the
quantity of salt in the sea averages forty
per cent.; a typographical error so glaring
that it almost corrects itself. For "forty,"
however, read "four;" but the proportion
necessarily varies very considerably in different
parts of the globe: according to the
best authorities, the mean average of salt to
water in the sea, is not more than from two-
and-a-half to three per cent.

* In the second column of page 441.

THE NINTH OF JUNE

IN TEN CHAPTERS. CHAPTER THE THIRD

A thick Scotch mist fell upon the town of
Nottingham on that ninth of June (when the
present century was far on in its teens)
which fell upon a Monday. A stout, middle-
aged man had arrived over night at the
Royal George on a thorough-bred hunter;
and, having received a letter directed to the
name of Nobble in the morning, left a part
of his breakfast and hastingly went out;
remaining away until the afternoon.

He was standing near the bar, when a
younger traveller dismounted from a black
mare, threw off his dripping white uppercoat,
ordered it to be quickly dried, and,
knocking at the little bar-window, asked if
any letters had been left there for him. A
lovely little bar-maid threw up the sash,
and gleefully shook her clustering curls as
she handed him two letters, and hoped he
was quite well. (Hearts have been lost to that
now more than matured beauty, within the
last ten years, to my certain knowledge.) He
did not answer the question with his usual
affability; for the first letter which he opened
vexed him. It bore no post-mark, and
he asked who left it? The answer was—
"Please, sir, the Green Boar's boots left
it." While he was reading it, Mr. Nobble—
standing on the mat pretending to pare his
nails with a large pocket-knife—did not look
up; but, covering his eyes with their lids,
"took stock," (as he would have expressed
himself,) of the visitor from under them.
The new guest, having ordered dinner,
entered a private parlour. Mr. Nobble
adjourned to the coffee-room to dine. Looking
back, a broad grin spread itself over his
broad countenance; for the other gentleman,
raised the black-bordered letter that had
come by post, to his lips before he had quite
closed the parlour-door.

It was remarkable that exactly one hour
afterwards, the same persons, having
separately dined, appeared on the
same mat at the same instant. Both had ordered their horses
round at the same minute, and both were
going the same road.

"Shall we jog on together?" asked Mr. Nobble.

"Thank you," answered the more reserved
traveller, "I have business at Alfreton, and
shall outstrip you."

"Curious! I have business at Alfreton.
I want to catch the Chesterfield mail at Alfreton
—the up-mail; and I've got a capital
mount," returned the other. The person
addressed did not answer; but went on reading
the bills tacked against the passage wall,
which were headed "Riot," "Rick Burning,"