"Mr. Speaker,—I have the doubtful honour of
representing Fogmoor, as one of its members;
but, as every man in this house is well aware,
there are some hundreds of Fogmoors dotted
about the country. An ordinary Fogmoor election
costs nine thousand pounds; for twenty thousand
pounds a ticket-of-leave man may be returned;
for twenty-five thousand pounds we might bring
amongst us a Zulu Kaffir, and for thirty thousand
pounds——"

Here the orator was interrupted by all
the howling and ventriloquism which the
Commons of England in parliament
assembled can so readily command; but which
was powerless to drown the Stentorian
"he-ur, he-ur," of Bill Manacles. Mr.
Snarlington sat down. The ministers were
undecided; the House was silent; the jocular
member was not to be found; the weak
member fainted, and the discussion was
adjourned.

PATIENCE.

EVER the same calm lesson given—
      You tell me I must patient be.
How long does patience last, and how
      Can it be learn'd by me?
Dear mother, must I watch and hope
      Through all the tuneful days of spring,
To see my tiny birdies hatch'd,
      And taught to chirp and sing;
While each green tree is full of life,
      And finch and lark the soft air fill
With music; o'er my silent nest
      Must I be patient still?

The seeds I shed so long ago
      Still in the Earth's green bosom rest,
While everywhere, o'er dale and hill,
      Blooms gather on her breast.
The churchyard has its daisies white,
      The lea its cups of carven gold,
And laden bees fly late at eve
      From blossoms manifold.
But, in my garden's tiny space
      No spring-like blossoms can I see.
Dear mother, 'tis a weary task,
      Why must I patient be?

Ah, dearest child, a time must come
      To thee and all, or soon or late,
When all these childish griefs and joys
      Will seem of feather's weight.
Yet childish griefs may pierce as deep,
      Though momently, as manhood's woes,
Still are its tear-drops dried as soon
      As dew upon the rose.
Dear one, thy lingering seeds will grow,
      Though leafless now, to bud and bloom,
If not to blush in Summer's wreath,
      At least to crown her tomb.

Thy tardy birds from brighter skies,
      Their sweetest notes shall then have caught,
When all life's patient vigil long
      The truth to thee has taught.
Then shalt thou know the purpose high
      For which thy tribulation came;
When patience, through experience, grows
      To hope without a shame.
The heart that patiently abides
      O'er flower and bird withheld so long,
Shall one day see its hope fulfill'd
      In endless bloom and song.

CHIP.

THE ABORS.

THE Abors are a people who inhabit a
country which runs along the southern face
of the Himalayan range, and borders on
Thibet and China. Considerable numbers of
these people are also found on the shores of the
two great northern branches of the Brahmaputra
River; and, of late years, some have
settled at the foot of the hills in the district
of Suddia, where they live by agriculture.

The villages of the Abors, which consist of
about a hundred houses, are generally formed
on the summit or declivity of hills surrounded
by a stockade of bamboo, and vigilantly
guarded. Their dwellings are usually erected
near each other on posts, rising about four
feet from the ground. The space underneath
is occupied by cattle.

Every village contains a spacious hall,
which is used for the following purposes: to
receive strangers; to hold general councils
convened on public affairs; and to accommodate
all the bachelors of the place; who, by
the law, are not entitled to the aid of the
community in erecting for themselves separate
dwellings. These unmarried men have
a very curious custom at dawn of day: they
go round the village to awaken those who are
asleep. They cry aloud "It is time to commence
the labours of the day!"

The granaries of these primitive people are
well built, and are erected at a little distance
from the village. This is a precaution against
fire. Mr. J. M‘Cork, in a valuable paper
contributed to the Journal of the Asiatic Society,
says of the hospitality of the Abors: "Though
the snows of their mountain-home have
narrowed their means of subsistence, and limited
their intercourse to their immediate neighbours,
yet they are a very hospitable and
social race, and a constant round of festivity
is kept up from one end of the year to the
other. Each chieftain kills the fatted bullock
in turn. All his associates are invited to
partake of the good cheer. The host is in his
turn a guest at the next feast; and then a
reciprocity of entertainment is ensured. Nor
are these hospitable rites forgotten. The
skull of every animal that has graced the
board is hung up as a record in the hall of
the entertainer. He who has the best-stocked
Golgotha is looked upon as the man of the
greatest wealth and liberality; and, when he
dies, the whole smoke-dried collection of many
years is piled upon his grave as a monument
of his riches, and a memorial of his worth."

The Abors eat the flesh of the elephant,
rhinoceros, buffalo, deer, kid, hog, duck, and
fowl, and appear to have no prohibition,
against any article of diet except beef, which