had been lost and her crew drowned within sight, and almost within hail of their homes, then surely this programme would have to be abridged very much, and the rejoicings entirely stopped. In England, the loss of a few common people, more or less, would not be accepted as a valid excuse for interrupting the enjoyments of their betters; but in Caerinion they are yet uncivilised, still influenced by the sympathies of blood and race, still rejoice and mourn in concert, still own the ties of kindred and affinity.

Spite of all this, however, the people of Aberhirnant were specially addicted to backbiting and slandering each other; and there was no man in Aberhirnant whose tongue was fiercer, and whose scandals were more virulent, than Dr Lewis Owen, usually known as the Hen Doctor. Don't run away with the idea that he was a practitioner amongst poultry; he was simply the 'old doctor.' The rival surgeon, whose current name was Jack Bach,' being a young and rising man, whilst Dr Owen was now nearly seventy, this title was given him as a distinction. The Hen Doctor was a tall, old man, with eagle nose and bald head; he wore a conical white hat with broad flapping brim, a cut-away Quaker's coat, a bunch of seals at his fob, trousers usually very threadbare and very short, reaching little below his knees; a pair of hand-knitted stockings, and low shoes tied with strings, completed his attire. You would have suspected him to be a Quaker till you heard him speak, when you would notice that his conversation was garnished with expletives to a greater extent than is customary among Friends. The Hen Doctor hadn't joined in the subscriptions to the funds to provide for the expenses of the wedding rejoicings.

'They'll be bankrupt before the year's out; yes, indeed!' he growled in reply to any solicitation to contribute.

Perhaps one reason why the doctor was so embittered against the banker and his son was, that he himself had been a candidate for the office of distributer of stamps, but had been beaten by the superior political influence of Mr Rowlands. The office was a lucrative one, as the county contained the cathedral town of St Padarn, which had a local probate court of its own, and the distributer of the county received a commission on all the moneys paid for proving wills and taking out administrations. This year especially the receipts would be great. Old Sir Samuel Bogoak, the great millionaire of Manchester, had lately died at his seat of Castle Deudnant in this county, and having left the bulk of his property to an adopted son, the duties to be paid on his bequests would be something enormous, and the corresponding commission to the distributer a very comfortable sum. The prospect of this comfortable sum of money had hastened Arthur Rowlands' marriage. It would furnish handsomely the new house at Bodheulog, and start the young couple on their career with a sufficient balance at the bank. Arthur Rowlands and Mary Roberts had waited for each other some years, for the old banker, although he was not penurious, was very grudging of ready money. No; he wouldn't furnish a house for his son; let him wait till he could save enough to do it himself; that was the way he, Evan, had to do when he was married.

Evan Rowlands lived in a large ashlar-built house, standing on a terrace cut out of the side of

a hill, and sheltered from the north and east. It commanded a magnificent view of the sea, of the estuary, and of the mountains bounding it on each side. A carriage-road wound up to it by easy gradients, and by that road it would take you some time to get to the house; but by a footpath running up the breast of the hill you could reach it from the town in a few minutes. By this footpath young Rowlands must have run up to the house, when he burst into the breakfast-room, shouting: 'Good news! Good news!'

'Ah, ah !' said the banker, looking out from that network of wrinkles which framed his eyes, with his peculiar glance, half-puzzled, half-shrewd; 'good news, eh! And what's the good news? Something to do with Mary Roberts, no doubt.' Wrong, father, wrong! Kate! Winny! guess what the good news is.'

6

'Don't torment us, Arthur, please; we give it up.'

Arthur's Bride, reported lost in the late storm, has just been signalled off the bar, and will come in with the flood. She has lost spars and rigging, and is very much shattered, and will have to be laid up for repairs as soon as the weather moderates; but she's safe, you see, father, safe. Hurrah!'

'Hurrah!' shouted the girls. It wasn't to be expected that old Rowlands would shout hurrah. Perhaps the change that came over his face, as he heard the news, was caused by the revulsion of feeling arising from the loosening of the strain upon him, the relief from suspense and anxiety. However, he soon recovered himself, received the congratulations of his family with a smiling face, and muttering something about calls of business, took his way down the road to the bank.

'Arthur,' said Winny, his sister taking him by the arm, I think this is a good omen for you. I think Arthur's bride is destined to good luck, and I know that she deserves it. But oh, Arthur, think of the poor woman, Gwen, the captain's wife! That which makes us so glad must make her so sorrowful, for surely the wreck that came ashore belonged either to the one or the other; and if our ship is safe, where is Menevia's Pride?'

But Arthur was too happy to have much sympathy to spare for Gwen Pugh, and went off presently to order his horse for a ride to Llanfechan.

When the banker reached his office, it was not long past nine, and the bank was not opened; he sank down into his easy-chair in the little dark back room which formed the 'parlour;' the shutters were closed, and the room in a sort of dusky gloom. Rowlands lit a candle, took out some papers, burnt one or two, and then resting his head on his arms, seemed to fall into a kind of mental stupor.

He hardly stirred or moved for more than half an hour, though at times he would sigh softly, but heavily.

Presently, John, the chief clerk-there were but two, John and a little boy-came in to the outer office, and began to unlock the safes and take out the books and ledgers wanted for the day's work. 'John!' said Rowlands feebly.

'What's the matter, master?' cried John, hurrying in, somewhat scared at his master's look and tone. Is anything wrong?'

John was the only man in whom Rowlands reposed his confidence. He didn't confide anything to Arthur or to his daughters respecting business matters, but to John he told everything.

'John, I'm afraid Menevia's Pride is gone.' 'Well, they do say so, inaster; but depend upon it, it isn't true. But why take on about it so ? You're too kind-hearted, master.'

'No; it isn't that, John; but look here: I've underwritten Menevia for three thousand; she's lost. I insured Arthur for five thousand; she's saved!'

6

'Anwyl dad!' said John; 'three thousand pounds! Name o' goodness, what a loss to you! But never mind,' he went on briskly; you'll make it up, Mr Rowlands, bach. You will give me less salary for a year, I daresay-it was lucky you didn't raise it when I asked you last week-and you'll dismiss Thomas no doubt it will be only a little more work for me. Oh, you'll make it up, master; only, don't fret.'

'John, I can't help fretting. You know how losses have crowded upon me how these cursed ships that I took for Lewis's debts have been preying upon me. Bottomry bonds, port dues, refittings, and all kinds of pulls upon me; and my captains coming home in ballast without a pound in their pockets, and telegraphing to me for money. Oh, it's devilish! Another five hundred at the least that wretched Bride will cost me; and I had hoped to get five thousand by her!'

But oh, Mr Rowlands, bach, you didn't hope that she was lost, did you? Oh, that would be wicked; that would be going against the Bible. You that's a magistrate and all! Oh, Mr Rowlands!'

'But, John, it would have saved me.' 'Well, you know, master,' said John, 'you've only got yourself to thank for it. You would go meddling with those nasty ships, and muddling all your money away in the sea.'

Rowlands groaned.

'And didn't I warn you against going into the insuring business ?'

'Name o' goodness, stop your jabber!' cried Rowlands, angrily arousing. What good is all that chatter? Why didn't you do this, why didn't you do that? Go to your work, you fool!'

'All right,' said John. 'Is it worth while to take

down the shutters?'

'What do you mean?' cried Rowlands, looking at him with staring eyes.

'You know very well what I mean. There's three thousand pounds in gold, and that's all to carry on with to-day. Now, have you brought any more with you, Mr Rowlands ?-now! There will be the quarry checks coming in directly, Mr Rowlands-now! All gold then, Mr Rowlands -now! Give me your orders, master-now!'

John, John, if you begin to turn against me, I'll give up. Am I ruined, John? Is it come to that? And the children and Arthur! O John! it will kill me.'

The clock in the church tower hard by tolled out the hour-one, two, three, four, five.—At the sixth stroke, Rowlands sprang to his feet.

Anwyl dad! and I forgot! John, tear the shutters down. Heaven grant there are no customers!'

There was a clank and rattle of bars for a moment as the clerk let in the light of day; the flame of the candle on the table disappeared in the glory of the sun. The last shutter taken down was that of the glass half-door which opened from the bank into the little lobby outside; as that came

down, they saw framed in the window the halflength figure of a man, of eagle beak and long lantern jaws. The man was taking a pinch of snuff with one hand; in the other he held a stout oaken staff uplifted, as if he were about to strike the door. It was the Hen Doctor.

THE WEED.

WHEN Christopher Columbus discovered the island of San Salvador in 1492, he sent two Spaniards into the interior to examine the country. They related, on their return, that they had met many of the inhabitants holding some herbs in their hands, and inhaling the smoke, when lighted. This little firebrand was called tobaco, a word which has been adopted all over Europe, and in Havana. They still say, probar un tobaco, for smoking a cigar. It was to Sir Walter Raleigh that we owe the introduction of this favourite indulgence into England; whilst Jean Nicot, ambassador of France to Spain, brought it to his own country, it being already well known in Spain and Portugal. Catharine de' Medici adopted the new plant, imagining it to be a cure for every ill that flesh is heir to, and in her honour it became the Queen's herb, the Medicean herb, and the holy herb. The fashion being thus introduced, the use of tobacco extended itself by degrees, though not without meeting with considerable opposition. Amurath IV. commanded that those who took it should be beaten in a mortar; the shah of Persia contented himself with cutting off the delinquents' noses; Innocent VIII. condemned them to eternal ruin; and James I. wrote a book against them full of wise sayings. All was in vain; tobacco was to conquer its adversaries, triumph over every obstacle, and become a strange kind of aliment, which the tyranny of habit was to render indispensable to a great part of the population. Tobacco is now consumed in every possible form; the makers try to invent new combinations, in order to satisfy the passion of certain amateurs who appreciate a good cigar as others do a glass of old wine. Smoking has superseded the snuff-box of our forefathers; it is allowed everywhere-in public gardens, clubs, cafés, and most private houses; perhaps, after a time, it will be so at the theatre, as it now is in Holland.

As the use of the weed increased, it was adulterated in every possible shape. Under its name, cabbage-leaves, walnut-leaves, seaweed, and hay were smoked. Bark, peat-moss, the roots of Iceland moss, were pulverised with many other inventions. Real amateurs were at great expense to get it pure from Holland, which sold the real products of Varinas and Virginia with the mark of the three kings. Such was the case until the early part of this century; in France, at least, it led to the government taking the manufacture into its own hands; and a characteristic anecdote will shew why this exclusive monopoly was commenced. At the beginning of the year 1810, a ball was given at the Tuileries, when the Emperor remarked a lady pass before him whose dress was splendidly ornamented with diamonds. He inquired who could be so rich as to make such a display. The reply was that Madame Rwas the wife of a tobacco-manufacturer. The hint was not lost upon Napoleon I.; and by the 20th December, a decree had appeared commanding that henceforward the

sale and manufacture of tobacco should belong exclusively to the state. As experience was needed, the old makers were employed; but they were rigorously watched; each manufacturer had his own ideas, and would not change; opposite results were obtained-what was good tobacco to-day was execrable in a week, though it came out of the same primary elements. Science was called in to help; a director-general was appointed; the best pupils of the Polytechnic School were placed under instruction; and every smoker will allow that there is no relation between the crude article of former days and that of the present. The mysteries of fermentation, the mixture of different growths, the splendid machines which have superseded the work of the old blind horses which turned the mill, and the chemical analysis of the leaves, are all scientifically treated.

The government manufactory of Gros-Caillou, on the Quai d'Orsay, where these preparations are carried on, is not an elegant building. There is the laboratory, where more poisons are distilled than a Borgia ever dreamed of. Within its walls, lined with pure white tiles, a rod dipped into the dangerous essence of nicotine (from Jean Nicot), and applied to the throat of a cat or rabbit, produced the most frightful convulsions, and almost immediate death. In the court opening into it is the botanic garden, consisting of eight or ten old casks, in which are placed different kinds of earth, as it is well known that the elements of the soil and the culture go far to produce certain qualities of tobacco. Here the students treat the plants to different varieties of salts or gases. Chemical analysis has demonstrated that the combustible power is specially due to salt of potassium-all that is grown on soil that possesses little of it burns badly. By these experiments, the proper manure can be furnished to any ground on fixed principles.

The culture of the plant is not free in France; formerly, only eight departments had the privilege, now it is extended to nineteen. Not only do they register the number of feet occupied by each plant in a field, but also the number of leaves on each. No hot-house plant can be more carefully tended; they are visited night and day to take away the caterpillars and snails. One by one, as they become ripe, the leaves are gathered and hung up in airy drying-rooms. No cultivator can use the seed he pleases; each year he receives from headquarters what is necessary, for experience has proved that certain kinds prosper in one soil that would perish in another. About eighteen months are required for a harvest to be gathered, dried, folded, and packed in bales, to be forwarded to one of the manufactories. Entering one of these, there can be no doubt as to what it is employed for, without seeing anything; the perfume envelops and attaches itself to you, impregnates your clothes, and follows you long after you leave: as the door closes on you, you sneeze; the porter smiles, and recognises you for a novice. Following M. Du Camp as a guide, in his work on the subject, the process shall be described as carried on in Paris.

Entering the magazine, the different kinds are seen carefully separated: there are the bales which are grown in the country, the camel-hair sacks sent from the East, coarse hempen ones from the banks of the Danube, hogsheads from Virginia, and ox-hides full from Guatemala. These are all waiting until they may be required in the workshops,

for, excepting Havana cigars, all tobacco, to be agreeable, must be mixed in certain proportions, which have here been made the subject of deep study. The common rappee is composed of eight different kinds, which, by correcting, modifying, and developing each other, acquire the peculiar aroma that a connoisseur perceives at once. One of the workmen taking a pinch with great gusto remarked: Ah! how many touches have been necessary to reach this result.' Of this snuff we will first describe the process.

The bales are emptied; the leaves have been already tied together in bunches of twenty-five; these are shaken out with care, examined, and every leaf withdrawn which shews any mark of decay. This is most disagreeable work; it raises a cloud of dust, which gets into the throat and excites a constant cough; but as soon as they are arranged and spread, they are sprinkled with water containing ten parts in a hundred of marine salt. They remain for twenty-four hours under this humid influence, which gives them the suppleness of wet linen, and prevents their being broken when handled; the salt is added to avoid any fermentation, which would certainly arise from the contact of vegetable matter with water. The choppingroom comes next: the leaves are pushed through a cylinder towards a drum, armed with six oblique blades; it is worked by steam, and cuts the leaves into slices, a hundred and twenty times in a minute; its force is irresistible; and it is impossible to see the operations of the man who attends to it without feeling the danger he runs of having his arm cut off.

The tobacco is then brought down into a wooden apartment, where it is heaped together in stacks, for the purpose of fermentation, which is not long in shewing itself: thus the different kinds, penetrated by the emanations from each, acquire the essence of the whole. The heat increases each day, attaining to 75 and 80 degrees. As soon as any danger appears of spontaneous combustion, the masses are partially cut into, and the air admitted; but light, which is prejudicial, is carefully excluded by thick dark blinds. Here it remains for six months; the desired result cannot be obtained in a shorter time. By a slow operation, the tobacco loses a part of its poisonous nature, the nicotine; and the injurious acids are destroyed. The heaps are pulled apart with a pickaxe, and look like masses of earth; they are placed in sacks and carried to the top of the building, to be put into the mill.

Great improvements have been made in this part of the machinery: the workmen rebelled against them, refused the new engines, and were only brought to obedience by the law. Formerly, they were hand-mills much like the ordinary household coffee-mill: the working of them was very hard and painful, and it required many men and cost a very large sum: now four or five men can superintend the whole. There are twenty-six of these mortars in the same room. An Archimedean screw crushes, presses, and pulverises the leaves, after which they pass through a sieve, which rejects all the larger particles, to go through the process again. It is calculated that each fragment makes the passage through the mills ten times before it is permitted to go through the fine sieve. In this workshop, as well as in all those where the tobacco is in a powdered state, the men wear long linen