Combe, where none may dare to follow. The lark, poor bird, may sing in the sky, for that is not farmed out, but his mate has no nest in the turf below, the grass not long enough to shelter it, and the gold-banded beadle will tell her to move on, or charge her a penny a-day for rent, should she dare to venture on the experiment. In that day the gravel walks will be trim and neat, now straight as an arrow, now winding in graceful curves, throug lawns, and groves, and dells, adorned by shrubs, and trees, and flowers, too well trained to grow crooked, or stunted, or with undue luxuriance. Then may he rest on painted seats, and gaze on ponds of geometric form on which tame ducks may float, while visions of the past float too above the ducks, and the water, and the new park, and out of the reach of the lord of the manor. What, in such a paradise, could be the vision of the Saturday stroller? Perhaps, it might be the Old Common, where, amongst furze bushes, and mud puddles, and tall bracken, and swamp, he could find, year in and year out, always something new; when the time passed so swiftly away that he could chide the dusky evening for coming so speedily, and when enough had been found, or seen, to send him home with something to think about all the week; when the only feeling that could find a place in his breast was that of increased love for all created things; and when the only exclamation that could escape his lips was, "How manifold are thy works, in wisdom hast thou made them all!"
We by no means despise "parks, palaces, or public buildings," nor condemn the legislative wisdom that called them into existence. Against the parks of our metropolis, whether patrician or plebeian, we have nought to urge; but against the appropriation of all the waste places within range of a Cockney stroll we dare to protest, because it tends to deprive those of legitimate hunting grounds, who have no other "preserves," and whose "little game" are birds, beetles, butterflies, and flowers, or
"Rats and mice, and such small deer;"
because the rugged beauty, wild grandeur, and infinite variety of nature, have powers superior to the most elaborate art, in charming the healthy mind; and because the consummation of such appropriation will be—not only to deprive the operative classes of a patrimony in which they can stand erect, and feel themselves "at home" and at ease, but to check them in the enjoyment of rational amusement whilst in the pursuit of some branch of natural history for which no other and compensatory provision is made. Therefore, should we ever suffer metamorphosis into the body of a politician, one point in our charter would probably be, not favourable, but antagonistic to "Short-Commons."
GOSSIP ABOUT MAN-SUCKERS.
By J. K. Lord, F.Z.S.
Reader, have you ever tried a cruise on the sea in an Indian canoe? I can vividly recall even now my early exploits in this most upsetable craft, spearing Octopi ("the Man-Suckers" of our fishermen) on the coast of Vancouver Island.
Canoes are generally supposed by the uninitiated "to glide over silvery streams," or " like an arrow shoot foaming rapids," and ride like sea-birds "over the ever-heaving ocean." I only wish those who entertain these poetic fancies could be indulged with one short excursion. First and foremost you have to get in. This is at all times, except to the natives or the most experienced voyageur, a service of extreme risk. If you are not extremely careful to place one foot in the exact centre of the canoe, then balancing yourself like an acrobat to bring the other foot alongside it, over goes the "fairy barque," and you take a sudden header into "Daddy Neptune's" diggings. This contingency avoided, and a successful entrée accomplished, the next performance is, to sit down flat in the bottom. This requires a careful and ingenious system of lowering—the slightest lurch to either side, and you bathe to a certainty; once down, you sit with your legs straight out, and as there are no thawts to lean the back against, the position is very nearly such as would be enjoyed in the parish stocks. Behind you, steering, sits a grim red-skin frescoed with war-paint; before you a similar unprepossessing specimen of humanity—the paddler. Your range of vision being limited
