tion made in a general way of "the sea," which was the Mediterranean. On this hypothesis all difficulties vanish. Tanis, Ramsès, Succoth, Migdol, Pithom, the Land of Goshen,-hitherto the despair of all the theorists,-can now be quite readily identified. It was not at Memphis, nor at Heliopolis, that the Israelites gathered together to cross the Red Sea or to traverse the salt lakes between Suez and the refilled bitter lakes on their way to the desert and the land of Canaan, but at Tanis, where Ramsès ruled, and where Ménephthah drove them to desperation. ["Academy."] Memoranda. EITHER Coffee or milk alone, or taken at considerable intervals, contains valuable stimulating and nutritious elements. M. L'Abbé, however, states, that when they are mingled together the tannin of the coffee forms with the albumenoid substance of the milk an indigestible substance similar to that formed in the tan-vat when animal substances are immersed therein. Careful experiments have been recently made of the shaft a large hotel will afford accommodations to those who desire to visit the higher Alpine regions. A new photometer has been invented, which depends for its action on the fact that light alters the power of certain substances to conduct electricity. The application consists in measuring this change by means of a current of electricity and a galvan ometer. In some English towns the determination of the amount of gas consumed by the street lamps is made by means of gas meters. One of these is attached to every twelfth lamp, and the average of the results obtained is taken as the average of consumption for each lamp. "La Nature" states that the Museum of Natural History of Paris has recently received an entire skeleton of the Palæotherium Magnum. The most important result of the discovery of this specimen is the demonstration of the fact, that in place of being a bulky massive animal, the Palæotherium was very slender, with a graceful carriage, and a contour re in France to determine the respective effects of fully sembling that of the Llama. M. Tissandier finds that in the course of twelve hours several pounds of dust fall on every half mile square of Paris. Mr. John Barrow recommends the use of naphthaline as a support for tissues in the section-cutter employed in making preparations for the microscope. Its advantages over wax are a low fusing-point, absence of contraction in the cutter, very little injury to the edge of the knife, and ready solubility in benzole or spirit, so that the substance may be removed at once from the section without injury. F. C. Calvert finds that while eggs are not acted upon by dry oxygen, they change rapidly in moist oxygen, and are soon covered by a mossy growth of penicillium. In nitrogen, eggs pierced or whole, can be kept for three months. In hydrogen they also remain sound, also in carbonic acid and illuminating gas. Mr. Garrod has proposed a new system for the classification of birds. It is founded on the presence or absence of certain muscles, these he designates by the letters A, B, X, Y, and thereupon constructs formula for the indication of the families, as is illustrated by the following examples: The ostrich family, BXY; the doves, ABXY; the falcons or eagles, A; the ducks, ABX, and so on through the list. It is proposed to excavate a third Alpine tunnel. It is to pass under the St. Bernard, and will be 20,000 feet long. A shaft is to pass from the center of the tunnel vertically to the top of the mountain. In this an elevator is to be placed, and at the mouth Two French aëronauts have made a balloon ascent, during which they employed pure oxygen for the purposes of respiration. In this way an altitude of 7,400 meters was reached at this altitude, all aqueous lines in the spectrum disappeared. When the oxygen was not used, the sky appeared quite dark, but the blue color re-appeared as soon as the respiration of oxygen was recommenced. A horizontal pendulum is described by Zöllner, in which the susceptibility was so great, that it was set in motion by the vibrations produced by a railway train a mile distant. Ditaine, an alkaloid obtained from the bark of the "Dita," is recommended as a valuable and efficient substitute for quinine. It is proposed to hold a fungus show at Aberdeen, in Scotland, for the purpose of directing public attention to he valuable qualities which many of these growths possess. Regarding the great lava flow of the West, Professor Joseph Le Coute says: Its eastern and northern limits are not well known, but its extent cannot be less than 200,000 square miles, and the average thickness about 2,000 feet. Baron Larrey states that he has frequently found young soldiers suffer from goitre, caused by the pressure of the bottoms or clasps of the tightly-fitting regulation collar. Picric acid may be detected in beer by warming the fluid, and passing wool through it. The acid may then be removed from the wool by ammonia. ETCHINGS. A CORRESPONDENT who has the good taste to admire our Etchings, and the sagacity to perceive the accurate scholarship and the wide range of reading of which they are the playful result, a correspondent, we say, and, judging from her fairy-like MS., a fair one, wishes to know the exact meaning of the word, or words, "bric-à-brac," the happiest use of which, so far as she has seen, is on the artistic cover of a charming little book, which she has just read with unalloyed delight. We know many things-some profoundly, some well, and others, we have to confess, not so well. 'Bric-a-brac," we are sorry to say, comes in the last category. Feeling from the start that the question, which our fair correspondent has asked, would be likely to be asked by others, not so fair perhaps, we consulted the best philological authorities within reach, by letter or otherwise, one of whom, who is now in England, cables a few remarks across the deep (at his own expense,) in regard to what he supposes to be its misuse on the artistic cover of the before-mentioned little book. Here is what his scholarship arrives "Bric-a-brac' means not choice bits,' but literally odds and ends,' broken fragments, scraps, rubbish, etc., and is a phrase made by onomatopoeia (as Max Müller would say,) from the sound made by smashing a thing to bits." An irreverent but facetious paragraphist in "The Tribune," entertained the same views as our cableist, when he first saw the book. He stared at it admiringly, removed his hat from his manly and capacious brow, and shouted "Brickbats!" at: man, We respect the opinion of these learned men, but as there are two sides to most questions, we quote against them the opinion of another learned than whom America has produced no riper scholar: "The use of the word 'bric-à-brac,'" he writes, "is far from being so familiar to me that I should be able to speak with any authority as to its application. According to my understanding of it, you have used it very appropriately. There isn't any etymology to help one, and the phrase is one belonging to wealthy dilettanti, rather than men of learning, or the general public; it comes out of the French to us; and I have looked in Littré's Dictionary, with confirmation of my impression." Admirers of "Bric-à-brac," you are like the young gentleman in the menagerie, “you pays your money, and you takes your choice." AN epigram to be good must be very good, which The art very few that are written now-a-days are. of writing them seems to be lost, though many versifiers do not know it, or will not own it. Such a one was Egerton Webbe, whose epigrams, so called, were cleverly bantered by Leigh Hunt in "The London Journal." His imitations, which have all the solemn turns of the originals, are the best specimens of mock wit that we recall, Here are some of them: "CONCERNING JONES. Jones eats his lettuces undressed: "TO SMITH, CONCERNING THOMSON. Smith, Thomson puts no claret on his board; D' you ask the reason? Thomson can't afford." "To GIBBS, CONCERNING HIS POEMS. You ask me if I think your poems good; If I could praise your poems, Gibbs, I would." "CONCERNING THE SAME. Gibbs says his poems a sensation make, But Gibbs, perhaps, is under a mistake." "TO THOMSON, CONCERNING DIXON AND JACKSON. How Dixon can with Jackson bear, You ask me, Thomson, to declare ;— Thomson, Dixon's Jackson's heir." Rogers, the poet, is credited with a terse epigram, which was written at the expense of Ward, the author of "Tremaine," who had somehow contrived to offend him : "Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it; He has a heart-he gets his speeches by it." Sir John Harington wrote a stinging political epigram, which is as true to-day as it was in the days of James the First: "OF TREASON. Treason doth never prosper-what's the reason? For if it prosper, none doth call it Treason." As Harington's epigrams are little known, except among readers of old English verse, we subjoin a few of the best. Here is one which concerns the literary craft: "AGAINST WRITERS THAT CARP AT OTHER MEN'S BOOKS. The readers and the hearers like my books, Harington did not enjoy criticism, as what writer does, except it be favorable: "TO FAUSTUS. Faustus finds fault, my epigrams are short, What constitutes a debtor? "OF DON PEDRO'S DEBTS. Don Pedro's out of debt, be bold to say it, Tailors, time out of mind, have been the butt of wits, who are never so happy as when chaffing them. It takes nine of them, they tells us, to make a man, (why nine?); they are given to cabbaging cloth, (why cabbaging?); they are associated with the goose, etc., etc. Harington's best epigram, if it is not too long to be called one, is a merciless onslaught upon this unfortunate sitting and sewing craft, and a witty satire on a sort of repentance that still remains in the world. Stripped of its antiquated spelling, it runs ruggedly as follows: "OF A PRECISE TAILOR. A tailor, a man of an upright dealing, And brought three yards of velvet, and three quarters, His man espying it, said in derision, Remember, master, how you saw the vision." 'Peace, knave," quoth he, "I did not see one rag Of such a colored silk in all the flag." "HE is but a landscape painter," as Tennyson sings in "The Lord of Burleigh"; but once he was a physician, and, if his knowledge of medicine was equal to his knowledge of art, he was a very good physician. He was younger then than he is now, and he is not old, and he was greener-greener than any spring foliage he ever painted, and spring foliage, by the way, is a specialty of his. City born and bred, he made a short summer visit into the country, and, while there, heard incidentally of a country doctor who wished to sell his practice. He was hesitating, was our young friend, about his final choice of a profession, having failed to procure any but poor patients, who could not pay, and having also failed to paint any but poor pictures, which would not sell. It was an even thing with him whether he became a starving artist, or remained a starving physician. He was earning no money as either, nor was he likely to, in the city. Why not try the country? Its inhabitants were honest, and simple-minded, he had somewhere read, and what, with the heat of the sun, and other novel peculiarities, they were, he thought, more liable to sickness than the denizens of a crowded city. Certainly the children were, for were they not perpetually eating green fruit? Yes, he would try the country, if, after looking into the practice that was to be disposed of, he could see a living in it. He called upon the disposing practitioner, who was but a little older than himself—an affable, good-natured young fellow, though rather verdant, he thought. The verdant one was willing to "vamoose the ranche," as he remarked, "for, between ourselves, there is a lady in California who is attached to me, though you wouldn't think it, perhaps." "But about your practice?" "I won't say anything about it. But tomorrow, if you like, say to-morrow forenoon, I'll harness up, and you can see for yourself. It is not sickly now, I must tell you, but it's going to be soon, especially among children and old folks. Men like you and I might live forever here, only they have no such men. Plenty of money though. My horse remembers the house of every patient in the neighborhood, and stops of himself at their doors. You can jot down the number as we jog along, and decide whether you'll buy me out or no. And now suppose we adjourn to the tavern (are you stopping there?) and have something cool? I'm thirsty, and want to smoke. Mustn't smoke in my office, you know. Here's a cigar, you can smoke. Try it." They adjourned to the tavern, had something cool, smoked, and came to an agreement regarding the sum to be paid for the practice, past, present, and future-especially the future! The next forenoon the pair drove through the town, or rather the country doctor did, and was a considerable time about it, so often did the noble animal that drew the buggy stop. 'Why, Doctor, nearly every person in the town must have been under your hands," remarked our delighted cit, keeping a mental tally of the stoppages. "Yes,suppose so, at one time or another. Get up!" It was a constant "get up!" to the horse, who appeared to remember his master's practice better than his master did. It was purchased at once for a good round sum in cash, and that very afternoon the retired practitioner proceeded to the station, accompanied by two or three acquaintances who were enjoying something "Beats all," hugely. Best thing out!" said one. replied another; "eh, Doc.?" "Tol lol," he anand swered coolly. The train stopped, took him on, went screaming away with its precious freight that affable, good-natured, verdant young person, who was going to California, where he had a tender | attachment! Days passed, and no patients. More days passed, Mean? and still no patients! What did it mean? -it meant that there was no practice there! The country M. D. had borrowed the horse of the milkman! That's all! "Only this, and nothing more." If it be true, as the poet says, that "The world knows nothing of its greatest men," it is equally true, as we say, parodying the line of the poet, that "The world knows nothing of its greatest fools." They abound in all professions, including the literary one, into which they rush with a temerity that is dreadful to behold, and that would be amusing, if it were not melancholy. They have no qualifications for it, and no chance of success in it at any time. They always aim high- -as high as the amateur who is certain that he can play "Hamlet," when, in fact, he cannot acquit himself tolerably with the stage message, My lord, the dinner waits." The writing of a good novel is considered rather a difficult feat by men of letters; at least Thackeray so considered it, as did also Dickens and Bulwer. Not so these literary amateurs, the most modest of whom,-supposing, indeed, that modesty ever existed among them,-is convinced that he, or she, has already excelled the great masters of fiction in the story which he, or she, has written, and which only awaits publication in order to astonish the world. Like Byron, they will wake up some morning, perhaps, and find themselves famous. Budding Thackerays are as plentiful as blackberries among our youth, and full-blown George Eliots are to be found at every young ladies school in the country. Fifteen is the ripe age at which one precocious Corinne produced her romance, which, alas, still remains in MS. Publishers are so hard-hearted, and their "readers" so indifferent! As with fiction, so with poetry. There are hundreds, thousands of young poets among us. "They rave, recite, and madden round the land." What is there they cannot do? What is there they have not done? Mr. Adolphus has written an idyl, which is as good as any of Tennyson's; Mr. Benoni has written a dramatic study, which is better than all of Browning's; while Mr. Carolus has written an ode, which is superior to the best of Swinburne's. Poetry—what is it? One sweet youth answers-" Honey and Gall." Another, "Asses' Ears !" Settle it between yourselves, gentlemen, if you can. Our opinion is the ears have it! How was it that the old school rhyme ran? "Many men of many minds, Many birds of many kinds." This great truth comes home to us whenever we encounter the poetry of the period, and what, with MS. and print, we encounter a great deal of it. Adolphus is sweet, but imitative; Benoni is strong, but unintelligible; Carolus is daring, but atheistic. They are not dull, we will say that for them. Dullness is the exception, not the rule. Once in a while they are funny, without intending it. Here now is a funny versifier, whose name we will not mention, out of consideration for his family, if he has one, and for himself, in case he should live to repent his "poetic effusions." He is moralizing on the serious thought we know not what a day may bring forth, and giving examples of the uncertainty of life. Here is his first: "I knew a lady friend who said, For two dear friends are coming then, She joyous ran to meet them, Her heart leaped up with sudden bound, She caught their hands and said, 'How g1ad,' But sudden fell before their feet, And here is his third: "Another, in proud manhood's strength, That game may come to sorrow.' And said, 'I wonder if it's loaded; A shudder shook her frame, she said, The gun it may be loaded, And I might shoot you through the head- He placed the gun upon the floor, His foot upon the hammer, He placed his mouth upon the bore But with a flash life left him, And took his checks to cash them." Once upon a time a certain French banker expressed the wish to write a play with Scribe, the dramatist, which play he would bring out regardless of expense, provided his name figured on the bills with Scribe's as his collaborator. Scribe declined "Two souls with but a single thought, BLESS my heart! You're come at last. Thought you'd died or something, Belle- Rumor's hit the mark this time. Know him, don't you? Well, he's prime. Such mustachios ! Splendid style! Then he's not so horrid fast Waltzes like a seraph, too, Has some fortune-best and last. Pretty much as love now goes; He's devoted, and in time I'll get used to him, I s'pose. Some two years back. Fact, my dear! But two seasons kill romance, Leave one's views of life quite clear. When he left, two years ago, Blest escape, dear, was it not? To enact "Love in a Cot." Well, you see, I'd had my swing, Been engaged to eight or ten, Got to stop some time, of course, So it don't much matter when. Auntie hates old maids, and thinks Every girl should marry youngOn that theme my whole life long I have heard the changes rung! So, ma belle, what could I do? Charley wants a stylish wife, When we settle down for life. Green with envy and despair, Did I write you, Belle, about I sailed in and cut her out? O yes! Grace Church, Brown, and that, Cost a fortune two years past. My trousseau shall out-do Maude's, |