and dost reverse the sentences of unrighteous judges; thou buildest upon the bosom of darkness, out of the fantastic imagery of the brain, cities and temples beyond the art of Phidias— beyond the splendours of Babylon and Hekatompylos, and from the anarchy of dreaming sleep callest into sunny light the faces of long-buried beauties, and the blessed household countenances cleansed from the dishonours of the grave! Thou only givest these gifts to man; and thou hast the keys of paradise, O just, subtle, and mighty opium !"

The owner of this establishment was a courteous, well-spoken Chinaman, who gladly afforded us all the information we required of him, and refused point-blank our proffered gratuity,-an example which London waiters would do well to follow. In reply to our inquiry as to the difference between the influence of opium and that of alcohol, he said, with a pleasant smile, "Well, the difference is just this,-Opium makes you happy and good-natured; alcohol makes you miserable and mischievous."

One word in explanation. It is no business of the present writer to indite a defence of opium, or to advocate its cause. Both have been done by worthier pens than his. But he would protest against the fanatical condemnation of that which, properly used, may prove a blessing rather than a curse. Except in the matter of woman's love, whereof no man can ever have enough, excess is to be deprecated in all things. An immoderate consumption of opium may be highly injurious, but that it can be more so than the inordinate use of gin, whisky, or brandy, stands not within the compass of belief. The serpent that lurks beneath the white poppy produces, at worst, but

langour and lassitude; the demon who has left his trail upon juniper, barley-corn, and hops is a desolator, an assassin, who drives his victims to madness and murder, and drinks their blood.

Returning to my lodgings, the door was opened to me by the landlady,-Mrs. Boskett, who (age fifty-six, and weight sixteen stone, if an ounce), caught me to her bosom, and kissed me fervently. "Well," she said, "it's agonies that I have gone through this blessed day on your account. You have given me quite a turn. I'm that flustered that I don't know whether I'm on my 'ead or my 'eels. Leastwise, I'm all struck of a heap. But I'm right glad to see you safe and sound out of the hands of them murdering opium-eaters of the East End, which I don't hold with such goings-on, and never did. Here's your watch."

AMONG THE HORSES.

N travelling along the Queen's highway from
London to Barnet, when the weather is

sultry, you must make up your mind to "eat clouds of dust and deem it country air,"-an effort of gastronomic imagination more powerful than pleasant. No sooner do you escape from the wilderness of brick and mortar whereof Babylon is composed than you enter a tabernacle of dry, pulverised clay, from which you emerge not until you arrive at that horse-fair for which, much more than for the fierce battles between the Houses of York and Lancaster once waged in its streets, the ancient town of Chipping Barnet is now renowned. The scene on the road is animated and variegated. You look in vain for the "Upper Ten Thousand," but the "Lower Ten Million are numerously and characteristically represented. Here are Lord and Lady Whitechapel, multiplied in countless forms, yet all preserving the same unmistakable type, They are both decked out in gorgeous finery. How swiftly do they spin along, in their trim little gigs, drawn by dapper little steeds in glittering harness! Here, too, in far less pretentious traps," but looking every bit as happy, are 'Arry and his Belinda Ann. The former has a pot-bat upon his majestic head, and around his throat.

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though the barometer marks 88 degrees in the shade, a thick, many-coloured wrapper. His charmer wears a black bonnet, with a flaunting white feather, long earrings, a magenta dress, and a stupendous shawl, which dazzles the eyes of all beholders, and is in conflict with the Sun himself. In multitudinous concourse come the small tradespeople and the well-to-do mechanics of the East End, the sweethearts of a decade ago, who, now transformed into steady-going married couples, and accompanied by their progeny-"baby" not excepted-wend their way to the common centre of attraction at a quiet, leisurely pace, their ponies having acquired the art, not less valuable to horse than to man, of "taking it easy." Other Londoners, a rung or two lower in the social ladder, and usually a peg or two higher in the matter of animal spirits for in this riddle of a world the humblest seem ever the happiest-make jovial display, and keep laughing and jesting as they go. Conspicuous in their number are the "costers of Shoreditch, Bermondsey, and Mile End, whisked along in their barrows at a brisk, round trot, by those wonderful little "mokes" of theirs, whom they alone of all living men know how to quicken into mettlesome action. Weary and footsore, and powdered all over with dust, trudge the poor pedestrians. They, like their fellow-travellers whom a more generous destiny has provided with equipages, are bound one and all for the Fair. What business they have there is more than they can themselves always explain. In most cases, they go less for business than pleasure, and under the impulse of that gregarious instinct which is one of the many mysteries of our unaccountable nature.

From John O'Groat's to Land's End there are

few, if any, more remarkable scenes than that to be witnessed at Barnet Cattle Fair. What diversity of character, what variety of incident, what swift movement, and unbounded animation meet the gaze at every turn! It is not too much to say that a man goes there with his life in his hand. If he has not his wits about him and does not mind what he is at, he will find a horse's hoof in his mouth or a cow's horn in his stomach, and neither is likely to promote his comfort. He is pushed hither and knocked thither; he feels strange elbows in his ribs, strange feet upon his toes; he is bellowed at, screamed at, and cursed at from all quarters; and were it not for the humanity of the horses, which is greatly superior to that of the horsemen, he would infallibly be trampled to death. "Pick out that chesnut mare, Bill, and show her paces!" says a dealer to his attendant. No sooner said than done. In the twinkling of an eye the Yahoo of a rider, a wild outlandish fellow, with no other clothes than tattered trousers and ragged shirt, is upon the mare's back. Saddle he has none, nor bridle either, nor anything wherewith to guide the young untrained brute, except only a hempen halter. Wherever he sees the crowd thickest he charges it at full tilt. Men, women, and children are rolled over like nine-pins, and would be killed beyond question, but for the generous instinct of the filly, who, with the kindness of her race and sex, just manages to come within a hair's-breadth of the people without touching them. What cares the Yahoo whether they are killed or not? Apparently not a jackstraw. It is for them and the mare, not for him, to look after their safety. He has enough to do to keep his seat, and how he contrives to do that is indeed surprising. That the mare doesn't go