The problem of earning bread drives men even here, amidst these dangerous rocks where the sea is never calm and where there is no place to land. Those who are plying the oars so far below are representatives of a very interesting class of fisher people of whom there is a small colony at the mouth of the estuary of Landerneau. Their origin is lost in the remote past. Some say that they are not Celts, but descendants of the ancient Phoenicians who by trading upon the Armorican coast founded a colony near Landerneau. Like Peter and his brethren on the Sea of Galilee, they fish by night, and their net is of the antique sort. They have a small square sail which they hoist when the wind is blowing in the direction where they wish to go; but as they never tack, they navigate chiefly with the aid of oars and the tide. A remarkable peculiarity of these people of distinct habits is that women generally accompany men on these voyages, sharing all their perils and hardships. Indeed, it is by no means uncommon for a young girl to be apprenticed to the master of a boat.

As I gaze at the little boat tossing on the moonlit waves under the prodigious cliffs, I feel that grander even than nature here is the strength of heart of these simple people who fish by night, where rocks and sea do all that is conceivable of their power to strike mysterious terror into the soul. E. HARRISON BARKER.

From the Saturday Review. GOLD-DIGGING IN BRITISH GUIANA.

The working gold-digger of British Guiana is almost invariably a negro. Accustomed to the use of the shovel in cane cultivation, he is well fitted for the diggings. Strong and muscular, and generally healthy, he can, when he pleases, do a great deal of hard work. In digging canals on the plantations he is often up to his middle in mud and water, and therefore is in his element when excavating the beds of creeks and putting in sluices. The independent gold-digger is unknown-he

cannot reach the placers on foot with his "swag" on his back, or even with the aid of a horse. Everything must be done by means of boats, and capital is required to fit out an expedition. All the great rivers are obstructed by rapids, to ascend and shoot which requires great skill and is attended with considerable risk. The government will not allow a boat to start without a skilled captain and bowman, but even then the crossing down is dangerous.

The upward journeys are long and tiresome. Day after day passes in pulling hard against the stream or hauling the boat through the more turbulent channels. Exposed alternately to drenching rains and burning sun, the paddlers can only accomplish a few miles in a day. The difference between the upward and downward journey is so great that it sometimes takes a month to reach a place from which the return voyage is made in five days. It will be easily understood from this that the current is very strong, and that where the rapids pour between and among great boulders the greatest skill is required. The boat is left entirely in the hands of the two men at bow and stern, who use their paddles with the greatest dexterity. The swerving of a few inches may cause the boat to go broadside on a boulder, and in a moment its passengers and crew will be whirled among the rocks, with hardly a chance of escape even to the most powerful swimmer. Possibly the Indian boatmen may manage to get ashore, but the gold-diggers, with their accumulations of the precious metal, are lost. Fortunately, however, accidents rarely happen, but the negro's face always becomes livid when he has to pass through the most dangerous channels. To the white man, however, this spice of danger adds a relish to the journey it prevents his feeling dull. Then, again, he is always returning home, and if he has been successful, is full of pleasant anticipations. The faster he goes the more he likes it. The side channels are safer, but no matter for

that. He has been away from town for three months, with only negroes for company, and is eager to see his friends and learn the news. For all he knows, the world may have been revolutionized since he left. I remember an intelligent fellow coming back after four months' absence. How he devoured the files of newspapers! What, President Carnot murdered, and he knowing nothing about it! In the bush he had no books-the boat could not be lumbered with anything of the sort. His evenings were very dull, and the talk of his men uninteresting. Sometimes they sang "Potero gold," or one of those shady improvisations in which they are adepts. After a few evenings, however, this became tiresome, and he longed for a book or newspaper. In rummaging about in his trunk he once came upon an old local newspaper wrapped round a pair of boots. This was quite a godsend. He read it over and over again, until even the advertisements were familiar. Then he began to wonder how somebody's auction sale had gone off, and who were there. He knew the people, and could picture some of the characters, especially those who only went for a free lunch.

This loneliness at night is one of the greatest drawbacks of a life in the bush. As six o'clock arrives, down goes the sun, and for twelve hours you can hardly move. Your lamp is small, and the supply of oil limited. You potter about the camp-fire, lounge in your hammock for a while, and then get up to stretch your legs. Of course you are tired. You have been eagerly at work the whole day, now superintending the men, and then trying a new digging to see how it pans out. At last you drop asleep, to wake up in the small hours of the morning, burning with the desire to do something.

As I said before, the gold-digger must be a capitalist. A prospecting expedition costs over five hundred dollars, and, when it comes to working a claim, about three times that amount must be spent before there is any return. Most of the prospectors have hitherto been negroes, and it is only lately that

Not

a few white men have joined in the search. As a laborer the black man is highly appreciated, but as head of an expedition he fails for want of administrative ability. Then, he seems never to be able to calculate the value of a claim; as long as he finds gold he is satisfied, and returns with a glowing report. As the precious metal can be found everywhere in certain districts, this kind of prospecting is useless. only must a great many trials be made, but calculations of the cost of working gone into in a business-like manner. Otherwise the expedition will be a failure. A negro calls upon you in Georgetown and hints that he knows of a good "placer." He has no money, and wants you to fit out an expedition. Of course he gives you what he considers full particulars - he washed several "battels” and they gave him sixteen cents worth of gold to each. He quarrelled with his former employer because the capitalist would not agree to his terms. All you have to do is to spend about four hundred dollars, and with the returns of the first expedition you can embark more largely. He will do almost anything, and be satisfied with laborer's wages at first. This perhaps decides you. Convinced that the man is honest you fit him out, and sit down to await the result. He returns with perhaps three hundred dollars in gold, but you have to pay the men's wages, say four or five hundred dollars. Of course he has excuses. The flood was too high and a dam had to be made, or there was a drought, and there were no means of washing without bringing water from a long distance.

Once embarked in the business, you are fascinated. You cannot submit to the first loss, but must try to retrieve your fortune by risking larger sums. You are convinced that gold can be got; for you see your neighbors, Brown and Smith, setting up as carriage people on the strength of a "placer." Perchance you may ultimately succeed, but the odds are against you. You plunge deeper and deeper, always getting enough to prevent your giving up, until some day you find yourself utterly

ruined. At no time were the expenses covered, and yet your "placer" may have been a good one, and would have paid fairly well under good management.

Cases like these are continually happening, and gold digging is now a common excuse for bankruptcy. What I have been considering, however, is failure through the incompetency of the manager—there have been plenty of cases where the prospector was dishonest. Rogues can do what they like in the bush, sell your provisions to others, and never come back, or bring you some pitiful tale of an upset in which they lost everything. The fact is, you are entirely in their hands-even if convinced of their dishonesty you can do nothing for want of evidence. Your man takes care to have the laborers on his side and with them at his back will triumphantly refute every charge.

The obvious lesson to be learnt from this is, if you wish to be successful, you must go into the bush yourself, and to do so without risk you must be accustomed to an out-door life. Even in Australia and California-temperate climates-clerks died off very quickly. In the tropics the risk of sickness and death is enormous. Nevertheless. I have seen white men enjoying robust health under the most trying circumstances, and they were never so happy as when in the bush.

J. RODWAY.

From The Cornhill Magazine. OUR STONE CRUSADERS. There is a popular impression concerning the sculptured effigies of the knights of old that enrich so many of our ancient churches, to the effect that when they are wrought with their legs crossed at the ankles it is to record the fact that those they represented made one journey to the Holy Land, or took part in one crusade; and when they are fashioned with their legs crossed at the knees, it is to indicate that the brave men whose merits they were meant to perpetuate journeyed three times across Europe to the same sacred site; and when the legs are crossed midway

between the ankles and the knees, it is because the knights in question made but two of these long and perilous journeys. It would, perhaps, not be very difficult to ascertain whether this impression is founded on fact, for we should have but to look into the personal histories of a convincing number of such of the individuals thus represented who can be identified, and note whether the attitudes in which they are sculptured correspond with their achievements in this particular; but it is sufficient for our present purpose merely to mention it. Another impression that has been current concerns the disposition of the hands of these relics. When the hands are sculptured as folded in prayer, they have been fancifully translated to mean that the dead knight represented had returned from the crusade, and had died in peace at home; when wrought in the act of drawing his sword, that it was to show that he had died in battle, fighting for. the Holy Land; and when placed as sheathing bis sword, that he had died on his way home, after his mission was accomplished. We are often more attracted by these memorials when we come upon them in our village churches than when we see them in our cathedrals and great abbey churches with their more sumptuous surroundings. Sometimes in such simple edifices, even in remote places, they are much mutilated, occasionally to the extent of half their original proportions; and sometimes they are SO completely detached from all evidence of ownership as to baffle every attempt at identification; but, for the most part, we find them undisturbed in their stately deathfulness and mute appeal. Their lifelike size, their inscrutableness and seclusion, the sacredness and silence of their associations, the acute sense of the lapse of centuries since those who sculptured them awaited the commendations or adverse criticisms of the mourners at whose bidding they had wrought, and our realization of our own remoteness from the tone and feeling of the old, old times to which they belong, produce an effect upon us that is difficult to describe accurately.

"WHEN THE ALMOND-TREE SHALL FLOURISH."

Open the window-for the night is hot; Outside the winds are blowing fresh and cool

And many a mile away I know a spot Where moonlight sleeps upon a silver pool

Whose waveless surface mirrors the clear sky,

Wherein a thousand stars like flowers

have burst

In sudden vivid glory-would that I

Might see, and slake my thirst!

Here four confining walls, there boundless space

Where Nature moves in ordered freedom sweet;

Here the fierce strife for foothold, pride

of place,

the street;

There voice of mellow waters, rustling

leaves,

Or that full silence that is balm to painHere party-cries, or the light laugh that grieves,

And life's continual strain.

Day after day the heavy hours pass

In languor that is neither peace nor ease,

O! for a resting-place in the soft grass
Beneath an arching canopy of trees:
I am afraid to sleep lest I should dream
Of sunny orchards pink and white with
bloom,

.Of primrose paths beside a woodland stream

And wake in this dull room!

The thought of this great city seems to press

Even this burning fevered thirst of mine

I shall be satisfied when I awake

Not in this likeness, but in one Divine O Earth, that God Himself hath made most fair,

Still fairer are the Islands of His RestSurely He keeps, in His Eternal care, Unto the last His Best!

CHRISTIAN BURKE.

Blackwood's Magazine.

IN THE TIME OF HARVEST.

Suns ere they set

Shall put the dawn to shame:
Autumn trees aflame

Their blossoms may forget:
Whence then my heart's regret?

Moons, when they sail

sin;

I am aweary of my weariness

Of self and of my world and all therein; Like some caged bird that beats against the bars

My spirit frets beneath its load of ills; O! just to stand once more beneath the

stars

Upon my native hills.

Yea, these things are a burden unto me, The grinders cease, the music sobs and

wails,