of it, in vain contest during the whole fifty mileSj with every miserable sensa tion of bodily affliction that could make time intolerable. They were dressed in thin white frocks, coming vaguely open at the backs as they stretched or wrig gled ; they had French novels, lemons, and lumps of sugar to beguile their stay with ; the novels hanging together by the ends of string that had once stitched them, adhering at the corners in densely bruised dogs’ ears, out of which the girls, wetting their fingers, occasionally extracted a gluey leaf. From time to time they cut a lemon open, ground a lump of sugar back wards and forwards over it till every fibre was in a treacly pulp ; then sucked the pulp, and gnawed the white skin into leathery strings, for the sake of the bitter. Only one sentence was ex changed in the fifty miles on the subject of things outside the carriage (the Alps being once visible from a station where they had drawn up the blinds) —* Don’t those snow caps make you cool ?’ ‘ No ; I wish they did.' And so they went their way, with sealed eyes and tor mented limbs, their numbered miles of pain.”

MISCELLANEOUS.
