and some of them are allowed to go on
various errands into the neighbouring villages.
In no instance, my conductor informs me,
has this trust been betrayed.

Our entrance into the tailors' shop causes
an instantaneous commotion. Discipline for
a few moments is flung to the winds, and
Father Lawrence becomes the centre of a
group of eager, up-turned faces. The father
puts various questions, chiefly on religious
topics, which are replied to with more or
less intelligence; and when he asks, "Which
among you are serjeants?" the three
red stripes are pointed out with pride by
those who possess them. There is a lay-
brother in his dark habit, who appears to be
superintending the youngsters. When he
thinks it time to return to a state of order,
he calls out "Attention! Boys to your
places! Let us hear the clock tick!"

The lads are back in their places, and we
do hear the clock tick; almost, as it seems,
before the brother has done speaking.

It is the shoemakers' revolution when we
enter the next room; and both last and
hammer are deserted for the time being.
Next into the watchmakers' room. The
youthful workmen here merely turn round
and greet us with a quiet smile, and a
"Good day, Father Lawrence," and then go
on with their work. In going through these
various rooms, as I consider the faces that
pass before me, it seems unnatural to believe,
although I know it for a fact, that all these
lads are criminals in a greater or lesser
degree, and that many of them have been in
jail several times before being sent here—so
open, fearless, and honest do they look.
True it is, that here and there I observe
a face on which the cross lines of early
training are so deeply marked that they can
never be erased; but such are the exceptions.
As a rule, the handwriting of crime can,
with time and patience, be erased from these
young faces; and my conductor informs me
that the disappearance of the louring, furtive
look which marks them all when brought
here, is the first real sign of improvement.
When you have a clear, bright, honest face
before you, then you may labour with some
degree of hope.

"That lad," says Father Lawrence, in a
whisper, as we pass through one of the
rooms, "was one of the cleverest pick-
pockets in England. He had escaped three
times from different reformatories before he
was brought here as a last resource. He
was handcuffed when they brought him.
'What are those things you have got on?'
said I, pointing to his wrists. 'Ah, if I
hadn't them on, he,' nodding at the policeman,
'wouldn't have me long.' Now, he is
one of the best and most intelligent lads we
have in the establishment, Another lad we
have who was so accustomed to sleep in the
open air, under arches, or on door steps, or
wherever he could find a quiet corner, that
even now, when in bed, he trembles and
shivers as though he were still houseless and
starved."

We return through the miry lane,
discoursing of many things; among others of
the drum and fife band now being established
for the amusement of the lads. Before leaving
me, the guest-master wishes me to go back
to the monastery, and partake of its
hospitality. This, however, with thanks, I
decline to do; for the day is fading sullenly,
and I have a long walk before me, which I
am desirous of accomplishing before nightfall.
So we shake hands, and say farewell.

And thus, through the fading daylight I
tramp wearily along the miry road, my only
reward a pleasant glimpse now and then at
some favourable spot, into the mysteries of
the hills. But night overtakes me by the time
I have got half-way; and a glad man am I
when I discern the lamps of the distant
station; and gladder still when I reach them,
a bundle of damp clothes, just as the dragon
forges slowly up to the platform, and waits
to entomb me.

GERMANS IN TEXAS.

FIFTEEN years ago an association was
formed by some of the princes and nobles of
Germany under the title of the Mayence
Nobles' Association (Mainzer Adels Verein),
of which the purpose was to organise a plan
of emigration for the people. At that time
twenty-one years had elapsed since Moses
Austin got leave from the government of
Mexico to settle three hundred Catholic
families from Louisiana on the idle lands of
Texas, and the migration of Americans to
Texas thus commenced had advanced so far
that annexation was upon the point of
following.

Texas is rich in land. It is a region larger
than France with England added to it, has a
fine and varied climate, and, on the whole,
merits to be called the Italy of the New
World. The Texan land available for cotton,
growing, if all cultivated would yield thrice
the entire quantity produced at present by
America, and the same territory has also in
its western regions—where the mesquit-grass
flourishes and is sweet in the mouth of cattle,
—most extensive grazing grounds. Numerous
rivers, half of them muddy and half of them
clear, flow through the richest soil, upon
much of which not a tree needs to be felled;
it waits only the simplest turning by the
plough. The harvest which few sow on the
rich Texan soil it needs more than a few to
gather. There are, indeed, some districts of
barren prairie. The steady and genial breeze,
too, blowing daily from the sea is interrupted
sometimes by a fierce cold blast that sweeps
over the prairies to the north and freezes all
the Texans who are out of doors. A small
black cloud advances with a roar, and grows
as it advances—the norther, as the bitter