posed and seconded, and no poll having been demanded, are declared to be duly elected members of the society." A list of names follows, and then comes a second utterance from the chair, to the effect that "the Librarian will now bring forward his list of books." Mr. Librarian accordingly advances to the table, where is seated the Secretary diligently occupied in taking the minutes. The proposed purchases always include some of the most recently published works, and often amount to a good round sum. "Does any honourable member wish to oppose any book on the spot?" A mild man, sumptuously robed in a commoner's gown, objects, say, to "Supernatural Religion." Nobody else rising, the President declares the rest of the list to be carried, and calls upon the honourable member to state his objections to the notorious work above mentioned. Now the ball is set rolling. The librarian demolishes the mild man; the funny man of the House scores off the librarian ; a flat jokester follows; a serious war brings us back to the point at issue. The House call "divide." A bore gets up and repeats the most obvious platitudes amidst a burst of uproar. The House is tired of "Supernatural Religion," and insists on an instant division. "Does any other honourable member wish to address the House on the merits of this book?" is the formal question of Mr. President. There is a momentary stillness, and then a scene of orderly disorder, as all in favour of the book go to the left of the chair, and all against it to the right. The tellers count noses; the numbers are declared from the chair, the winning side cheering lustily. "Has any honourable member any questions to ask of the officers of the society relative to the discharge of their official duties?" is the introduction to what is usually the most interesting, or at any rate the most amusing part, of the evening's proceedings. Manifold, indeed, are the questions which, on the spur of the moment, the officers of the society are called upon to answer. The President must be ready with an interpretation of the most obscure rule. The Librarian must hold himself liable to be catechised as to the contents of the most remote shelves in the library. But the brunt of the burden usually falls on the poor Treasurer's shoulders. The quality of the soap, or the envelopes, or the pens, the extermination of the dogs which stray into the society's garden, the expulsion of some specially offensive newspaper-all questions such as these come within his province. The most visionary schemes for improving the society's welfare and comfort are now broached, and the unfortunate Treasurer is supposed to be ready with his opinion on each. At length, the inquisitive questioners are satisfied, and "the House will now proceed to public business," is the welcome remark from the presidential chair. The motion for debate is then formerly announced,

a week's public notice having been given of it; and the mover advancing to the table usually proceeds to regale himself with a copious draught of His rising is always the signal for a considerable exodus. Perhaps the subject is not very startling, or the gentleman who is about to deliver his carefully studied oration may have a reputation for dulness. Many men, in the face of approaching examinations, cannot bring round their consciences to pass an idle hour or two more. Others prefer a game at pool, or rush to the coffee-room for a novel and a cigar. Still, a large house is left on even an ordinary night, while on special occasions, when a burning question is to the fore, five hundred pairs of ears will be given to Mr. Opener's arguments. Union speeches are pretty much as speeches in other places. Here, as elsewhere, there is the recognised verbal jugglery. Brass now and then passes for gold, and clap-trap does duty for argument, but the audience is generally discriminating. A new speaker always gets fair play, but he will have made or marred himself in five minutes. His rhetoric must not be bombast, or his wit coarseness. If a man talks good sense, he may rely upon sympathy, and even indulgence, but trash is sure to meet with its reward in the form of an emasculated attention, or perhaps empty benches. The introducer of the motion may speak for half an hour, and usually does. Of course, he finishes with a rhetorical flourish, and the House will cheer a nicely-rounded concluding sentence. If the motion is an exciting one, half a dozen even will rush forward to answer the opener's remarks. The President waves his hand to the one who has first caught his eye. Twenty minutes are allotted to all speakers, except the mover of the motion, but an extension of time is often conceded to a favourite speaker. Thus the debate proceeds, till the flood of oratory is stemmed by the rules relating to the conduct of public business. Visitors generally depart about ten, when the debate is usually least lively. We leave a timid freshman making his début. The House looks fagged; the Secretary is yawning; the President is paying the penalty of his high office. Let us away. These good people below will talk for an hour and a half longer, when, with all the gravity in the world, they will "divide" on the point under discussion.

AMID AUTUMN LEAVES,

COMEWHAT of a lazy journey, if you please. I do not intend to consult Murray, nor do I propose to drive myself to distraction with the mysteries of Bradshaw. I am not going to worry myself on the subject of walking-shoes, nor have I any intention of exploiting any novel theories with regard to the balancing of knapsacks. It is not my purpose to enter into elaborate calculations with regard to foreign currency, and the rate of exchange, nor am I going to seek the aid of circular notes of Coutts', nor the convenient coupons of Cook. It is my intention to viser my own passport for whithersoever I list, to be my own excursion agent and to "personally conduct" myself in whatever direction may seem good unto me. In short, I intend to wander wherever I please. Somewhat a lengthy tether you will say, rather a large order, give him plenty of rope, &c.— well, never mind, there are too many foolish proverbs constantly in circulation for one to always be quoting them in their entirety. And yet, with all my length of tether, with all my magnitude of order, with all my plentitude of rope, I am not going to wander very far afield. This will be the "tiniest tiny travel that ever you did see," for I do not intend to stir from my present position.

My present position, I should tell you, is in no wise to be despised. It is one of those brilliant autumn days, which seem to combine the glory of the summer with the freshness of spring: the vigour of youth with the judgment of maturity. I am lazily reclining beneath an ancient walnut tree in a good old country garden; a garden gay with scarlet geraniums and calceolarias; a garden with an undulating lawn, not too much like a billiard table, but sufficiently uneven and ragged to prevent it being mistaken for green cloth; a garden with good old elms and gigantic chesnuts about it; with fine old-fashioned rose-trees, with an orchard in its immediate vicinity, with a prolific kitchen-garden, with fine old walls, moss o'ergrown, lichen covered, beclamped with rusty rivets, exquisite in every variety of colour, and forming a most harmonious background to the peaches, nectarines, and plums that are

ripening in the sunshine. To my left do I see the arches of a rosery on which the last roses of summer, of an exquisite faint maiden blush, are yet lingering in the immediate foreground is a baby's perambulator and a couple of hoops; at the porch of the house are several rough bathing towels drying, and under the chesnut to the right a pretty young girl, with long fair hair, is sleepily swinging and singing a quaint ditty in a minor key all to herself. The old rooks are cawing grandly in the topmost branches of the elms: the melodious roar of the weir in the distance is happily blended with leaf-music, and harmonises pleasantly with the hum of insects as they flit to and fro in the sunshine. It is as yet but early autumn, there is but a scanty carpet of rustling leaves where I am reposing: the leaves fall one by one, and as I muse beneath the walnut-tree they recall autumn trips of past days. I cannot tell you why a certain leaf should suggest a certain holiday. I am not sufficiently versed in the finer theories of leaf-language to interpret unto you these mysteries. It is quite enough for me that such things occur, and I am pretty well certain that it is not worth while to endeavour to find out the reason why. It is enough that these leaves, as I pick them up one by one, recall certain scenes just as accurately as if I were turning over the leaves of a sketch-book.

A chesnut leaf, shattered, and stained as with iron rust.-The Rebstock Inn at Waldshut. What a quaint town, and what a comfortable old-fashioned inn! Cannot I recall the excellent dinners at this present moment-the grayling with a delicate bloom on them, the wonderful salads, the partridges, and the reh-fleisch so cunningly cooked? I protest I could enjoy some reh-fleisch and a draught of Klinkleberger at this present moment. Was there ever such a skittle-alley as that at the Rebstock? It was difficult to find, it is true, but when once found it was not easy to leave. You went into a quaint little garden, pulled up a trap-door, and descended a species of companion-ladder. You then found yourself in a rustic gallery which was hitched in some mysterious manner on the steep bank sloping to the river. One side was decorated with rude caricatures in chalk, and records of former games; the other was open, and you had a magnificent view across the country, and looked down upon the rapid Rhine boiling and seething at your feet. It was a good place to lounge and smoke, even if you cared for nothing else. But if you cared for skittles, you could take off your coat, and enjoy a morning's hard work very much indeed. What matches I used to have there with my friend Nomad! The stakes were not very high. We generally used to play for glasses of the light refreshing beer of the country. How good it seemed after

a long-contested game, and how often we used to have those long glasses filled and refilled! Sometimes we used to climb outside on the roof of the skittle-alley, and browse among the vines that well nigh covered it. The queer old town, with its quaint shops, its decayed fortifications, its ancient watchmen, its gates with their lengthy inscriptions, and the pleasant dreamy life at the Rebstock comes back to me with vivid distinctness.

The leaf of a Virginian creeper, red as coral.-Lauffenberg on the Rhine. The little station there is covered with such leaves. I recollect plucking some as we went down to the river's edge to watch a morose looking individual who was catching salmon in some species of trap. What a time we stayed there listening to the roar of the water, and watching the flash of the silvery scales in the net. We could not get much information out of this astute official, for he evidently suspected we were poachers. A wonderfully curious old town is Lauffenberg, with a high, picturesque bridge, and the Falls are certainly well worth seeing, though somewhat on a small scale. I remember lounging about a quaint mosscovered tank, in which were half-a-dozen large salmon, probably the spoil of our friend at the trap, and plunging my arm in to try and catch them. I can recall a quaint old church into which we wandered, and that the whole place appeared familiar to me. I had never been there before, but I am convinced I must have dreamed about it, as every step seemed like well known ground. Then we had luncheon at the inn in a three-cornered room: they were a long time bringing it, and we had a very peculiar soup, which seemed to consist of powdered cheese and lukewarm water. I do not fancy the inhabitants of this little village were in the habit of receiving strangers of our description, for the dogs looked doubtfully at us, and even the ragged children never thought of asking us for coppers. I have not thought of Lauffenberg for a long while, but I feel certain that at this present moment I could take you round the entire place, could show you all its principal buildings, could take you a short cut to the fishery, and could tell you what you would get for luncheon at the inn. So vividly has this red leaf brought back the whole place to my memory.

A lime leaf turned almost the colour of golden gorse.-A pretty girl and a good-looking young fellow. She with her exquisite figure well set off by her clinging muslin dress, and he broad-shouldered and sunburnt in a tweed suit. They do not say much, but they look a great deal. He seems to find endless enjoyment in gazing into the depths of those grey eyes, and strives to read the puzzled expression, something like a softened frown, that gives an indefinite charm to her face. They have been sitting