necessary, but he would then have been left penniless, and with heavy liabilities to meet. In a word, he had been playing with money when he had no money to play with; he had anticipated his income by drawing bills, or as it is popularly termed, "flying kites." The kites returned home true to their date, and were renewed, going forth again with enlarged proportions, and coming back the second time like vultures. Operating for the rise is at all times a dangerous process, and especially so for those whose resources are limited under such circumstances it is scarcely an honest thing, though honest men may sometimes be betrayed into it almost before they are aware.

It was not to be supposed that Louis could be thus involved and thus disturbed in mind without his brother being aware of it. Victor had endeavoured to restrain him more than once, as has been already stated, but had been met in no friendly spirit. Those who are in the wrong are generally impatient of advice, especially when it assumes the form of remonstrance. Victor suffered even more than Louis, though he had nothing to do with the latter's speculations. Mr. Beverley was annoyed at Louis's inattention to business, and visited his displeasure upon Victor, who, when complaints were to be made, was always at hand to receive them. Victor could not continue his visits to Mulberry Lawn while distressed on the one hand with fears for his brother's probity, and on the other by want of cordiality on the part of his principal. Miss Beverley, too, had looked coldly upon him because he could not take her into his confidence or explain to her the cause of his uneasiness. For all this Louis was to blame, and Victor resolved to make one more effort to recover his brother from the perilous position in which he stood, and which was fraught with so much misery to both of them.

He chose an unfortunate time, as it happened, for this friendly effort. Louis had been annoyed by a demand for money, and had been compelled to borrow at exorbitant interest, knowing that if he should fail to repay at the appointed day exposure and ruin must follow. He was therefore in a very bad humour when his brother began once more to speak to him on the subject of his difficulties.

"Mind your own business," he said, "and leave me to mine."

"If I had done that a year ago," said Victor, "you would have been disgraced and your prospects

"Do you mean to say that you would help me again if I wanted it?" he asked. "I would do it only too gladly if it were possible." "Victor, you are a trump and I am a villain!" Victor laid his hand gently upon his brother's shoulder.

"Let me alone," he said, shrinking from the touch; "I seem like one possessed with a devil. I wonder whether such things are real; whether they do happen now as formerly?"

"And I cannot help you?"

"No. Do you think I could allow it again after all that has passed?"

"For my own sake, Louis. You forget how we are linked together-how we stand or fall together." "Why should that be so? You are not responsible for anything I do."

"Practically, I am; and you know it. If you forfeit your honour and your place in this house I share your misfortune and disgrace; it cannot be otherwise."

Louis sprang to his feet. "Yes," he said; "I do know it. I have known it and felt it all along. But I will do what I can. A week will settle it. If I cannot make all straight by that time I will make a clean breast of it to Beverley and leave the house. I will set you right, Victor, and never trouble you again."

"You cannot set me right," said Victor, "if you are wrong yourself." "That

"A week; give me a week," said Louis. will settle all. A week will make or mar me. Let me alone till this day week, and then I will do anything you wish."

With these words he got up, and taking his hat left the room.

Are men ever possessed by evil spirits now as formerly? Perhaps not; but there is one evil spirit which finds a home in every man's heart, and though cast out a dozen times will return again and take possession of his thoughts, and prompt him to many an unworthy deed. The name of that spirit is "self." Self ruled with almost absolute dominion in Louis Darville's heart; his only thought was how to advance his own interests, how to get on in the world, and to win for himself a position, with comfort and wealth. He was impulsive, and not destitute of natural affection, but selfishness choked and stiffled every better feeling. He could sympathise with others in their joys and sorrows, but only when a direct appeal was made to the better emotions of his heart. He took no notice of anything that did not obtrude itself upon his view. He would, if he happened to be in a good humour, stoop to lift up a fallen child, and pause for a moment to comfort it, or relieve with a bountiful and indiscriminate hand a weeping beggar; but it was just as likely that he would thrust the former aside with his foot, if he were in a hurry, or cast a rough word at the other if anything had occurred to ruffle him. He liked to see a friend made happy by a gift, provided the gift were his own; anything that reflected credit or importance upon himself, gave him satisfaction; but the happiness of all the world, if it arose from causes with which he had nothing to do, would have afforded him no pleasure. Louis Darville was of course unconscious of this infirmity. He hated selfishness in others, but his own selfishness was instinctive; it ignored everything and everybody except in its relation, direct or indirect, to himself. If it gratified him to be kind and liberal he would

be kind and liberal; if it raised him in his own esteem to exert himself for others he would do so; but such instances were of rare occurrence, while the more direct incentives of vanity or personal comfort were continually in action. Louis Darville, as well in the trifles of every passing hour as in the weightiest events of a lifetime, was possessed by one ruling spirit, one evil spirit, and that was "self."

This devil had once been almost cast out. Victor's unexpected kindness at the moment of his greatest embarrassment had touched his heart, and made him resolve to be very careful for the future to do nothing which might in any way annoy or be injurious to his brother. His brother, in fact, was to be his mentor, his model, and his first care in everything. He had been quite sincere in that determination; but the impression had soon faded away. The devil had entered into him again, and he had for the second time risked honour, truth, his brother's dearest interests and his own, in reliance upon his own wisdom, and with a view to his own advantage.

Now again he was ashamed of himself, and penibent; now again he had resolved that if he could but tide over the present difficulty he would devote himself freely and unreservedly to business, and recompense his brother. There was to be a meeting of the Sandy Frith Company in a week's time, and then he should know the best or the worst of his position. If he could only have a chance of getting straight once more, he would never go wrong again-of that he was resolved; and in any case he would do everything in his power to release his brother from all share in the consequences of his own default. Whatever might be his own lot, Victor should not suffer for him, or with him-not, at least, if he could help it. It remained to be seen whether he could help it

or not.

BACK-GARDEN VISITORS.

DURING our last hard winter my little back garden-yard, perhaps, would be a better word -in the suburbs of London swarmed with birds, eager to pounce on the crumbs and crusts, cold rice and potatoes, bones and scraps of meat thrown out to them. Nine blackbirds at a time (including hens) were to be seen down in the yard; and even more quarrelsome than usual the golden-billed cocks proved themselves, fighting on the ground and leaping up fluttering in the air to fight-and, I am sorry to say, their brown-gowned wives sometimes followed their bad example. Part of the skeleton of a goose, wellpicked before it was thrown out, the blackbirds pecked at and hustled about in a most amusing fashion; and one big, bullying cock made a point of leaving the crust or scrap on which he might be feeding, and deliberately shouldering away any of his fellows who attempted to feed in his neighbourhood.

A long real garden stretches behind the little back gardens of our row of houses, which in ordinary weather furnishes blackbirds with a pretty good supply, according to the season, of grubs, worms, snails, chrysalides, etc., although there are not many apples to give them their dessert for their meritorious labours in devouring these gardener's pests.

Accordingly, the birds breed about the garden, and very pleasant it is to hear them piping in the morning and the evening dusk-that is, when they will condescend to sing, and in their own voices.

But for the most part they are very lazy. It is not only in summer that the "silver tongue is dry," and when they do sing they are generally

"hoarse

As when a hawker hawks his wares."

This hoarseness in these birds-the merle being a great mocking-bird-I attribute to their imitation of the harsh scolding of a next-door parrot.

Under the slates of that next-door house a pair of blackbirds nest every year, just at the top of a water-pipe, in company with a colony of sparrows, which slip in and out of the holes left in the sidewall for the ventilation of the loft under the root like dingy Londoners in and out of the mouths of their dark courts. The country blackbird's nest is made of grass and roots and clay, plastered with smoother clay inside or lined with finer grass; but I have never seen my suburban neighbours carrying in clay for their housebuilding, although there is plenty of it about. What a different place to lay their spotted bluish-green eggs in from that in which a blackbird's nest rises to my mind's eye! A clump of hazels in a Welsh park, peeping over a rough, mossed, lichened, ivied limestone wall upon a shaded, rocky lane, down which zigzagged a clear, tinkling runlet, between wet-mossy, rounded blocks of stone. Bigger blackbirds visited us-rooks, probably, from Ken or Highgate Wood, or Lady Burdett Coutts's park. It was time (February) that the seniors were thinking of repairing their old nests, and the juniors of building new ones; but whether the hard weather had made them defer these operations I cannot say.

They looked monsters perched on our little trees, the slim branches of which they bent down. The sparrows did not know what to make of them, but evidently looked upon them as intruders. To show, however, that they are not afraid of them, the saucy mites perch themselves directly beneath them, and take de bas en haut, and yet de haut en bas sights at

the monsters.

It is hard to guess what the rooks came for. During nine winters' residence here I have never seen them on the little trees before. They did not condescend to share our eleemosynary scraps, but alighted and poked about in the long garden of which I have spoken, though surely in the iron-binding frosts that we had it must have been as hard for them to find earthworms, cockchafer grubs, and field mice there as in the haunts from which they came. Fortunately they had no wives waiting at home, upon their twig-and-grass-cradled blotched-green eggs, for tidbits before they can resume the purring croaks to which their attentive lords so lovingly respond.

Now and then we had a robin amongst our visitors, but I think not so frequently as in milder winters. A titmous often made his appearance. I saw him on the roof of the scullery, pecking away at a bone. which bigger flesh-relishing birds, although bold enough to light upon the ground, had been afraid to touch, because within close eyeshot of a first-floor window. Tit finished off his dinner with some little bits of cheese which for days the other birds, sparrows included, had left untasted. All the birds have turned an almost scornfully cold shoulder upon cold potatoes, so long as there was anything else for them to get. When water has run out under the scullery door into the frozen yard most of the birds have made a rush to it.

Bold at all times, during the hard weather the

sparrows have, save when prowling cats were in the way, shown themselves almost totally devoid of fear. They have leaped into windows, and tapped with their bills upon the panes to call attention to their wants. They have to rise up like barnyard fowls to snatch scattered crumbs, and scarcely take more trouble than pigeons to get out of the way of human feet.

It has been prime fun to see two of them at a time tugging away at a crust like rival porters at a passenger's portmanteau, and to note the insolent coolness with which every now and then one has swooped down upon and carried off for his own repast upon a distant roof that big scrap on which another has been engaged, the robber staggering along with his spoil like a ship "down by the head."

R. R.

AFTER a day's rest I took the coach to travel by night to Launceston. There I visited a little shop in Brisbane Street, to purchase some shell necklaces. These very ornamental necklaces are in great demand in Sydney and the other Australian colonies as presents. The smaller species of elenchus (Elenchus irisodontes) is most generally used, as most suitable for the necklaces, and it is, when cleaned, very rich and brilliant in the display of a golden green, varied by the iridescent tints of purple and rose-colour. In their natural state these shells are covered by an olive-coloured, shining epidermis, over which is a tinge of reddish-brown. The larger sort (Elenchus badius) are used mounted in gold for ear-rings, displaying, when cleaned, the same rich and brilliant colours. I consider, however, on an examination of a number of recent specimens of all sizes, that they constitute one species only (Elenchus roseus), in various stages of growth, and are all procured in the same locality. There was also a number of the Tasmanian trigonia (Trigonia margaritacea) of larger size, but not of such beautiful tints as the interior of the valves of our species found at Port Jackson (Trigonia Lamarckii), which, although smaller in size, are richer in colour. The trigonias are dredged in sandy mud at depths from six to fourteen fathoms. There were also some necklaces formed of a very minute brown shell from the same locality--it was the Truncatella truncatula. This shell, til very recently, was considered by conchologists be very

rare.

I was also shown a collection of salter pickled petrels, called mutton birds by the colonis.s (Puffinus brevicaudatus), and sold at twopence each. They are eaten by many people, who boil them with potatoes, and the flavour is that of a white herring. My informant had just purchased Little Dog Island in Bass's Strait from the Government for one pound the acre. The island consisted of 280 acres. The great value of this and the other islands adjacent was from the "mutton birds," which are made an article of commerce. The mutton birds, or short-tailed petrels, are about the size of a pigeon, and are often seen at sea in immense flocks; they resort to the islands in

Bass's Strait to breed about the month of October. They burrow in the ground, and lay one egg. The burrows are often the resort of snakes. A large | number of these birds are annually destroyed for the sake of their feathers, oil, and also for food; for the latter they are skinned, salted, pickled, and dried for sale. These birds are found in great numbers at Great and Little Dog Islands, Green and Amity Islands, in Bass's Strait. The other islands are rented by various persons for the purpose of collecting birds, etc. The elenchus shells are collected from the kelp or seaweed at all these islands. The time for collecting them is at ebb tide, when the sea is calm. During three days in every month the tide is unusually low, at which time the shells can be obtained in greater quantities.

I subsequently visited the smelting works of the Tin Mining Company. The ore obtained sometimes yields from sixty to seventy-five per cent. and upwards, and some surface-lode tin yields from fifty-five to sixty per cent. A large quantity of the smelted ore is shipped to England via Melbourne. Mount Bischoff, from whence a large proportion of the ore is obtained, has an altitude of 2,500 feet above the level of the sea, although some make the altitude higher. The procuring the ore was attended with great difficulties from the dense forests about it and the almost impenetrable barriers formed by the "horizontal scrub," as it has been named (the Anodopetalum biglandulosum), from its peculiar style of growth, which renders it difficult to form effective roads for transporting the ore when obtained, and materially add to the cost of working this rich mine.

There is a public library in Launceston, which is opened free from two to six p.m. and from seven till ten p.m. There is a well laid out botanical, or rather public garden close to the town, which is adorned with some handsome fountains, and seemed to be well frequented as a favourite promenade.

As my notes have chiefly a botanical purpose, I must pass quickly over some incidents of my journey from Hobart Town. I returned again to Melbourne, where I had a further opportunity of inspecting the city and its public institutions. Amongst other

places I visited the "Treasury Gardens." It appears that but a few years ago this blooming garden was a mere depôt for rubbish of all kinds, and was intended to be sold for building purposes. When the arrival of the Duke of Edinburgh was expected, it was determined by the Government to have it laid out and planted for the recreation of the public. The gardens are now kept in excellent order, and although only a few years have elapsed since they were planned, the trees have attained some size and vigorous growth. I was surprised to see the luxuriant and healthy

and the trees and plants were selected from the Botanical Gardens by the excellent taste and judg ment of that distinguished botanist, Baron Von Mueller. Noble elms and the Pinus insignis formed fine avenues. Statuary, fountains, and rock-work adorn the gardens, and are met with in every turn in the walks. The flower-beds at the edges of the paths, which in every part are protected by an iron fence, are in excellent order. The walks are well laid out, and the whole is in the best style of landscape gardening. The statues are models of those most celebrated, both ancient and modern.

growth of the silk oak, or silver-tree, of Moreton Bay Grevillea robusta), so well naturalised in this part of Australia. English elms and Northern Australia Grevilleas were growing well together, one typically European, the other tropical. The silk oak is very handsome, with its elegant fern-like foliage of dull green above and silky and silvery underneath; it is of quick growth, and usually tall, straight, and branchy, attaining the height of from 50 to 80 feet. When in full bloom it has a rich and brilliant appearance, with its bright orange-coloured flowers in large dense spikes contrasted by the delicate fernlike beauty of the foliage. The timber has a fine grain, and is extensively used for staves for casks and also for cabinet work.

Passing across a road, I entered the older and more extensive and elegant public recreation grounds called the "Fitzroy Gardens," which are not only highly creditable to Melbourne, but in my opinion not to be surpassed by any city in Europe. They were planned and laid out by Mr. Clement Hodgkinson, formerly surveyor-general of the colony of Victoria;

I also visited the University, and went over the Medical and Anatomical School. The University is a building of some extent, but from the great annual increase of students, additions had become necessary. A noble hall, similar to the one in the University of Sydney, was much wanted; and I was pleased to hear that Mr. Wilson (now Sir Samuel Wilson), of Ercildoon, Victoria, had generously given £30,000 for the erection of a hall worthy of the status of the university.

From Melbourne I made my way to Adelaide. We had fine weather, but a heavy swell occasioned by an easterly gale, which continued all day and during the night. In due course I caught sight of Mount Shanck and Mount Gambier in the distance, and we soon arrived in the Bay of Port McDonnell, at which there is a small but thriving township. This is the port for a rich agricultural district; the guide for the anchorage is to bring into one line the Mounts of Shanck and Gambier.

After landing cargo and passengers, and taking more on board, we set forward again. The next day

was fine, and several albatrosses were about, and petrels were also seen-one, the white-headed petrel (Procellaria lessonii), and another, the blue petrel (Procellaria cærulea).

With a fresh breeze from the north-east, we steamed up the Gulf of St. Vincent. The land we passed was of some elevation, but very scantily wooded. Threading our way by a tortuous passage of low mangrove (Avicennia tomentosa) swamps, we arrived at Port Adelaide just after dark.

On arrival I received a kind letter from the director of the Adelaide Botanic Gardens, announcing that I had been elected an honorary member of the Adelaide Club. There subsequently I took up my quarters. In the evening I went to the Literary Institute to hear a lecture by one of the university professors of Adelaide, the subject of which was Greek Literature."

are erected in the small gardens or greenplots at the rear of the Government offices, the Adelaide Club, and other buildings, both public and private. The shops in the principal thoroughfares are characterised by an extensive display of well-assorted goods, indicative of wealth and industry. The streets are of great length, some of them extending for one or two miles; they are for the most part planted with trees. Grote Street, extending two miles in length, is almost exclusively planted with the elegant Moreton Bay fig (Ficus macrophylla); but an extraordinary method of planting these trees prevails over the whole of the city-that is, of planting them on the pathways instead of in the road on each side of the broad streets. The obstruction and eventually the destruction of the pathways by the roots must naturally result. The planting of trees in a climate hot for the greater part of the year, like that

Adelaide is situated on undulating land on the banks of the River Torrens, seven and a half miles from Port Adelaide by the railway. The city is situated on an elevation overlooking the level country towards the Gulf of St. Vincent, with the Mount Lofty ranges forming a fine and picturesque background. The River Torrens appeared to me at this, the autumnal season of the year, more a series of ponds, varying in depth, than a river; but when the rain descends heavily it becomes swollen by the numerous streams issuing from the several glens.

The streets of Adelaide are very wide, and intersect each other at right angles. The public buildings are substantial and elegant structures, excepting the House of Assembly, which is unworthy of this fine city. Public fountains are very numerous, and some

of Adelaide, is highly commendable, but to plant trees that attain a great size, such as Ficus macrophylla, Sterculia heterophylla, Grevillea robusta, Melia Australis, and others, in this way, is destructive to pathways; and their removal must be a great expense to the city at no very distant period of time. These large trees, planted on each side of the road, forming a Boulevard, would afford a delightful shade, most of them being evergreens at all seasons of the year, and prove most useful and ornamental. There are several fine and extensive park reserves in the vicinity of the city, which are now in course of being laid out and planted for the recreation of the public.

North and South Adelaide are divided by the River Torrens, which is crossed by a strong bridge. The land in the vicinity of the city appears rich, and