from Thibet on the south-east of the Punjab to Cabul and Affghanistan on the north west. M. Gerard, sportsman though he be, ventures to throw out a bold suggestion with regard to the traffic in shawl-wool. As he is the first who has put the proposal into a definite shape, let the credit of it be accorded to him, although a similar thought must have occurred to every one who happens to be at all acquainted with the resources of Central Asia. M. Gerard asserts that "the supply of the precious down of asuli is practically unlimited;" and he is of opinion that, if the existence of a settled demand for it in the British market were once made known, then great quantities would be regularly imported into our territories by the hardy Thibetan and Tartar tribes from the remotest plateaus of their ice-bound regions. He supports this view by referring to the trade which is now carried on between the semi-Chinese province of Nari-Khorsum and the Punjab. It is from thence, across the Himalayan provinces of Spiti, Lahoul, and Rodokh, through which flow the torrents of the Upper Indus and the Sutlej, that the greater part of the pushm is brought with which the looms of Amritsur are now supplied. That wool, or pushm, is carried mainly on the backs of sheep and goats over paths so fearfully precipitous and narrow that even mules could not traverse them. In some of the provinces the sheep are "contrived a double debt to pay;" they are not only the beasts of burden, but at the same time provide the coinmodity to be exchanged. The flocks are driven down to the vallies within the limits of corn cultivation-many of which are 6,000 feet above the sea level-and there the fleeces are shorn off in successive portions, until the whole is bartered for grain. The corn is then placed in little bags on the backs of these sure-footed burden-bearers, who trot back to their Himalayan fastnesses, each of them carrying from sixteen to twenty-four pounds of corn. M. Gerard argues, that if so poor a traffic can induce the mountaineers to make such extraordinary exertions, then a steady demand for the pure asuli-tus would stimulate their commercial energy. It is true that M. Gerard does not trouble himself to say how an indefinite number of wild animals are to be induced to render up their winter fleece. Probably large quantities of it could be gathered from the rocks in the spring; the goats and wild sheep might also be decoyed; whilst the wolves and even the yaks might be shot without unduly lessening their numbers. The sportsman-projector suggests that some enterprising Anglo-Saxon, with energy and capital, should make extensive arrangements for the collection of this precious down, taking especial care to receive it only when entirely free from hair and common wool. He ventures to predict that "the manufacture from this new material would soon rival in success and importance that from which has risen the gigantic establishment at Saltaire." Here it is clear that under the blessed régime of the limited liability principle is a splendid opening for any projector with genius enough to rise to the level of M. Gerard's dream! There are, speaking in all seriousness, many general reasons which would render such an enterprise one of deep interest. Central Asia is far from being adequately known, even to scientific geographers. From Bokhara, which is in a line directly on the north-west of Peshawur,-right round through Turkestan and Tartary, by Leh on the east, to L'hassa, the capital of Thibet, far to the south-east, are vast regions and unexplored mountain-ranges over which mystery broods. Little as was known of those trans- Himalayan solitudes half-a-century ago, when Shelley wrote his Alastor," that poem, in some of its passing hints and allusions, affords as suggestive a description of them as any with which the few subsequent explorers of those parts have furnished us. Yet the natives inhabiting those regions, which are all but unaccessible to Europeans, all of them possess energy and hardihood which might be turned to the account of civilization. It is true that the Turkestan races in the north have suspicious and bigoted Mahommedan rulers, but commerce would soften even their hatred of Englishmen. All the Thibetan and Tartar races of the south, who at present are satisfied with their whirligig praying machines and the mild tenets of Lamaism, are tractable enough, and would gladly contribute of their only valuable product in exchange for the coarse cloth and hardware of Europe. asuli affords them in their mountain-fastnesses their only chance by which the outer world may be induced to take cognisance of them. Then, too, the same invaluable material might give us a thread, so to speak, of direct communication with those remote regions of Chinese Tartary and Eastern Turkestan, of which by the way-save from the works of Mr. Atkinson-ordinary readers have learned little more than was known to the Italians of the thirteenth century, after the return of Marco Polo. W. M. W. The About your arm, or fit your last new gloves, Duenna, flaming footmen, cavalier; That was her mistress once. Perhaps the whirl But this is what she said to me; and mind, She said it meekly. I had tried in vain To warn her of the men: "You're very kind; But, ma'am," she said, "although it's fifteen year I've been in service, if you come to age, I doubt I'm younger than my missis were When she were married. It's the taking wage, And doing work, and bothering, that tells, And makes one coarse. But still, it makes us And very good at fending for oursels; It's not so long Why, things was left o' purpose, as I heard, My missis play'd a different game to that: 6 And so was he), and, Jim,' I says, 'go home; And nice, and were a tidy chap, you see, But, ma'am, I think 'twould be A rare good job, to let a servant maid Live honest, then, and have her sweethearts free, And run out sneaking to the area-gate, My wits, to reckon what a man is like, When he just meets you, maybe, on a spree, By labour and new bonnets; and, indeed, The full-grown love which fashions and controls THE VAMPIRE. MANY changes have taken place in education as well as in other departments-perhaps I should say more particularly in educationsince it was my lot to be usher in NGrammar School: a position that the reader will not be disposed to question, when I state that some twenty years have elapsed since the time I allude to. I visited N- last summer, and of course renewed at once my acquaintance with the old Grammar School. There it was, as well I remembered it of old, rearing its weather-beaten front in the High Street; and as I sat in the coffee-room of the White Hart immediately opposite, its external features seemed to recall to me the various events that had taken place during my sojourn there. There was the old gateway and the massive oaken door, through which the boys trooped daily at the summons of the shrill but not unmelodious bell above. Hark, it is going now! After all these years, what a thrill of memory that once so familiar sound awakens within me ! That heavy mullioned window to the right is, or was, the doctor's study, and the black patch in the centre of the window, when viewed from within, resolves itself into the armorial bearings of the founder of the Grammar School-a shield argent charged with a cross vert, the crest an eagle preying, and for a motto "En plein jour. For the life of me I cannot recall the founder's name memory is a treacherous jade; but if you feel any curiosity on the sub Or brings the milk, and that. There's Bickerdike,ject, I have no doubt that by forwarding the Our butcher; bless you, ma'am, he bothers me Week after week, with every joint of meat, To have him have him? Why, I canna tell, No more than you can, if he means deceit, With seeing him a that way. He might well Be on with other girls, all unbeknown, One to a street, or better. But to come Right open and above-board, and sit down, I began above particulars to the College of Heralds, you which was interdicted under severe penalties. Well do I remember them! They recall a moonlight summer's night, and a young boy rising from his bed, noiselessly slipping on his trousers and socks, and as noiselessly creeping down the oak staircase, and emerging, through a window I believe, into the playground. I see him now crossing the lawn and commencing his perilous ascent up the very highest of the forbidden trees. Now he is hidden in the deep shade; now he comes out again into the moonlight, and each time higher and higher his white figure shows against the dark foliage, till he seems to be poised on the very summit, and then grasping something in his right hand, he slowly and cautiously descends. I don't know to this day if I did right, but masters are human, after all, and liable to err. I kept the boy's secret; he never knew that any eye but those of his dormitory companions saw him. He won his wager and the applause of his fellows, but he paid the penalty. Some small footprints beneath the sacred trees, a very soiled pair of socks, and a night-shirt decidedly more "green" than such habiliments are wont to be, told a tale of cause and effect only too plain. The boy was birched, and laid up with a violent cold as well. Poor Tom Burke! I don't know whether he showed most bravely in his midnight expedition or in the fortitude with which he bore its consequences. We augured a bright future for him in his chosen calling, but Providence ordained otherwise. Tom was one of the earliest victims of the Indian mutiny. Peace to his memory! He The low wing connecting the schoolroom with the chapel has, too, its reminiscences. The upper story is a low-pitched room, called the "washing gallery," from being the scene of the boys' ablutions There is a trap-door in the centre, leading into the rafters, and easily reached by the judicious piling of two or three boxes. We had in my time an idle, eccentric boy, whom I will call Arthur Williams. always seemed to live in an ideal world of his own, from the regions of which it was impossible to dislodge him, and he was consequently very frequently in trouble. He then concocted a scheme with a boon companion, in whose face mischief reigned supreme, to pay a stolen visit one half-holiday to the "washing gallery," and explore the rafters. They put their plan in operation, lighted a candle, and started on their journey. All went well for a time, till the vicinage of numerous cobwebs warned them of the danger of a lighted candle. The "glim" was "doused," and the next step Arthur took his foot went through the ceiling. Not a whit dismayed by this casualty, or else rendered reckless by it, they visited the clock-tower, set the clock wrong, and altered the weights. These misdemeanours proved so engrossing, that the summons of the four o'clock musterbell was disregarded, and the whole proceedings were discovered. Wanton destruction of property was a very heinous crime in the doctor's estimation, and Arthur's companion was a mauvais sujet, so we were scarcely surprised that the expulsion of both was the consequence. They were not publicly expelled, but their respective parents were requested to remove them. Arthur turned out very well, as I always predicted he would, and is now one of our most popular literary men. But in these reminiscences I am forgetting the especial subject of this paper. If I found the school little changed, I found plenty of change elsewhere. Now, the Great Western Railway carried me swiftly and comfortably to within a mile or two of N- -, and two hours after I left the Paddington station found me ensconced in the coffee-room of the White Hart. Then, it used to be a long journey by coach, and altogether about as disagreeable a journey as I have had occasion to make. for It was in February, 184-, that, having obtained the appointment through the interest of a friend, I started on my way to Nthe first time. I occupied myself a great deal, as may be imagined, in speculating on my future kind of life, and once or twice I fell asleep. At length the coach drew up in the old market-place, and I alighted. I was accosted by a boy, a pale-faced boy, with a peculiar expression of countenance that seemed to haunt me with its singularity, "Was I for N- Grammar School?" I was. Then the doctor had commissioned him to show me the way. And he went with me accordingly. My companion was taciturn beyond anything that my experience of boys had hitherto encountered. I asked some questions as to the school. He would answer monosyllabically, and then relapse into silence, apparently regarding his shoe-string with the most intense interest. His reticence did not appear to me to be the result either of shyness or churlishness. Had he not been so young a boy, I should have said his spirit was crushed out of him by the possession of a deadly secret. Altogether his manner puzzled me. My speculations, however, were cut short by our arrival at the school, and in the occupation of making the doctor's acquaintance and arranging my room, I had little time to think of my recent companion. At supper I noticed him among the other boys, but as soon as he caught my eye, he turned his head away abruptly. A mysterious boy. After supper and prayers, the doctor called me aside. of his companions; his own strange manner. Saunderson was a vampire! I had read of these monsters, and had regarded them as the creations merely of a popular superstition. Now, at that midnight "Mr. Merton," he said, "the dormitory attached to your room is under your super-hour, I found myself face to face with one, and vision. Be so good as keep a sharp look-out on it. There is something wrong," he added, in a lower voice, "about that dormitory, and I should be only too glad if your vigilance could discover it. It is a most mysterious circumstance. The ventilation appears to me to be most efficient; in fact, I am assured it is by competent authorities, and yet if I put the most healthy boy there, in three or four days he becomes pale and haggard. It's a very extraordinary thing, and most annoying. Saunderson," he added, pointing to the mysterious boy, who was looking into the fire with the strange, abstracted look I had noticed before, "is the prefect of your dormitory, and will initiate you into any of our customs. Good-night." In a quarter of an hour all the boys were safely in bed, and the lights out. I should have mentioned that my bedroom commanded a view of the dormitory by means of a window which I could open or shut at pleasure. The doctor's parting words had connected themselves in my mind with the mysterious boy. I felt disinclined for sleep, so shading my lamp, I stationed myself at the window, and took up a book. I heard the clock strike eleven-twelve -one. By a restless impulse which I could not account for, I felt constrained to go round the dormitory, at the risk of disturbing its occupants. All was quiet. The twenty-five boys were all slumbering peacefully on, and as I looked at each one in turn, I bore witness to the truth of the doctor's assertion as to the pallor and haggardness of the inmates of my dormitory. They might have been scholars of Dotheboy's Hall. Nearest my window slept Saunderson. The odd expression that had attracted my notice seemed to have given place in sleep to an expression of peaceful innocence more befitting his years, and as he lay with one arm thrown over the quilt, I thought him even nice-looking. I had not been in my room five minutes before I was attracted by a sound from the dormitory, and looking through the window, I saw Saunderson rise from his bed and approach that of his nearest neighbour. He leant over him, and-oh, heaven!—the sight seemed to paralyse me! I saw him with some sharp instrument open a vein in the boy's neck, and applying his lips, he drank a long draught of blood! In a moment all was explained: the pallor with one, too, who was destined to be my near companion, perhaps for years. Meanwhile, the boy-vampire had quitted his first victim, and, to my inexpressible horror, was smacking his lips and rubbing his stomach, after the manner of a drunkard who has taken a draught of more than usually generous wine. He passed on to the next bed, and repeated his loathsome operation. Five beds did I see him visit in this manner, while the power of motion seemed dried up in me with very horror. I essayed to shout, but the sound died upon my lips. I struggled to leap through the window and fall upon the monster, but, luckily for me, or murder might have been the result, an unseen power seemed to rivet me to the spot. Suddenly I turned, and fled down the corridor like a maniac. To arouse the doctor was the work of a moment. I tried to explain it to him in a few hurried words, but my agitation was so great, and my speech so incoherent, that I must have appeared to be wandering. I dragged him into my room, and pointing to the open window, I left the terrible facts to speak for themselves. A moment afterwards I saw him leap through the window and alight at Saunderson's feet. I saw the boy raise his lips from the sixth victim, and meet the gaze of the doctor. I saw him fling himself at his feet, and heard him crave in piteous accents for mercy. "The impulse was upon me," he said; "I could not resist it. Doctor, I loathe, I hate myself more than you can loathe or hate me ; but I cannot resist it. Oh, I am miserable— miserable! His wail was so piteous that I felt my loathing fast turning into commiseration. Yes, I pitied this monster. This was the terrible secret that he bore about him; this was the curse that, more surely than the leprosy of old, separated him from his fellow-beings, and made his inmost soul cry out "Unclean, unclean!" Surely he was to be pitied. I looked into the doctor's eye to read there if his feelings were akin to mine, but he was little accustomed to allow his face to be an index to the soul within. I could see nought. He merely said, "This must be seen to." Then he added, "Mr. Merton, you agitated; you had better retire." He left the room with Saunderson, and I heard the key of the turret-chamber turned. are |