things well on a large scale and by wholesale. No doubt, both in private and public gardens, you have seen beds and grass-plots bordered by willow-branches, bent into a low arch, by sticking both of their ends in the ground. By planting the foot of one arch in the middle of that preceding it, they are made to overlap each other, and the border becomes continuous. It makes a neat and pretty edging, with the double disadvantage, that, if the willow twigs die, they rot; and if they don't die, they grow. In either case, neatness and regularity soon disappear. Here, and in the other Lillois gardens, the walks, beds, and lawns are bordered by a similar edging; only instead of perishable or sprouting willow twigs, it is made of durable cast iron. The color acquired by exposure to the weather is not unlike that of seasoned bark; and the knots and natural roughnesses are imitated in the castings. This edging gives great finish to the grounds at an expense which must be moderate, considering the enormous quantity employed. In Paris, not only the Bois de Boulogne, but the Buttes Chaumont, the Parc Monceaux, and other public parks and gardens, were edged with the very same material cast in similar pattern. Miles upon miles of it must have been manufactured for that purpose. It would have been curious to calculate how many hundred thousand tons of metal were then absorbed, merely in edging the promenades of Paris. After due attention paid to our horticultural preface, on leaving it, we have only to cross a road to reach the plot of garden-ground named after the Queen Hortense. A little maiden crosses with us, a girl of the period and of the place, knitting her own stockings with such absorbed earnestness that the ball of worsted falls from her pocket unobserved, and, sticking in a bush, unrolls a clew which promises to thread the way to some Fair Rosamond's bower. We inform her of the accident; at which she gayly retraces her steps, and succeeds in rewinding her yarn untangled, before it gets broken by passing carts and donkeys. She then calmly resumes her walk and her work, evidently quite as proud of herself as the smart, long-pinafored bourgeois children, sent out to take the air with their attendant bonne. The area laid out under the invocation of Hortense Beauharnais, is devoted to utility-in unconscious irony of that lady's life, who was supposed to have a predilection for the ornamental. It is chopped up into small patches, which might serve as schoolboys' or old pensioners' gardens, only that every plant is labelled, and you find that the object is, if not exactly botany, at least the recognition of a certain number of plants. And it is good to know the individual aspect of the vegetables which supply those easily convertible articles, poison and medicine, - henbane, belladonna, bittersweet, nightshade, foxglove; the Socratic, narcotic, large, land hemlock, and the still more virulent water hemlock. It is good to know plants which may be, though they are not, commonly turned to use; and which may be, though prejudice often prevents their being eaten-good King Henry spinach and sowthistle salad, the latter, according to Evelyn, "exceedingly welcome to the late Morocco ambassador," and consumed at the present day with relish in the south of France. I fancy that watercress is the only wild salad eaten in England; on the Continent, the list is of a certain length. One of the first things Queen Hortense presents you with is a small collection of hardy ferns. There is a Lomaria crenulata, small and pretty, which deserves extended patronage. For the rest, there they are, old familiar friends, "sitting for their pictures," as they say in jail of a newcome prisoner, to the passing public, most of whom only care to know that the common bracken (not so easy as you may think, to transplant into your garden), makes a pleasant and wholesome stuffing for beds; that small fronds of the young male fern fringe the outside of a bouquet with sufficient elegance; and that charcutiers (ham-shop keepers) employ the same to set off cream-cheeses and half-salt sardines. In fact, fern fronds are the outward and visible sign of the delicacies to be obtained in what we should call "Italian warehouses." Note that some of the names Queen Hortense has given to her ferns have become a little anti quated, and are not according to Thomas Moore, F.L.S. Never mind that; an acquaintance with synonymes is part of an amateur's bounden duty. Another road to cross, and you step at once into what was the Jardin de l'Impératrice, until untoward events deprived it, or her, of that honor. For whose was the loss; the garden's or the empress's? It is now Vauban's Garden, the military genius who planned the citadel of Lille and other famous strongholds. To prevent the visitor's making any mistake about the matter, at the very entrance he is confronted by a huge bed of Mrs. Pollock geranium, carpeted with blue lobelias, on whose side, facing the entrance, the name of the individual to whose memory this park has been reconsecrated, namely, J. VAUBAN, is horticulturally inscribed in giant letters, composed of sea-green asterisks of echeveria embroidered on a red-brown ground of alternanthera. Here again we have the Parc Monceaux style carried out with the most elaborate finish; for the town of Lille is passing rich, and willing to spend its money on what it thinks money's worth, and surely a handsome public garden may be included in that category. Workmen are encouraged to "fiddle away their time on minutiæ that would elsewhere be disregarded. Look at that stalwart fellow in a blue linen coat, cutting the narrow grass-border with his pocket-knife. He will not have one blade of grass anywhere a quarter of an inch longer than another elsewhere. Observe that border of Géant des Batailles roses, with every branch pegged down close to the ground, so that the flowers look like big red daisies, peeping just above the dark-green foliage. Opposite are borders of Souvenir de Malmaison and Aimée Vibert (both white roses), treated in the same way. The effect is pretty; but what endless pegging and trimming it necessitates! High keeping is spread over the place, like a mantle. Nevertheless, certain overworked points made me think of a perfectly-clipped poodle dog, with his close-shorn reins, his curly mane, and the imperial tuft at the tip of his tail. Analogous in design and execution is the artificial brook crossed by stepping-stones, which you cannot fancy to be a mountain stream, however hard you try. Idem of the artificial rock and cavern, hung with made stalactites which close the scene, also admitting the water between stepping-stones, to aid little boys in their search after sticklebacks. Of the beds," massifs," gaudy or gray, interspersed about the park, I would diffidently observe that they are too high; too much like puddings boiled in a mould, or cakes richly decorated by the confectioner. If you cut into them with a spade, you would expect to find them filled with mince-meat or venison pastry. At public rejoicings, the town might convert them into sausage-rolls of Garagantuan proportions. Beyond the ci-devant Jardin de l'Impératrice, Lille has also its Bois de Bologne, a welcome walk or drive on a summer evening. But, "s'il vous plait," as my cabman says to his horse, don't neglect to be wheeled, at a walking pace, along the Esplanade, with its rows of lime-trees hung with balmy flowers. Of all town-avenue trees, give me the lime, so sweet and so wholesome. Neither the sterile elm, ever gnawed by beetle-grubs, nor the acrid horse-chestnut, shabby before summer is closed, can compete with the perfumed, health-giving lime. Is not a tisane, or ptisane, of lime blossoms the most rectifying and restorative of all French herb-drinks? When the tree is cut down, does not its wood evoke sweet music when made into piano-forte keys and played on by a cunning player? Lille also possesses gardens not ornamental, of a kind happily not common in Great Britain, our area not being studded with fortified towns. They are in a low style of art, for they are in a hole. Lille has a citadel renowned for its strength; the strength of the citadel lies partly in its ditches, which can be filled with water in time of need; but which, when nothing presses, are dry, with only a little run of water creeping slowly along their middle. The soldiers, tired of war's alarms, seek their relief in cultivating as kitchen gardens the bottoms of these military ditches, which are enriched with sundry and divers deposits. Dis carding the glories of their uniform, except their kepi and their madder-dyed pantaloons, they dig and hoe and plant and weed till the earth gives such glorious crops of vegetables as ought to make the old brick walls of the fortress smile, and say, they had rather be pelted with potatoes and turnips than with cannon-balls. For the gallant gardeners, pacific virtue proves its own reward. They gain both an appetite and the means of satisfying it. If your day at Lille is still too long, there is an everready resource at hand for exploring the unknown in a foreign land, of which I often avail myself with advantage. Look out for any long-course omnibus, no matter whither it goes, for all is new to you. There are always some standing here near the Hôtel de Ville. Mount on its top; let it take you as far as it will, and then let it take you back again. The penetrative power of the omnibus is something wonderful. As Herschel sounded the heavens with his telescope, you may sound terræ incognita by means of your omnibus. A welcome refuge on a rainy afternoon may be found in the picture galleries in the Hotel de Ville. The Museum of Natural History is in the Lycée, once Imperial. Among the pictures are some good and curious originals, and not a few fair copies of world-renowned paintings. Good copies, like good engravings, are always instructive. Besides 66 which, the visitor feels less insulted by a picture labelled, 'D'après So-and-so," than by an impudent daub calling itself Titian or Raphael. The drawings and studies by masters, old and new, are deserving of a careful inspection. There are two pictures (No. 104 and 105), signed G. Courbet, the demolisher of the Vendôme Column. Would it surprise him if some avenger of the column were to put his foot through each of those pictures? FOREIGN NOTES. LIVERPOOL is going to have an un lerground railway. SIR EDWIN LANDSEER is represented at the Royal Academy this year. HERR ANTON HALM, a leading piano-forte teacher and musician in Vienna, who has died at the age of eighty-four, was one of the few surviving friends of Beethoven. NEW plays by Charles Reade, Arthur A' Beckett, Ben Webster, jr., will be produced in London. Mr. J. C. Freund, the editor of Dark Blue, has written a tragedy, which has been accepted by the management of the Queen's. It is noted, as a pleasing sign of the progress of civilization among Parisian journalists, that two well-known members recently encountered each other in the street, and fought with their umbrellas! THE Court Journal says that Mr. W. S. Gilbert, the suc cessful author of "Pygmalion and Galatea," is on the eve of sailing for America. He goes over to superintend the production of his " Palace of Truth," and other pieces, on terms exceptionally favorable. A LADY recently asked a distinguished member of the French Academy of Sciences, "What is the use of being an academician, if you can't tell what comets are made of? To which the learned man replied, "Madame, that I may be able to say I don't know." A LONDON paper says that the following extract is from an old play-bill still in existence : "For the benefit of Miss Brickler, 16th of May, 1767. At the end of the first act Miss Brickler will sing a favorite song from "Judith," accompanied by Mr. Dibden on a new instrument called the piano-forte." Ar a recent sale in London, one of Müller's pictures fetched just close upon thirty dollars per square inch; and yet this artist died, not very many years ago, of a broken heart, because the Royal Academicians refused to admit any of his pictures to their walls. It seems to be almost a general rule that artists must die to reach the zenith of their fame. On the 15th of last month Dr. Döllinger celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of his consecration as a priest. The King of Bavaria sent him the Order of Ludwig, and a letter by his own hand, praising Döllinger's life-long conscientiousness in the faithful fulfilment of his duties, and wishing that "God may still preserve him for a long time in his physical and mental vigor." Two drawings by Raphael were bequeathed, in 1870, by the late M. J. Canonge, to the Louvre. They are in red, and represent Psyche, and Jupiter kissing Cupid. The subjects seem to indicate that the drawings were prepared for the series of wall-paintings commonly called "The History of Cupid and Psyche," in the Farnesina. These works have been placed in the Salle Louis XIV. of the gallery of drawings, Louvre. THE Liberte tells the extraordinary story that an Austrian, when about to step on board an English packet at Calais, was arrested, and found to be the bearer of thirtythree million francs, destined for the Emperor Napoleon. By way of a variation, it is stated that a sum of from six to seven thousand francs being demanded as dues upon the transit of the money, the millions were impounded, as well as the emissary, until advices can be received from the Austrian Government. THE admirers of Signor Mario, says the Athenæum, will learn with painful interest that he has deemed it necessary to apologize for his engagement at the Zarzuela Operahouse at Madrid, in a letter addressed to the Correspondencia. He says that necessity alone has compelled him to remain on the lyric stage: he has incurred large losses by the failure of some firms in Florence, with whom he had deposited his fortune. This is, indeed, a sad ending of his brilliant professional life. MR. DARWIN and his French prototype M. Littré, will have a fine opportunity now in perfecting their Simian genesis of man. The skeleton of the troglodyte, on which the Italian Government finally gave up its claims, has arrived at the museum of the Jardin des Plantes. The savans, by putting together the melancholy remains, will soon be able to reconstitute the primitive race, and make us almost ashamed of our first parents. The elongated forehand seems to indicate that the owner had but slight qualifications for a vertical biped deportment. The forehead is depressed, like that of a Kabylian, or a monkey. A GERMAN has made experiments to ascertain the amount of loss that coal undergoes when exposed to the weather. It will, perhaps, surprise many readers to hear that the loss is considerable. Anthracite and cannel-coal, as might be anticipated from their compactness, suffer least; but ordinary bituminous coal loses nearly onethird in weight, and nearly one-half in gas-making quality. From this it will be understood that coal should be kept dry and under cover; and that to expose it to rain or damp is to lessen its quantity and weaken its quality. Here, too, we have an explanation of the inferiority of the great heaps of small-coal which encumber the ground in the mining districts. Fate is THE Ameer of Afghanistan, a man of real though semilunatic genius, has addressed a letter of regret for Lord Mayo's death to the acting Viceroy, Lord Napier, which contains a remarkable expression of the great subthought of Asia, the permanent hostility of Fate to man. resistless, but malicious. After stating that he had an intention of going to England with Lord Mayo, he says, "Before the eternally predestined decrees, however, men must bow in silence. A crooked and perverse fate always interferes to prevent the successful attainment, by any hu To make wine from malt has often been a question among chemists and scientific brewers; and now the question has been answered by the manufacture of "red beer," or malt wine, at a brewery in North Germany. The beer thus produced is described as of a character something between Rhine wine and Burgundy, with a port-wine flavor, very lively and agreeable; and that when looked at in a glass it behaves like good wine, clings to the inside of the glass, and there exhibits what the Germans call "churchwindows." This, however, is an effect which crafty winemerchants know how to produce by the addition of a small quantity of glycerine to their liquor. The red beer, as may be supposed, is made without hops; but so far as yet tried, it keeps well in bottle. WHATEVER objections may be raised upon general grounds to the manner in which Parisian party journalists occasionally refer to each other, it cannot be denied that their observations have, as a rule, the merit of simplicity, directness, and brevity. For example, it having come to the knowledge of the Emancipation that M Paul de Cassagnac wore the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor, the editor inserted in his leading columns the following bland inquiry: "Can Paul de Cassagnac inform us what notable service he has rendered, that, at the age of twenty-six, he should wear the ribbon which is glorious only for those who have merited it?" Whereto M. de Cassagnac thus responds in the last number of his journal: "With pleasure, citizen. I was made a chevalier of the Legion of Honor for having caused to bite the dust three rascals of your band-Rochefort, Flourens, and Lissagaray. It rests solely with you to give me hereafter a title to the rosette of officer." That evidently means business. RECENT accounts from Spain describe a revival of the ancient Spanish costume. The large combs, which had almost entirely disappeared, now (says a correspondent of the Temps) adorn many heads among the bourgeoisie, but especially among the aristocracy. Dresses have grown shorter. This return to national fashions is a purely political manifestation. In ministerial circles, and at Court, a crusade is being carried on against the comb and the short skirt; but the parties which have coalesced, true to their watchword of "fuera el estrangero," oblige their wives to assume the dress of their grandmothers, as a protest against the intruders who invade the sacred soil of the Castiles. The ladies of the coalition are not slow to take part in this manifestation, knowing how becoming the national costume is to their style of beauty. In the interest of art and taste, we may hope that they will long remain in the same mind; but revivals are proverbially short-lived, and it is to be feared that an anachronism in dress, as in other things, cannot be kept alive, either by political zeal or even by feminine vanity. BARON LIEBIG has been interviewed on the subject of beer. The Baron thinks that a man must drink something. "Beer," said the Baron, "is better than brandy. Man must have a stimulant of some sort. Brandy is a great evil. We find that the consumption of beer is making headway even in the wine districts, for instance, in Stuttgart. As a nourishment, beer takes a very subordinate place, not higher, indeed, than potatoes; and we find that in no city is there such an amount of meat consumed as in Munich, where the greatest quantity of beer is also consumed. Beer must have meat or albumen. Before every beer-cellar in Munich you will find a cheese-stand. Why? Because in cheese you find that albumen which in beer is lacking. Therefore you see that beer and cheese go together, like a law of nature. But as an article of nourishment beer is very subordinate. Schnapps is a great misfortune, and destroys the power. Through our late war we have won great respect for tobacco, tea, coffee, and extract of meat. A physician told me that when the wounded would take nothing else they have grasped at cigars; their eyes glistened, they felt a lifting-up of the sinking nerves. Tobacco must have its effect. We could not do our wounded, frequently, a greater service than by giving them cigars. And we came to the conclusion that tobacco was invaluable to us." THE Romans, not always so respectful to popes as, with their professed belief, they might be expected to be, tell the following story in regard to the present pontiff, and his immediate predecessor, Gregory XVI. The latter is universally acknowledged to have had at least one great weakness. He had an inordinate love for the wine-bottle. At his death he went up to the gates of heaven with his key in his hand, and tried to open the gates. But the key did not fit; so he renewed the effort, and knocked lustily at the gate. St. Peter came to see what was the matter. His Holiness replied that he could not open the gate. "Let me look at your key," says St. Peter. Gregory showed him the key, and St. Peter, after a moment's inspection, says to him, "No wonder you couldn't get in! This is not St. Peter's key; don't you see, it is the key of your wine-cellar? And I see no way for you but to wait until your successor dies, and brings along the key to let you in." But the Romans say Pius IX. will be as badly off when he departs this life as his predecessor; he will be sure to come up to the gate of heaven, if he ever gets even to the gate, carrying with him, not the key of St. Peter, but the key of those prisons which he has filled with political and ecclesiastical prisoners! A "MEMBER of the Church of England" is anxious, it seems, to "help the youthful Christian in his study of the wonderful life of the Son of man," and to assist in making "the transcendent beauty and value of the gospel revela tion understood and appreciated by all." By a happy instinct, he has lighted on the undiscovered cause which has hitherto prevented the Gospels from being as well known as they deserve to be. They were written and translated at a time when the graces of modern style were unknown. To a reader accustomed to the ornate splendor of a special correspondent's letter, or to the agreeable diffuseness of a newspaper paragraph, the New Testament is necessarily bald and uninteresting. The "Member of the Church of England" opportunely steps in to meet this difficulty; and the most effective way of aiding him in this good work, is to give an example of the admirable manner in which he has carried out his purpose. Here is a specimen of the gentleman's improvements: Authorized Version. And when she saw him [the angel], she was troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be. And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary. Version designed to "make the transcendent beauty of the gospel w derstood and appreciated." The presence and the voice of Gabriel filled her with astonishment and dread. There was, besides, a mystery in his salutation which confused her. The angel perceived her alarm and perplexity, and hastened both to re-assure and inform her. Fear not, Mary, he remarked. THE Astronomical Society have given their gold medal to Signor Schiaparelli, Director of the Observatory at Milan, to mark the high value they set on the researches by which, after years of study, he has discovered the law of identity of comets and meteors. His principal proposi tions are, that celestial matter may be classed as fixed stars, agglomerations of small stars, or resolvable nebula, -comets, which are invisible except when approaching the sun, and fourth, small particles composing a cosmical cloud. When these clouds enter our system, they become drawn out, so to speak, into long strips, which gradually change to a stream of particles, and of these streams the number is very great, whereby the particles appear as showers of falling stars. Thus, says Mr. Lassell, President of the Astronomical Society, "meteors, and other celestial phenomena of like nature, which a century ago were regarded as atmospheric phenomena, are now proved to belong to the stellar regions, and to be in truth, falling stars. They have the same relation to comets as the asteroids have to the planets;" in both cases their prodigious numbers make up for their small size. "We may presume," continues Mr. Lassell, "that it is certain that falling stars, meteors, and aërolites, differ in size only, and not in composition; and that they are an example of what the universe is composed of. As in them we find no elements foreign to those of the earth, we may infer the similarity of composition of all the universe: a fact already suggested by the revelations of the spectroscope." It is impossible, says the Pall Mall Gazette, not to feel the utmost sympathy with antitobacconists at the present moment. Not only have their remonstrances been of no avail, but the practice they so bitterly condemn is, if possible, increasing day by day. Those who smoked before now smoke more than ever, and those who never smoked at all have taken to smoking. For this terrible state of affairs the antitobacconists are responsible. Dean Close, and those who think with him, have so advertised the baneful weed, by their warnings and reproaches, that they have directed attention towards it, and led people to ascertain for themselves the real truth respecting it. A most uncomfortable letter has just appeared in the Manchester Examiner from a smoker who has read with interest the various letters that have appeared in that journal on the tobacco question." This gentleman, it seems, never knew a day's health until he took to smoking. Up to the age of twenty he never smoked, but he was always sickly, and "during the winter months was much troubled with affections of the chest." Fortuna ely for him, at that age, on the recommendation, he alleges, of no less an authority than Prof. Huxley, he "began to use mild tobacco;" and from that day forward has enjoyed good health. He is no longer troubled with his cough in winter, nor, although he is of delicate constitution, has his memory or sight been in any way impaired. A short time ago he foolishly gave up the habit of smoking, for the sake of experiment, and denied himself the use of tobacco for two or three weeks. The consequences were most serious. All his old symptoms returned, and his cough became again so exceedingly violent that it nearly turned to bronchitis. On resuming his pipe, the affection immediately subsided. accordingly now smokes from a sense of duty, "medicinally, and as a preventive." This painful story is calculated to throw additional difficulties in the path of the antitobacconists. He WILLIAM HENRY SMITH, the author of the philosophical romance entitled "Thorndale," and other works of similar import, has lately died in England, at the age of sixtythree. The following notices of his literary character are from the Athenæum: "He commenced life as a barrister of the Middle Temple; but his intense love of study and meditation, backed by his constitutional shyness, led him soon to quit his profession and the town, for a country life, Keswick being selected in the first instance as his home. Though a poet and a philosopher, rather than a man of action, his sympathies with his kind were of the keenest, and the steadfast aim of his life was to leave the world richer in high thoughts, and therefore better worth living in, than he found it. Possessing a mind of an intensely religious cast, and devoting it mainly to the investigation of man's relations to the Infinite, he was yet so well balanced in intellect as to be able to advocate with power and eloquence the human nature of morality, in opposition to Cudworth. His "Discourse on Ethics," though little more than a pamphlet, is still remembered by many, as having contributed essentially to their mental education on this great subject. The late Prof. Ferrier used to refer to it with enthusiasm. To the public, Mr. Smith was best known by his "Thorndale; or, The Conflict of Opinions," a work published in 1857. It is full of subtle and profound thought, and expressed in language of exquisite beauty and tenderness. Its appeal is to the living mind and conscience, against all traditions whatsoever. He could not imagine a religion divorced from science, for to him science was but the knowledge of God, through the discovery of the divine facts of the universe. Neither could he tolerate the notion that religion and morality are dependent upon longevity. "I must have something that I admire and love for its own sake," he says in "Thorndale,” “ or what is extended existence to me? If I have no love for others here, no piety to God here, on what account can I wish or expect that my existence should be perpetuated ?" With all his philosophic scepticism, he was not one to only "faintly trust the larger hope." He was a fast friend of the late lamented Mr. Maurice, and there was a remarkable resemblance between the characters of the two men. But while Mr. Maurice devoted himself to formal theology, William Smith indulged the poetic side of "divine philosophy." His whole life and conversation indicated, or rather sprang from, an intense love of nature. It was in his silent commune with her that the thoughts welled up which found expression alike in his speech and in his books, but especially in the latter, as a human presence rather disturbed than aided their flow." THE "CINQUE MAGGIO."* FROM THE ITALIAN OF MANZONI. I. . He was. As still as lay The breathless world grows pale; II. In splendor, on his throne I saw him, and passed on. While Fortune, blending smile and frown, III. From Alp to Pyramid, His ready lightnings flashed and shone, Was this true glory? Answer ye Never such marvel planned. *The anniversary of the death of the first Napoleon. VIII. Well might the spirit die But, strong to succor, from above Came down a messenger of love, And set his feet upon the way Where Hope's fair flowerets bloom for aye To those eternal plains, Rich in unmeasured gains, IX. O fair and healing Faith, Triumphant over Death ! THE LORELY. AFTER HEINE. I. I CANNA tell what has come ower me, That I am sae eerie and wae; An auld-warld tale comes before me, It haunts me by nicht and by day. II. From the cool lift the gloamin' draps dimmer, The taps o' the mountains shimmer III. Up there, in a glamour entrancin', IV. As she kaims it the gowd kaim glistens, V. The boy, floating by in vague wonder, VI. The waters their waves are flinging BURNETT'S FLAVORING EXTRACTS.- The superiority of these extracts consists in their perfect purity and great strength. They are warranted free from the poisonous oils and acids which enter into the composition of many of the factitious fruit flavors now in the market. They are not only true to their names, but are prepared from fruits of the best quality, and are so highly concen trated that a comparatively small quantity only need to be used. JOSEPH BURNETT & Co., Boston, Manufacturers and Proprietors. For sale by all Grocers and Druggists. WHITE'S SPECIALTY FOR DYSPEPSIA will effect a cure if tried faithfully. Sold by all druggists. NEVER was such a revolution in the eating world created as by the introduction of the HALFORD LEICESTERSHIRE TABLE SAUCE, now sold by every grocer, and in use by nearly every family. They who have had it once will on no account be without it; and they who have not yet, for only fifty cents, obtained a bottle of the best relish ever put upon a table, make haste to follow the wise example of their neighbors. — Boston Journal. |