privilege ceases, and he must join the
Landwehr exactly on the same terms as the
three years' privates join it.

The soldier, after three years training,
returns to his usual avocations—to the plough,
the woodman's axe, the loom, or the work-
table. He has left the uniform in the
garrison, and donned the smock-frock or the
townsman's coat. But he is and remains a
soldier. The first year after his dismissal to
his home, his name is still kept on the
regimental books; he is one of the Reserve, and is
liable to be called back at any moment, whenever
the War-Office chooses to "complete"
the regiment. In the second year he becomes
a member of the first class of the Landwehr,
and in that class he remains until he has
completed his thirty-fifth year.

The Landwehr of each district is occasionally
mustered, and every now and then—
usually on Sundays—the Landwehr-men are
called together to practise shooting at the
target. Twice every year, in early spring and
autumn, the Landwehr is enrolled, is provided
with uniforms and arms, and is compelled to
join the regular manœuvres of the troops of
the line; to rub off the rust of rural and town
life, and to practise again the order, the
movements, and the fatigues of soldiership.
The men usually arrive at the depôts dressed
in a variety of fashions. They are uproarious
in their conduct, and are somewhat heavy
and clownish in their movements. But, after
a few hours they are all under the influence
of the old spell. They have taken dress and
weapons at the arsenal, and they turn out
clean and orderly; erect in their bearing, and
steady and decorous in their conduct. They
have a few days' private drill to bring out
their hidden virtues, and are then marched
off to take their place in the grand manœuvres.
After the manœuvres they again return home.

The Landwehr of the first class is the flower
of the Prussian army, and its chief strength.
Whenever a foreign enemy threatens the
country, this first-class Landwehr is called
out; the arsenals are opened; and, within
the short space of a fortnight, the regular
regiments are supported by above one
hundred and twenty thousand young men
and old soldiers, who are not likely to fight
the worse for having a stake in the country.
Their position and their instincts make them
really and truly a Landwehr or defence of
the country; for, established as they are in
life, and most of them married and fathers of
families, it is next to impossible to obtain
their aid on behalf of foreign conquest.

The second class of the Landwehr,
comprising the men above their thirty-fifth year,
are not subjected to the annual manœuvres;
but care is taken that each man shall take his
share in regular parade and manœuvre, at
least once every two years. This class of
the Landwehr is not called out unless in case
of a hostile invasion; and, in that case, it
is destined to assist the garrisons of the
fortresses.

Owing to these arrangements, Prussia
maintains an efficient army of three hundred
thousand troops, of all arms, at an expense
considerably below the sum of the army
estimates of Great Britain; while, in case of real
national danger, nearly two hundred thousand
more troops can be raised for the
defence of the country.

THE GREAT YORKSHIRE LLAMA.

SIXTEEN years ago—that is to say, in the
year 1836—a huge pile of dirty-looking sacks,
filled with some fibrous material which bore
a strong resemblance to superannuated horse-
hair, or frowsy elongated wool, or anything
else unpleasant and unattractive, were landed
at Liverpool. When those queer-looking
bales had first arrived, or by what vessel
brought, or for what purpose intended, the
very oldest warehouseman in the Liverpool
Docks couldn't say. There had been once a
rumour, a mere warehouseman's whisper,
that the bales had been shipped from South
America on spec., and consigned to the agency
of C. W. and F. Foozle and Co. But even
this seemed to have been forgotten; and it
was agreed on all hands that the three
hundred and odd sacks of nondescript hair-
wool were a perfect nuisance. The rats
appeared to be the only parties who at all
approved of the importation, and to them it
was the very finest investment for capital
that had been known in Liverpool since their
first ancestors had migrated thither.

Well, those bales seemed likely to rot, or
fall to dust, or be bitten up for the particular
use of the female rats. Brokers wouldn't so
much as look at them. Merchants could have
nothing to say to them. Dealers couldn't
make them out. Manufacturers shook their
heads at the bare mention of them. While
the agents C. W. and F. Foozle and Co. felt
quite savage at the sight of the Invoice and
Bill of Lading, and once spoke to their head-
clerk about shipping them out to South
America again.

One day—we won't care what day it was,
or even what week, or month, though things
of far less national importance have been
chronicled to the very half minute—one day,
a plain business-looking young man, with an
intelligent face and a quiet, reserved manner,
was walking alone through those same
warehouses at Liverpool, when his eye fell upon
some of the superannuated horse-hair projecting
from one of the ugly dirty bales; some
lady rat, more delicate than her neighbours,
had found it rather coarser than usual, and
had persuaded her lord and master to eject
the portion from her resting-place. Our
friend took it up, looked at it, felt it, smelt it,
rubbed it, pulled it about; in fact, he did all
but taste it, and he would have done that
if it had suited his purpose, for he was