rushed eagerly towards the spot. Three mounted warriors were before him, and while he sought cover, captured and bore away the prize.

The Osage knew that it was useless to remain on the watch any longer, and, pursuit being madness, turned back and sought his companions, who were more indignant than ever at this new outrage. Repose was, however, absolutely necessary, and was now sought, all trusting to the keenness of their senses to awake ere they could be surprised. It was dark night ere they awoke, and then the three friends groaned with rage that was absolutely frightful. Each felt himself ornamented by a squaw's petticoat, thrown loosely over him. Burning with passion, they grasped one another's hands, and vowed terrible vengeance.

At this instant a dim light was seen through the trees, blazing up at a considerable distance in the forest. It was the fire of a camp, and the hearts of the Osage warriors were at last glad. They had been so often outwitted, that the utmost caution was used. Each divested himself of every unnecessary article of clothing, while their tomahawks were the only arms they preserved. Clutching these, they crept stealthily, and with a serpent's tread, into the forest. As they advanced, the glare of the fire grew brighter; and at length, when within a couple of hundred yards, they could plainly hear the green wood crackling in the full stillness of evaning. A faint odour of broiled venison came pleasingly to their nostrils, and then three figures were plainly discerned round the fire.

Between the spot occupied by the Osages and the hostile camp lay a rough piece of ground, full of holes and natural ditches. Across this the three friends began to crawl, holding their breath, and clutching their deadly weapons, while their hearts beat with anxiety lest their victims should escape. Half the distance was passed over, and still more strongly was the cooking made evident to the hungry senses of the creeping Osages. Still the unconscious warriors moved not, but kept their backs turned to the approaching foe. They were evidently eating, and holding converse at intervals. At length, as the friends came still nearer, they appeared to finish their meal, and sunk gradually on the leafy ground to rest. The Osages breathed more freely, and advanced with less caution, until at length, when within half-a-dozen yards, they rose, gave the terrific war-whoop, and leaped madly upon the camp. It was vacant-their victims had escaped. The friends, amazed, were about to fly from their dangerous proximity to the light, when three distinct laughs were heard.

The Osages stood immoveable, gazing at one another with a grim, half-angry, half-comic expression, and ere they could speak, three maidens disguised as warriors stood meekly one before each brave, a horse's tail in one hani, and the other trophies in the other. The friends tried their utmost to look angry; but the countenances of the girls were so meek, and yet so malicious, that the gravity of the braves was overcome, and they laughed heartily at the conclusion of their expected deadly struggle.

The girls then explained that, for reasons of their own, disapproving of the celibacy of the three friends, they had resolved to excite their admiration and interest, that they had followed them immediately after their departure, had crept on them in the night, and divested them of their crests, &c. and played them every other trick which has been recorded in this legend. The warriors listened, and when they narrated how they had saved their lives in the ravine, seemed each struck with the same sudden conviction; namely, that the lives thus preserved belonged to the preservers, and at once made public their opinion. The damsels laughed gaily, and promised to entertain the notion, but recalled their lovers to a remembrance of their hungry state. Merrily and blithely supped the three maidens and the three friends that night beneath the greenwood tree; and when in after years they met at eventide,

all happy husbands and wives, with dusky boys and girls crowding round them, that it was the brightest moment of their existence, was the oft-repeated saying of the THREE FRIENDS.

SUPPLY OF WATER TO THE METROPOLIS. THE inhabitants of London occasionally come to a pause in the midst of their hurrying pursuit of wealth, commerce, or pleasure, and look round, apparently in a state of uncertainty as to their real position, morally or physically. At such times they generally become aware of the existence of some inconvenience or crying abuse, which they apply themselves to remove or remedy; public meetings are called, long speeches made, strings of resolutions moved and adopted-and there the matter ends; they settle down to their usual routine, to wake up again at the end of twenty years, and go through a precisely similar state of ebullition.

This phenomenon, however, shows itself, in some instances, connected with really important objects, as in the meetings which have been held from time to time on the question of the supplies of water for the daily consumption of the metropolitan population-a thoroughly legitimate subject of inquiry. They who know anything of the water drunk in London, must remember how vapid and unrefreshing it is, when compared with that obtained in the country, or in other towns where the supply is less polluted. But this is not the worst; insipidity and unsavouriness are but a small portion of the evil, which resolves itself into positive unwholesomeness and deleteriousness: and so loud have, at times, been the manifestations of complaint, that many practical measures have been suggested which would tend to the purification of an element so essential to healthful existence.

Water for the use of the inhabitants was first drawn from the Thames in 1568, by machinery erected at Dowgate Hill. From this date the evils complained of went on accumulating, up to the time of the first authorised inquiry in 1819, subsequently continued by a Royal Commission, and Committees of the House of Commons, down to 1834; but without leading to any beneficial result, for the water of the Thames was more polluted at the termination of their proceedings than at the commencement, owing to the greater number of drains that discharged themselves into the river; which, in the words of the report published in 1836, receives the excrementitious matter from nearly a million and a half of human beings; the washings of their foul linen; the filth and refuse of many hundred manufactories; the offal and decomposing vegetable substances from the markets; the foul and gory liquid from slaughter houses; and the purulent abominations from hospitals and dissecting-rooms, too disgusting to detail.'

The plans which had been suggested for the supply of water of a less objectionable quality were, purification by filtration or subsidence; pumping from a part of the river above the contaminated districts; or to

draw the supply from other sources than the Thames, and convey it, by means of extensive aqueducts, to London.' These propositions were objected to as imperfect, ineffective, and too expensive; and a meeting was called to discuss a plan devised by Mr J. Martin, which, it was said, completely realised all that the public required, and, to quote again from the report, 'consists in diverting altogether from the river every possible source of pollution within the London district; so that the water supplied from it to the inhabitants by the existing water companies, shall become as unobjectionable as a noble river in its natural state ever offered to man.' This was to be effected by the construction of a close sewer, twenty feet wide, and of adequate depth, along both banks of the river,' from a point near Vauxhall Bridge, and terminating respectively in large receptacles to be situated in Limehouse and Rotherhithe, after running by the side of the stream for a distance of five miles and a quarter, completely

preventing the discharge of offensive matter into the tideway, by depositing all the drainage in the two grand receptacles, in which provision was to be made for the destruction of noxious effluvia, and the ventilation of the sewers, by large fires burning over grated openings. To show the necessity for so great a work, a large amount of evidence was published as to the actual state of the water derived from the Thames; which will apply equally well at the present day, as the best portions of the metropolis, or four-fifths, are exclusively supplied from that source. It was shown that one company drew their supply from the river immediately opposite the mouth of the great Ranelagh sewer,' and another at a short distance below it; and although it was urged that the companies allowed time for the depuration of the water by subsidence,' yet proofs were adduced that complete purification from the deleterious particles held in suspension did not take place. Calculations were made, which, going beyond the ordinary generalities, showed that upwards of three millions of pounds of impure matter, solid and fluid, were poured into the Thames every day; to which must be added, the impure water resulting from the body ablutions of at least half a million of people who wash daily, and of the rest of the inhabitants who do so less often-no mean source of pollution, charged, as the water must be, with the excrementitious matter from the surface of the body.'

The evidence goes to show that this sickening mass of filth was not removed by the tide, as had been asserted. A witness, Mr Evans, in speaking of the sewers, observed, 'that these discharge their horrid contents into the river Thames; and that the progress of the tide defies any complete clearance, no one can attempt to deny. The filth, in fact, is carried as far down the river as the tide will carry it, and again, by the next tide, brought the same way back; so that the river Thames, as far up as the tide flows, can be considered neither more nor less than the great common sewer of London, and consequently unfit to be the source from whence the supply of water ought to be taken for the use of the metropolis.' Dr Bostock, another witness, stated, that he had understood, by the engineers conversant with the subject, that the tide, near London, produces rather an oscillation than a change of water; that, in fact, the water remains very nearly stationary near the metropolis, being, as I said, backed up when the tide rises, and when the tide falls, a certain portion is suffered to escape; but there is only a very gradual transmission or interchange of water.'

With regard to the purification of the water by subsidence, Dr Granville testified-Within the last few weeks, I had occasion to clean the upper cistern at the top of the house, on account of some fracture in the bottom lead, when I found two inches of thick, filthy, and foul-smelling deposit in it; although the operation of cleaning the same cistern had been performed only twelve months before. Indeed the water in the said cistern, placed at an altitude of ninety feet from the street, does never look otherwise than like dirty peasoup, owing to the frequent stirring up of it by the coming in of the fresh supply three times a-week.' Supposing that the companies were to establish reservoirs of such magnitude as to allow the water to be lodged undisturbed therein, during a period of time sufficiently long for the depurative process by spontaneous fermentation to take place, which is to destroy all animal impurities in it, they would still supply the public with what, although clear and inodorous, would contain enough of chalk and plaster of Paris to multiply, and render more severe, the various and innumerable degrees of derangements of the stomach and bowels which so generally prevail in, and are almost peculiar to, this metropolis. Would any one knowingly, and with cheerfulness, drink a tumbler of water from a river-spring which should have previously run through a succession of cess-pools, and afterwards been filtered through sand and gravel, because it may then

appear clear and transparent? Yet such is the case with us collectively, who drink, in some way or other, the Thames water of the London district!'

Other advantages comprehended in the proposed plan were of equal importance with the purification of the water, and would have supplied a great want under which London labours to the present day-open embankments, and public thoroughfares along each bank of the river. The report states that one of the improvements would have been, the erection, over the two sewers, of a line of colonnaded wharfs, which will afford, in front of the present wharfs, additional room; increase the convenience of the merchant and the labourer; facilitate the operations of trade; give greater security to property landed from vessels and barges; improve the navigation of the river by the assistance of the subjacent sewers, which will constitute uniform embankments.' It was further contemplated to convert the roofs of the colonnaded wharfs just described into parapetted thoroughfares, serving the purpose of a magnificent and extensive public walk along both banks of the Thames, unequalled in any part of Europe; to which the public will be admitted gratuitously on Sundays, and at the smallest rate of charge on every other day in the week.' In this way it was hoped to realise the often-expressed wishes of parliamentary committees, of affording to the mass of the population the luxury, salubriousness, and recreation of great public walks in the very heart of London,' together with the formation of collateral public baths, which shall induce persons to abstain from bathing in the Thames;' all to arise from 'the saving of a vast quantity of the most fructifying manure, which, employed on cultivated soil, will nearly double its produce.'

It cannot be doubted that this scheme, if carried out, would have made London the most magnificent capital in Europe, while the advantages offered to the health and recreation of the inhabitants would have been without a parallel. This latter consideration was urged in the report-'It cannot be necessary to point out how requisite some public walks or open spaces in the neighbourhood of large towns must be, to those who consider the occupations of the working-classes who dwell in them. Confined as they are during week days, as mechanics and manufacturers, and often shut up in heated factories, it must be evident that it is of the first importance to their health, on their day of rest, to enjoy the fresh air, and be able to walk out in decent comfort with their families. Deprived of any such resource, it is probable that their only escape from the narrow courts or alleys (in which so many of the humbler classes reside) will be to those drinking-shops where, in short-lived excitement, they may forget their toil, but where they waste the means of their families, and too often destroy their health.' Dr Granville's evidence shows that want of the means of taking exercise produces, moreover, in the same classes of people a melancholy and morose disposition, and a spirit of dissatisfaction, increased by the want of domestic attraction and impaired health... The remedy lies in the establishment of public walks and public recreations, by means of which the classes of people alluded to are enticed into the open air. At present, the banks of the Thames, and the various narrow streets which run parallel or at right angles with them, are justly considered as unhealthy situations to live in. Medical officers of dispensaries, and amongst them myself, who during the last twenty years have acted in the capacity of physician to three medical institutions, can testify to the inferior degree of health generally found among the inhabitants of these districts; where aguish and low fevers, scrofula, and all such complaints as depend on the action of foul effluvia on the human constitution, are much more common than in the more elevated sections of the metropolis.'

It will be remembered that the subject of supplies of water received a large share of attention from the Health of Towns Commission, to whose labours we

have frequently adverted; and from the foregoing statements, we find that it has, at various times, been made to involve many highly important considerations. It will long be matter of regret that a scheme offering so good an opportunity for the embellishment of the capital, and increase of its commercial resources, while contributing to the wellbeing of the population, should not have received efficient support from the legislature. From the financial tables accompanying the report, we learn that the whole expense of the works was calculated at a little more than L.1,200,000, for which there would have been an annual return of nearly L.400,000; half of the amount being produced by the sale of the manure prevented from running to waste in the river. Valuable statements were published of the great value of this species of manure in agricultural operations; among others, reference was made to the manufactories of the French, who prefer, for the sake of easy and convenient transport, to dry the substances in question down to a powder, which bears the name of "poudrette," and which is forwarded to different parts, from the neighbourhood of the capital, and sold at a high price. The success of the establishment for the manufacture of the poudrette alluded to, first formed near Paris forty years ago or thereabouts, has been such, that in almost every part of the kingdom similar undertakings have been entered into, and nothing is now wasted.' The committee, in referring to these facts, explained that the drainage received into the great receptacles before mentioned will be converted into manure, according to the method and practice very extensively adopted in China, on the continent of Europe, and, of late years, also in some parts of Scotland. This will be conveyed, by well-devised arrangements, and under the influence of scientific measures, to different parts of the country in covered barges or properlyconstructed land-carriages. The value of this species of manure is almost incalculable. The best authorities place it far above every other, as containing, in much greater abundance, the very elements of which vegetable substances are composed, and on which their existence and growth depend. By saving, therefore, the vast quantity of it which has hitherto been wasted in the metropolis, a most important benefit-that of fertilising and rendering the land considerably more productive-will be conferred on the public, through the identical plan which alone can secure to us the luxury of drinking wholesome and unpolluted water.'

THE OFFENDED.

estimable, refined, and conscientious people, who would be deeply pained at the idea of offending any one, but who, through an excess of proper feeling, a morbid sensitiveness, and an undue self-respect, are continually finding something at which to take offence. Persons of such temperament not only make their fellows'offenders for a word,' but construe an imaginary look, a peculiarity of accent, into insults; thus reserve and estrangement ensue, and often entail more lasting ill consequences than a violent quarrel, inasmuch as there is nothing to reconcile, and the offender is wholly unconscious of having committed any offence.

Were it not for the sad effects resulting from such an unfortunate temperament, it would be not a little amusing to observe its manifestations, and the absurdly frivolous grounds on which the imaginary insult is often based. One good lady, on returning from a casual visit, declares she will never darken her friends' doors again; they offered her nothing to eat and drink; they were as cool as if they had not known her: they asked her if she had dined certainly; but it is easy to tell by people's manner what they mean, and she could see in a moment that she was not wanted. Another sensitive gentleman thinks every one is insulting his poverty. If any of his friends well to do in the world do not notice him, they are proud upstart creatures-not that he cares for them, or wants their attention, but he hates such pride. If, on the other hand, they are polite and affable, he wants not their patronising nods; their lordly civility is little better than an insult; and for his part he has no notion of accepting invitations to dinner which can only make himself appear contemptible, and serve to contrast with their ostentatious greatness. An easily offended young lady vows she will visit her gay young friends no more, for their dress is so fine, it is quite disagreeable to sit in their company, and be quizzed after she is gone, as no doubt she is. Although perhaps their own dress may be only what is perfectly accordant to their station and prospects, and they neither think of quizzing her while present, nor making remarks on her when absent, and any idea of giving offence is the furthest from their thoughts or intentions.

Thus too often do these in many respects estimable people strenuously fight with phantoms which they themselves have conjured up, and complain of insults which only exist in their own imaginations. The world soon becomes with such a burying-place for friendships, the habit gains strength, and the morbid feeling of offence and insult grows into a hateful activity, inimical to peace of mind, cheerfulness, and goodwill. For want of a kind interpretation of actions and conduct that were never intended to give the slightest offence, how often the friend of youth ceases to be the friend of age; the once familiar companion is passed without recognition; families that once commingled, withdraw to cold distance from each other; and men who once shook each other by the hands as warmhearted friends, now meet one another with averted eye. 'It is the glory of a man,' says the sacred proverb, to pass over a transgression;' and it is the truest wisdom and the best philosophy sometimes to shut our eyes to an insult, even when there may be some reason to fear it was not entirely unpremeditated. At all events, we shall meet in the world with quite enough of offences, unless we are more than ordinarily fortunate, without seeking out imaginary insults, and wasting our strength and destroying our peace by fighting with the wind. Our severest scrutiny is best turned to ourselves, that we may not be offenders, and our most favourable judgment formed respecting the conduct and actions of others, that we may not be offended. While we may be sure that, in the crowded path of life, we ourselves do not intend to run wilfully against others, though we may sometimes stumble against them, so we must hope and believe that they in turn have no intention of offending us, though they may sometimes accidentally jostle us in their turn. The duty of endurance has undoubtedly its proper limits, but it is a wise determination