No. 338.

FROM OUR FRENCH CORRESPONDENT.

BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS, January 28th, 1859.

CHERE AMIE,-We are told that the new year has been inaugurated in Paris by a grand revolution in dress, no less than the sacrifice of crinolines and hoops; ladies, however attached to the wide petticoat, yielding to the distaste so generally expressed by fathers, husbands, and brothers, which must ultimately cause their abandonment; but, like all changes, some time must naturally elapse before the modified skirts are universally adopted. A single observation may, however, basten their exit; when ladies of fashion shall have entirely renounced them, the ballonné skirt will be considered vulgar, and in bad taste their doom will then be sealed. Morning dresses are almost all made high, and often with tight sleeves, resembling a man's coat; the skirts plain-that is to say, not double skirts. As trimmings are indispensable, they should droop behind, almost forming a train, rounded and hollowed out on the ankle. Basques were denounced as long ago as last winter, and the body and skirt are often formed together. A dress of violet satin in this style, and another of emerald green; the one was ornamented with large rounds of black velvet, edged with narrow late; the lower ones being larger, in the centre of each was a guimp, mixed with small bugle tassels; they are placed on the four seams in front, and much smaller ones on the body; the front of the skirt entirely ornamented by them in rows.

Dresses are much varied, but the morning, dinner, and ball dresses are quite distinct in the ornaments; the first are with heavy guimps on thick materials; plats and aiguillettes, cords of velvet, guimpures with jet beads, stars in guimp to ornament the two front breadths of the skirt and body; round ornaments are also made, trimmed with lace. Ball dresses are ornamented with ribbon or tulle ruches, or gauffered tulle; the flounces of these dresses are often trimmed with narrow white blonds, mixed with black lace; satin is much in favour. A dress of grey satin was made with two skirts; the upper one raised at the sides by a large noeud of satin, trimmed with a fringe of white chenille; the skirt is also ornamented with the same fringe. Charming trimmings for ball dresses are made of gauffered ruches of velvet, gauze ribbons, plain or satinés, and blonds of every width; very handsome guimps are among the most fashionable ornaments of the day. Dresses, corsages, manteaux, coiffures, all seem to require a trimming of this description; the fashion of ceintures, or waistband with buckle, continues.

is

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For the evening family reunions simplicity generally prevails in the toilettes, particularly among the juvenile members, to whom nothing suitable than white tulle or tarlatane; the smallest bouquet of flowers embellishes it; a row of pearls, garnets, or coral as necklace, are at once both simple and pretty. A tartalane dress, with several skirts, or with seven or eight flounces pinked, a wreath of white lilac, pearl necklace, and bunch of natural flowers in the body, is a toilette so simple and unexceptionable as to be attainable by all. Ball dresses are usually of white tulle; the double skirts, raised by flowers or nœuds of ribbon, the most generally adopted style. Another, however, offering more novelty is a roll of tulle, very full, and very long behind, over white satin, made longer than the tulle, which should be trimmed with a bouillon of tulle, in the centre of which are placed flowers, without foliage, or noeuds of ribbon, without ends. These noeuds have an agrafe, or fastening of velvet, sometimes embroidered in silver or gold; low bodies, with rounded points, a berthe of tulle of the material as the dress, is the usual accompaniment to the body; in the centre of the berthe is a bouquet, or an ornament in jewellery, with pendants; some are made of coral, with drops round or pear-shape; some are of mixed precious stones. Moutants of flowers and corresponding ones for the body are used; the bodies are mostly with drapery; they are not worn quite plain, unless covered by the new fancy berthes, with long rounded ends; pendant on each side of the skirt or tying behind, and hanging very low as a ceinture. Lace is the indispensable accompaniment of the richest evening toilettes; it is used either as flounces, moutants, or trimmings à la Watteau in front of the skirts.

VOL. 32.

colours continue much the same; delicate shades of blue, pearl grey for carriage wear and dinner dresses; darker blue, noisette grey, violets, greens, in all various shades for walking dresses. Green Véronese has much success; some triple skirts are made, but the double skirt-one of satin, the other of velvet-is worn both of the same colour, but of different shade; the under one a little darker; this style is rather exclusive, and whether it will be generally received we cannot vouch for.

Steel is much in favour for waist buckles, snaps for bracelets, fastenings for manteaux; steel in chains or brooches is also pretty for coiffures, mixed with black velvet; a plat of black velvet, encircled with steel and gold beads, and long tassels of steel and gold falling on the throat, forms a pretty coiffure, as also two bands of velvet, placed flat on the head, embroidered with beads.

Furs were much in favour among the new year's gifts in Paris; muffs of marten and vison, round pelerines, opera cloaks, trimmed with swans'-down, etc.

Manteaux are made of velvet, in large folds, and pelerine of fur or lace; Arab burnous of woollen material, and the Raglan of cloth; there is a new form of hood for opera cloaks.

In bonnets, two styles seem to divide public favour. Among the higher classes in Paris, the fashion is to wear plain velvet bonnets, without any mixture of colour; a heron feather, or merely a large ornament of velvet; sometimes a black lace, in two rows, forming fauchon behind; the brides of black taffetas, even if the bonnet be of violet, green, or marron velvet; sometimes, however, they are preferred the colour of the bonnet; a simple papillon noud, a natte, sometimes a blond form the only ornament inside; the simplicity of this style requires a practised hand to give it the elegant finish that distinguishes it. The other style is less simple and more general; velvets and satins, taffetas and plush mingling, well-chosen colours. Bonnets of white satin, with edge and ornaments of green or blue velvet, black velvet and rose de Chine, with cock's feather, or long drooping feather of marabout; crape bonnets are often trimmed with feathers and blonds; sometimes also accompanied with taffetas, or crape of another colour. The Empress wore lately a bonnet of black velvet, and all the trimming was of pink satin, the brides of black satin. A bonnet of violet satin and white plush was extremely pretty; the crown was soft of the white plush, as well as the edge of the bonnet; a nœud of violet satin falling on the crown and bavolet; a plat of violet satin was placed at the termination of the plush in the centre of the front; brides of violet satin. Some velvet bonnets are with plissé crown, and small buckles introduced in the trimming; others, also of velvet, have crowns of taffetas in runners, and a kind of bandeau of the same on the front.

DESCRIPTION OF THE ENGRAVINGS.

PLATE I.-Carriage Dress.-Robe of moire, with moutants up the sides of the skirt of stamped velvet. Corsage with revers to correspond. Polonaise of taffetas, ornamented with plaid; very large sleeves, edged by plaid taffetas, and three narrow rows of it on the pelerine, which is edged with fringe. Bonnet of white Terry velvet, with satin flowers and leaves.

Promenade Dress.- Robe of satin, ornamented with velvet. Manteau of velvet, trimmed with lace, headed by a puffing of ribbon. Bonnet of white satin and black lace, ornamented with wreath of fruit and foliage of velvet noeud of ribbon on the forehead.

Little Girl's Dress.-Frock of checked popeline, with high body of a square form. Manteau of Cachemire, trimmed with plissées à la Vieille, and a narrow row of plissée on the shoulders, forming pelerine. Felt hat, with feather.

PLATE II.-Carriage Dress.-Robe of pearl grey moire antique, with moutants of green plaid up the sides of the skirt, forming pelerine on the body and edging the frill of the bouillon sleeve. Bonnet of pink satin à coulisses.

Evening Dress.-Robe of pink taffetas, with double skirt, ornamented by rows of narrow black velvet and embroidery; low body,

"She said nae mair, but wi' a look that would hae bribit angels, died i' my arms.' (Here Maxwell threw himself back, and gave himself up to a convulsive flood of tears. I could not interrupt him). He soon continued, "This was my greatest pang. I could hae lost the warld had the warld left me Ettie. She di'it. I hae to thank God for mony mercies. I winna repine for a' my troubles, and ye ken weel how mony there are. My father, mither, Ettie, a' gane wi' the wife o' my bosom to a better earth than this.

"I never saw Burleigh mair. I heard he was imprisonit for some crime, and died i' prison. I had the body o' Ettie buried i' the graveyard o' Max'ell holm. That is a picture o' her ta'en after death. The painter has tryit to throw her couce expression into the face, but he hasna tauld a' its sweetness. The chiel' o' Ettie died on my way to America. I live here noo wi' nae person but Judith to keep me company. I am happy as a mon o' my miseries can be. I do muckle for the puir, and they thank me muckle in return. It were unkind indeed, gin after all the blessin's Providence hae sparit, I couldna gie o' my superfluity to the starvin' children aroun' me. Ye hae heard an auld mon's tale. I hae weepit, but I hae weepit wi' satisfaction; for ye are amaist the only person who has expressit onythin' like sympathy for me. I hear the step o' Judith i' the entry. It is dinner time. A'ways when ye hae nae better way to gar your time pass, drap in to see ane wha will a'ways mak' ye welcome."

After a sumptuous and substantial dinner, I bade "good bye" to John Maxwell. My philosophy of the heels was entirely trodden down. I had augured wrong; and must now believe, with the old shepherd, "Ye may mony and mony times think yeself surrounded wi' happiness, when misery, bitin' misery is gnashin' at your hough."

Then comes with an awful roar,

Gathering and sounding on,
The storm wind from Labrador,
The storm wind Euroclydon,
The storm wind!

Howl! howl! from the forest
Sweep the red leaves away!
Would the sins that thou abhorest,
O soul, could thus decay,

And be swept away!

For there shall come a mightier blast,
There shall be a darker day,
And the stars from heaven down cast,
Like red leaves be swept away!

Kyrie, eleyson!

Christe, eleyson!

CHRISTMAS DAY IN " OUR VILLAGE."

Bring more wood, and set the glasses;
Join our friends, our Christmas cheer,-
Come, a catch!-and kiss the lasses!

Christmas comes but once a-year.-OLD CAROL.

Ir will be long before we forget the last Christmas Day passed in "Oar Village." We do not want to cast aside a single incident connected with that glorious day; and, what is more, we do not intend anything of the sort. As we have a strong desire to imprint the pleasant picture on our memory, as deeply as we may, we will relate what we saw and what we did, as well as what others did and said, down in that pretty pleasant village, far away from smoke and noise, amidst hills and valleys, and brooks and trees, on a good Christmas Day.

It was something past high noon, on as fresh and frosty a day as one need desire, when we strolled towards the Manor House from our own little cottage, where, miserable bachelor that we are, we dwell with a frosty old serving-woman and one or two wintry looking dogs. We were anxious to behold all that could be seen, and though the dinner-hour, indicated by our friends at the House," had not arrived, we pushed on, knowing well that the gathering would commence betimes.

The mid-day service was over, and knots of the village folk, warmly encased in worsted, were quietly gossipping at street corners or doorporches, whilst others were wending their slow way in the same direction. They, too, were bent to the Manor House, and appeared to be of the lowest class of villagers. We knew that our host and his good wife made it a practice on every returning Christmas Day, to prepare a dinner on a liberal scale, for all such people as chose to partake of it, besides sending out rare good joints and fractions of puddings to the old and infirm in the neighbourhood.

How delighted everybody at the "House" was to greet us from the Hostess down to old Lion, the house-dog, and the little Scotch terrier, that slaughtered so many rats. One might have fancied from the rejoicings over our arrival, that we had been some open-handed, largehearted public benefactor of our kind, instead of a solitary, erring, single man. We felt quite dizzy with the shouts of welcome and the gyrations we were compelled to undergo in order to salute every one. There were such wonders to tell us, by the little people about puddings, that had been boiling in a mysterious manner ever since midnight, about mince-pies, that contained something from every part of the world, about wonderful Christmas trees and Christmas games, and of a great boar's head all covered with ribbons, that had frightened little Maria, the fair-headed motherless niece of our host, so much, that in spite of the ribbons, she shut her pretty blue eyes every time it was mentioned. All this, and a great deal more, we listened to with real pleasure. And then we were carried off by a whole crowd of children to look at the dinner hall hung round with bright green holly and bay branches, with here and there small lovely wreaths of miseltoe, hung up bewitchingly in quiet nooks and corners, as though they said, " come

and kiss!"

What a famous old hall it was, to be sure, and, dear me! such a solid oaken table! Why you might have built a house upon it, with a kitchen garden behind! and then the blazing hearth, with a real " Yule Log" that had been felled on the ground last Candlemas day, set fire to for a-while, then extinguished, and guarded in sacred safety against this proper season of its own. How it blazed, and crackled, and sparkled, as though it were keeping Christmas all by itself under the chimney. There was enough of it to have roasted a whole flock of sheep, and several barrows-full of chesnuts afterwards.

When the wonders of the Hall had been sufficiently explored, and sundry mysteries of the kitchen and larder dived deeply into by the aid of the eldest Charles, and the little merry-eyed Maria and her dark sister, Rose, we were off in fine triumph as prisoners of peace, to the barn adjoining, which had been fitted up as a monster dinner-hall for the village poor. White cloths and green boughs had enacted the part of Harlequin, and transformed a dreary, uncomfortable looking building into a neat and cheerful sloon. No one could have fancied the heavy hob-nailed boots had tenanted the place until the day before; that the huge flail and winnower had ruled over that extended floor where now little children, elderly men, and women, and neat young people were assembling in their holiday humbleness and quiet merriment.

They had their own holly wreaths and a monster miseltoe suspended from one of the largest beams, which, we could perceive, was eyed wistfully by many a village maiden of coy sixteen, God bless them! It took us some time to make our way round the large room, and through the clustering crowd, which we did with fully as much importance as any civic procession on my Lord Mayor's day. By the time this had been achieved, a bustle and a stir was perceptible, followed by other indications of dinner, and we were shortly after summoned to our places at the great oaken table in the Hall itself.

It would require a little volume to tell one half of the delights of that glorious day, to relate how joyous were the villagers and their families in the great holly-decked barn; how merrily, too, we partook of beef, and turkey, and pudding, in such profusion; how the little ones, especially the fair-haired Maria, clapped her tiny hands when the plum-pudding conflagration took place; and when the long blue flames curled up from the great frizly globe, and seemed to be bent upon mischief among the holly-boughs over head; and how impossible it was to persuade the child to look at the grinning boar's head that held in its yawning mouth a huge lemon, not unlike the head of an infant after an attack of jaundice, and which, we believe, she thought

it was.

When the eating was fairly over, and the wrecks of that great family feast had been swept from the many yards of table, our host retired with several of the young people, and in a few minutes reentered at their head, bearing before him the old-remembered “Wassail-bowl,” decked out with gay festoons of many coloured ribbons. As he placed it on the table before his chair, the whole company arose with one accord, and, on a signal from the father, the youngest members of the party commenced a "Christmas Hymn"--one of these sweet touching Carols, which, especially when sung by little children, go straight to the heart of man, and moisteneth his eyes with tears. We think it must have been a Christmas Carol that Orpheus is said to have played or sung (we forget which, perhaps both), and which had such marvellous effect, even to the razing of stone walls. Be this as it may, although we do not profess to be a stone wall, we were moved almost beyond endurance, and wished we could have hidden our gushing emotions in the larder, or under the table, or anywhere.

We were too much overcome to remember the actual words of that hymn, as carolled by those dear children's soft angel voices; but they told how peace, and mercy, and good-will amongst men had been born into the world upon that day-how we had been enjoined to keep the festival in glad rejoicing and thanksgiving-how, when all other things might be forgotten, this day of love should still live on in our hearts, lighting up within us a fresh kindling warmth of charity and mercy -and lastly, how it would, if so observed, tend more than anything else, to knit men together, and lessen the distance which the world and its cold observances were but too apt to fling in between the rich and poor, the high and the lowly.

Then, when the last sound of the sweet song had died away amongst the misletoe, above, the glass of each was filled from that huge "Wassail Bowl," and, in its rich and generous contents, we, one and all, pledged to the memory of the day, with the toast, "God bless us all!" As we did so, a cheer, long and lusty, rose at no distance from us. It came from the villagers in the barn, who had imitated us in a bowl of larger dimensions, but somewhat less potency, by drinking to our host and his family.

After the glorious dinner came a short, pleasant chatty tea, with innumerable cakes and pastry devices, and then we were told that the games were about to commence. These were to take place in the old barn, in order that the villagers might witness, and share in them if they chose; for, on this day, all distinctions were flung down at the Manor House. On entering the large building, we found another harlequin had been busily at work, and, with his magic wand, had cleared away every vestige of the late dinner arrangements. Tables had disappeared, but the benches remained against the walls and there

7

middle aged and the lads and lasses stood grouped in pleasant anticipation of all sorts of merriment.

It was indeed a delightful spectacle to see how kindly and freely the rich and the poor united; how pleasantly the good host and hostess chatted with the older folks, and inquired after their children and their rheumatisms; and how happily the little ones of the family seemed to address their humble friends amongst the juveniles. The two flowers of that charming party were decidedly the host's little orphan nieces --Rosa, all dark, lustrous, and thoughtful, and Maria, with her long, silken curls, her sunny, laughing face, and her soft merry voice. They walked on either side of their dear Aunt Bessie, who, in her maidenly womanhood, appeared as delighted with her lost sister's children as though they were her own. Would that all mothers might love, and watch, and train her little offspring as that good creature did her infant charge. No love could be too great and enduring for them; no patient, watchful, tenderness too ceaseless, too abiding. Full many winters had neither chilled nor checked her warm affections, which smiled upon her face in everlasting summer; whilst time, the ruthless, had laid his hand-his frosty hand-so gently and kindly on her, that the bright raven hair of early youth still waved as dark as ever, save in one little, topmost spot, that seemed a crown of silver.

Not an old woman, not a pretty maiden, not a single person in all that large assembly, but brightened up when those young creatures came near. Aunt Bessie led her little nieces round the place, exchanging a word here and a nod of friendly recognition there, until the entire circuit had been made. All knew that kindly voice, all felt and owned its benevolence. About this time a group of elderly minstrels made sundry preparations at the furthest end of the building: and, before long, rich and poor, high and low, silks and cottons, were gaily tripping it to the united melody of a pair of superannuated but bustling violins, and a very whezzy old clarionet, that found it no very easy matter to keep up to the aforesaid instruments.

We found ourselves amongst the dancers by some movement of inspiration, and with a most charming little partner a cousin of the family, as we found. It must, surely, have been the contents of that jovial old Wassail-bowl that led us to run into so much peril. Be that as it may, we had a most delightful dance with our newly made acquaintance, who, by the way, was as merry and as wicked as though she had known us for-ever so long. She told us such delightful gossip about her cousins, and the children, and Aunt Bessie, and all the pleasure she hoped to have that Christmas, that we declare we felt quite sorry when the dance was over; and so, to make the most of it, we strolled away to continue our chat from one end of that large room to the other.

We shall not soon forget the arch, roguish look of our pretty darkeyed companion, as she stopped us in one quiet nook of the barn, and looking up to the roof, as though to see if there were any sparrows keeping Christmas there, remarked, in a sly tone of mock indifference, that there was actually a sprig of miseltoe hanging just over our heads! How singular to be sure! So we thought, but not so deeply as to forget to take advantage of the good old Christmas privilege. We confess, -sinner that we are,-to have kissed her rosy lips, and what is more, when she expressed herself astounded at our-we forget what she called it-and declared that, if we attempted to do it again, she scarcely knew what she would'nt do, we had curiosity sufficient to induce us to ascertain what desperate step she would take under such a contingency, but which by the way, led to nothing very alarmning.

We forget now how many country dances we went through with our pretty friend; but after a while we found we were looking on at games of blind-man's-buff, hunt-the-slipper, and other Christmas amusements for children, until the hours flew past; and then, while the tea and cake were being handed round a whisper, went forth amongst the crowd that the Christmas tree was being lighted. Scarcely had the words been heard, when a curtain which had parted off a slip of the old barn was drawn aside, and there, in all the glory of imagined fairy land, glowing and beaming with gilt, and light, and beauteous toys,-there stood the Christmas tree. No tree in Aladdin's magic garden, laden with rubies and emeralds, could have had half as many charms for our young people as did this, to them, more than mortal tree.

It was the first they had seen, and its radiant glories made their little eyes wink and blink again. They were transfixed to the spot, dreading to approach it any nearer lest they should by their earthly presence dissolve the fairy spell, that they believed placed it where it stood. Aunt Bessie, ever foremost in all that is good, led her nieces trembling with anxiety to the mystic tree, and soon it was crowded round by wondering admirers. Nobody had ever looked upon such a galaxy of beautiful things! Such watches that never got out of repair

having nothing in them; such sweet cupids that wouldn't fly away on account of poverty, notwithstanding the popular creed to that effect; such nimble donkeys, that were accustomed to walk about amongst the branches; such beautiful joints of meat, that needed no cookingin short, there never had been seen in "our village" such wonders, such treasures, as were blossoming on the well-lit branches of that delightful tree.

When the assembled company had gazed sufficiently long on the many marvels suspended in mid-air, Aunt Bessie gave the signal to her little nieces; who, having been allotted to the task, set to work in right good earnest to distribute those miraculous donkeys, those marvellous joints, and those constant Cupids. It would have been difficult to decide which party shewed the most pleasure during this scattering of good and glorious things, the givers or the receivers. Such mirthful grace was shown by the fair-haired Maria, such quiet, child-like dignity by the nut-brown, dark-eyed Rosa, that the old women who received sugared coach-and-horses and tinsel angels, were quite as much delighted as the elderly, grey-headed gentlemen who found themselves in possession of lively faries and confectionary angels. In fact, the children were far too excited and exalted with their new office to know or care what they gave to anybody, except when they came to their aunt, their own particularly dear aunt,- quite their mother to them, and a good deal more than many parents that we could mention, only we won't. When her turn came, how their young eyes sparkled with childish rapture !-how their little hands were clapped with delight!and how, loaded with choicest gifts from that glorious tree, they ran to where she sat, and, casting their treasures within her lap, threw themselves upon her neck, and laughed and shrieked in wild and child-like happiness.

A glass of negus all round, a shower of solid country cake in stalwart slices," God save the Qeen," by the united company,-in tune, and out of tune-no matter how-and then the guests, old, young, and infantine departed, with many a blessing on their kindly hosts; and long will they and we too, cherish the pure and precious memory of that glorious Christmas day.-The Home Companion.

REVIEWS.

On the Loss of the Teeth, and of the best means of Restoring them. BY THOMAS HOWARD, Surgeon Dentist to His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury. London: Simpkin, Marshall & Co.

THE importance of the Teeth is such, said the celebrated John Hunter, that they deserve our utmost attention, as well with regard to the preservation of them when in a healthy state as to the methods of curing them when diseased. They require this attention, not only for the preservation of themselves as instruments useful to the body, but also on account of other parts with which they are connected for diseases in the teeth are apt to produce diseases in the neighbouring parts, not unfrequently of serious consequence. Aɛ there is not any "ills which flesh is heir to" more excruciating or intolerable than, or which so completely incapacitate a person for business or pleasure, as tooth-ache-and as there is often a false delicacy felt which prevents advice being given even where requisite, and this frequently occurs among intimate friends our author has done good service by this familiar Treatise on the Teeth. We give an extract showing the philosophical principles on which artificial teeth are formed.

"To give entire ease and comfort to the wearer, the artist must be capable of engraving his work to fit the gums so perfectly air-tight, that it shall adhere and remain securely firm in its place for the purposes of mastication, etc., by the mere force of capillary attraction, and the pressure of the atmosphere.

"The principles have been frequently described, yet few people give credence to them as applied to artificial teeth, although nothing is more just, correct, and natural. The common water-pump acts on the latter principle, and there is no other on which artificial teeth can be constructed that will not soon destroy the remaining teeth.

"In the introduction of anything new in science, there is wanting a corresponding language by which it may be expressed, in order that it may be described on paper so as to be understood by the reader.

Capillary attraction, and atmospheric pressure may be thus briefly explained :-

Capillary attraction is the principle by which a fluid is strongly attracted between closely fitting surfaces, and the closer the surfaces approach each other, the more strongly do they attract the fluid, which expels and excludes the air. It is by capillary attraction that water rises into and fills a sponge.

"Atmospheric pressure, which was formerly explained by means of the axiom, that nature abhors a vacuum, is owing to the weight of the atmosphere, which causes it to bear on all bodies near the surface of the earth, with a pressure of about fourteen pounds on each square inch.

"On my principle of supplying a deficiency of teeth, the artificial piece being fitted close to the gum, the natural moisture of the mouth is affected by capillary attraction, the moment the piece is introduced into its place; and the moisture being drawn in between the piece and the gum, the intervening air is driven out, and being thus excluded, the atmosphere acts with a force in proportion to the extent of the surfaces in contact, in keeping the artificial piece in its place. The force, even on a small piece, is considerable, and on large pieces frequently exceeds thirty pounds; yet even in these cases the wearer feels no pressure beyond secure adhesion. The piece itself seldom weighs above half an ounce, and is easily removed, at the pleasure of the wearer, by merely raising one of its extremities with the tongue.

"One of the most familiar instances of the joint effects of capillary attraction and atmospheric pressure, is perhaps that exhibited by the schoolboy with what is called the sucker. This toy consists of a string passed through the centre of a piece of thick leather soaked in water, which, being pressed on a large stone, adheres to it so firmly that the stone may be lifted up and carried away by it.

"Pieces of teeth made of the tusk of hippopotamus feel in every way congenial to the mouth, and cannot be distinguished by the tongue from the natural gum and teeth; and being fitted in the manner just described, adhering to the gum only, affords support to the remaining teeth, which are let into grooves accurately formed in the piece for their reception. This prevents tooth-ache, and other painful sensations, by shielding tender teeth and stumps from change of temperature and extraneous matters. The jarring of the front teeth on each other is obviated by the piece preventing the mouth from shutting too close. Mastication and articulation are restored, and the prema ture appearance of age and deformity completely removed. When a few weeks have familiarized the wearer to the change, he becomes almost unconscious that he uses artificial teeth; and as cheerful spirits return with health and comfortable feeling, happiness, the end and aim of our existence,' is restored, and life prolonged and enjoyed, perhaps ten or twenty years beyond the period to which it would otherwise be limited."

The Mother's Mission. Sketches from Real Life. By the Author of "The Object of Life." Foolscap 8vo. pp. 240. With fine Engravings. London: W. Tarn, Paternoster Row.

A tale of much interest, more particularly to mothers, showing the different ways in which children are trained for life, and the influences which silently operate in the formation of their character. Contrasts are presented between a worldly, a vacillating, and a decidedly Christian household, and the moral effects produced by the conduct of parents under different circumstances. The work is well suited for the upper classes of society.

Palissy, The Huguenot Potter. By the Author of" The Life of Amelia Opie," etc. Royal 18mo. pp. 214. Numerous 'fine Engravings. London: W. Tarn, Paternoster Row. In this volume the accounts which Palissy has himself recorded, are woven into a tale. He was a French Huguenot, whose skill in pottery secured him considerable fame in his own day, and which has been transmitted to the present times. But his memory is chiefly to be cherished as one of a glorious band of martyrs for the faith of Christ, and whose religious character claims our study. This book will be found admirably adapted for a Christmas or New Year's present.