and indulge in a cigar and anxiously await the appointed hour for the candy ceremony. When we go down stairs we find three or four young ladies with large white aprons spread over their gorgeous silk and satin dresses. One is bending over a mysterious iron saucepan, another weighing out sugar and making other preparations for the manufacture of some savoury delicacy. Presently the great saucepan is taken off the fire and there is a breathless silence as its contents are poured out. They consist of a thick darkish mass which rapidly hardens as it cools. This process does not take long and then the "Pull" begins. The warm sticky mass is drawn out and doubled over and over again till it gets porous and perfectly white of hue. Then it is chipped into smallish pieces, and ere long is consumed. These rites concluded we adjourn to the drawing-rooms or to our own sanctums and pass the remaining hours of the evening in conversation, whist, or reading. The ladies take turns at the piano, but by half-past ten the drawing-room is deserted.

If we are inclined for the theatre, "Patience" is being performed at the Standard, "Youth" at Wallack's, and the "Lights o' London" at Union. Square. A seat is not expensive, costing one and a-half or two dollars, and it is sure to be comfortable. "Patience," notwithstanding that it has a particularly national interest, is highly appreciated, almost rivalling the gigantic success of "Pinafore," and if the audience does not understand all the jokes it comprehends quite sufficient to keep it amused. In the heavy dragoon's song the reference to Guizot is popularly supposed to refer to Guiteau, but what does that matter? The American people are so forgiving that they can now laugh at the mention of that lunatic's name, and effigies of him ready for the hangman are peddled in the main streets of the city.

Some evenings we avail ourselves of the numerous invitations which are extended us for receptions or balls. We array ourselves in dress attire and study the mysteries of Terpsichore as practised on the Western Continent, and a very pleasant time we have of it. The ladies take nothing but iced-water between dances, but at public balls there is a bar where the gentlemen swallow a large quantity of neat whiskey first and a small quantity of cold water afterwards. The ladies do not dress much more gorgeously than they do in the streets, and there is a delightful freedom from conventionalities in attire which they no doubt highly appreciate.

To see a display of gaudy attire, and what New Yorkers call hightone, one has to take a stroll on Fifth Avenue or the upper part of Broadway in the afternoons. Then one cannot help feeling, in the contemplation of the lustrous garments of the ladies, that the lilies of the fields are being left "way behind." Silks and satins of all the hues of the rainbow rustle and shimmer on every side, and the diamonds which are displayed make one think there must be productive mines thereabouts.

New York life has its dark side like that of every other great city, and a walk through its streets and avenues at any hour from 11 p.m. to 4 a.m. will convince the most careless observer that infamy and vice have a strong hold in New York as elsewhere. Gambling hells and

other horrible haunts of iniquity flourish despite the law, and will do, so long as the local administration is so corrupt and politic-ridden. It is an open secret that these dens of crime subsidize the city office holders, and so carry on their infamous traffic in defiance of the moral sense of the community. All New York needs is a pure administration of its affairs, but this, under its mode of government, admirable as that mode is in theory, seems to be unattainable.

The warm days of May and June cause a rapid exodus from the city of all who can get away from its confines. The fashionables go to Newport, Saratoga, to Long Branch, or to Europe for the summer, and the business man boards out in the country or at the seaside as his tastes incline. There are some places which combine like advantages of country and seaside, and one of these is Tompkinsville.

Now Tompkinsville is not a new-born Western township, as its name, fragrant of Bret Harte, and breathing an atmosphere of Western or Southern romance, would seem to imply. It is not a place where the Mexican horse dealer, armed to the teeth with revolver and bowie-knife, loves to swagger with silver-buttoned coat, and pocket full of dollars; it is simply a peaceful little village of Staten Island and within seven miles of Castle Garden, away from all the bustle and flurry and din and misery of the great city of New York. Pleasant it is to escape for a while from the great city and its influences; and this is what led me last summer to take up my quarters on that pleasant island, which, with its green trees, and constant alternation of hill and dell puts an Englishman in mind of his native land. And here I spent three pleasant months. Tompkinsville consists mainly of a steamboat landing, a hotel, and sundry pretty villas, dingy shops or stores, and lager-beer saloons, all built of wood and painted a dazzling white. The hotel, which was my temporary home, was close to the landing stage, and from its windows commanded a view of the beautiful New York Bay, of the Narrows, and the shores of Long Island and New Jersey, so that look where one would there was the gleaming water ploughed by ships great and small, dark frowning forts and wooded shores, and far away the steeples and chimnies of the queen of western cities. A score of yachts and a fleet of pilot-boats always lay close in-shore, and from dawn to dark the flags of the nations of the world fluttered from the mast-heads of the craft which passed through the Narrows and up and down the Bay. During the summer evenings the steamships to and from that favourite seaside resort of New Yorkers-Coney Island-flashed the the gleaming electric light over the rippling wavelets, and across the water came ever and anon the cheerful sound of the pipe and string.

Though so near to the gaiety and bustle of a great city, our life at Tompkinsville was quiet and peaceful. This was the regular programme day after day:-At 7 a.m. a turbulent gong rang out its noisy summons, and gave heavy sleepers no excuse for further slumbers; at 7-30 it rang again and a score of boarders sat down to the morning meal in the common dining-room. Grapes, water and musk melons or other fruit in its season formed the first course of the meal, then delicious blue-fish, sheeps-head or red-snapper, brought to land in the early morning by

toiling fishermen, then the solids consisting of steaks, chops, dry-ash and such like, served with potatoes cooked in half a dozen different ways, hot biscuits (anglicè rolls) and hot corn bread. The boarders were chiefly young men engaged daily in the city like myself, one or two families, and some specimens of that singular development of the human species, the young and unprotected American lady. How some of the dear people at home would stare at the orders given to the dusky waiters by the ladies: "Bring me some fried hominy, some baked bluefish, a mutton chop, and Saratoga chips ;" and as the lady speaks she helps herself to a section of water melon of which I hesitate to give the dimensions in fear of the accusation of telling travellers' stories.

Breakfast over, it is time to get down to the boat. Punctually at 8 a.m. it starts with some hundreds of passengers on board. Being among the first arrivals on board we are in time to secure camp-stools, and seating ourselves on the upper deck beneath an awning, we light a morning cigar and plunge into the columns of the Herald or the Times. A delightful cool sail of half an hour brings us to the Battery, where we take the horse-car or "L" road to our destinations. Five o'clock sees us on the steamboat's deck again, jaded and perspiring and tired, and blissfully sniffing the faint salt breeze which comes in from the Atlantic. Once more landed at Tompkinsville our first thought is for a bath. As hastily as the heat (for the thermometer stands in the nineties) will allow we proceed to the shore, and five minutes later a splash-splash tells that another mortal is getting cool and happy. Happy, save for the occasional recollection that there are sharks in the bay, and that more than one strong swimmer has been attacked and mangled. After the swim comes dinner, for which the exercise and salt water have given one an appetite; and, after dinner, coffee and cigars on the broad piazza, where, reclining in comfortable rocking-chairs we can lazily smoke and gaze out on the beautiful scene before our eyes. How well I remember those peaceful evenings! The sky, gemmed with myriads of glittering stars seemingly just over our heads, and the sea, reflecting on its bosom the gleam of the stars and shining with a pale phosphorescent light. From the woods along the shore comes the shrill pipe of the bullfrog, and the mournful and persistent cry of the Katydid. But nothing else disturbs the harmony of the scene save the occasional buzz of the mosquito, or a revengeful slap on someone's cheek and the muttered "Guess I fixed him that time," from the victim. From the open

windows of the drawing-room whence the notes of the piano float out in some plaintiff melody or lively waltz, can be seen the figures of the ladies, clad in diaphanous robes, and engaged in fancy work, or absorbed in the latest "Harper," or "seaside" novel. At eleven to bed, with wide-opened windows to admit the cool air, and hermetically closed mosquito curtains to exclude the insects. Through the still watches of the night these busy pests seek an entrance to get at their victim, but if due precautions are taken he can laugh them to scorn.

Pleasant as were the everydays of Tompkinsville, still more enjoyable were the holidays. No native-born American appreciated the Fourth of July more than I did, and kindred holidays were productive of

great enjoyment. One of the boarders at the hotel was the happy possessor of a pretty sloop yacht, and much did I enjoy sundry days on board the same. On such occasions we rose with the lark, and having provided sustenance in the shape of claret and sandwiches for our party of three or four, together with the paraphernalia for deep-sea fishing, we would up-anchor and set sail. At times we would essay a tour of the Island, or on clear days stand out to sea and watch the great Atlantic liners as their black hulls gradully grew into distinct outline from a dark line of smoke. Often in some pretty bay we would run in shorewards and take a bath from the side of our anchored craft, or for hours we would trail behind us the sharp hook and the glittering squid by which to entice the reluctant bluefish from their ocean home. How glorious were our alfresco banquets on these days, and how tired and hungry we were by the time we had cast anchor again at night! October came and with it the tints of autumn. The mid-day heat sank to an endurable degree, and the evenings and mornings were frosty and bright. Hill and valley were clothed in glowing colours, crimson and gold and ruddy brown. Gradually the throng of boarders at the hotel grew thinner, and our time came to say good-bye. My last look at Tompkinsville was from the deck of the Liverpool-bound Cunarder " Algeria," and I took that last look with a regretful sigh at the memory of the many pleasant recollections it called up.

C. E. G.

FLOWERS.

TALK to me of myself ye flowers,
Be as a mirror bright:

Show me the use to which my powers
Should wing their higher flight.

Yours is a wond'rous voice, ye flowers,
Its pathway is the light,
Its accents radiant color showers,
Its portal sense of sight.

Within the chambers of the mind
Your forms with meaning glow;
Your beauties correspondence find,
And inner purpose show.

There reason's eye and love's quick ear A guide and teacher meet,

Who makes your mystic language clear, Your fragrance yet more sweet.

He speaks of reverend belief

That every human heart

Hath symbol in each flower and leaf
A God-made counterpart.

Your forms and lovely tints, he saith,
That live alone for fruit,

Are whispers of that better faith
That hath in deeds its root.

Your structure beams in every part,
And all your being's rife—
Unless debased by human art—

With glorious seed-bound life.