letters? He is superseded and done away with,
and an extra stamp does all his work as easily as
possible.

The other day a young lady—Madlle. Chenu
by name—presented herself at that awful
Tribunal the Sorbonne, to apply for the Degree of
Bachelor in Science. She not only applied for
it, but got it; and the announcement of her
success was received with a burst of applause
from all the other Bachelors who were present
on the occasion of her examination. Here is
something new, at any rate. The correspondent
of the Times, who narrates this remarkable event,
either accidentally or on purpose, goes on, after
describing the ceremonial of the young lady's
investiture, to state in the very next paragraph
that: "It is said that cases of lunacy are
becoming alarmingly frequent in France."

What a change must have come over our
manners when we find (see Times, April 23, 1863)
Lord Cardigan settling his disputes and obtaining
"satisfaction" through the medium of a
court of law, instead of carrying the matter
to that other tribunal of which the assize was
formerly held at Chalk Farm, or Wormwood
Scrubs.

Taught, perhaps, by that wonderful threepence-
halfpenny dinner of Glasgow, what may be done
by combined action in the way of economical
housekeeping, we seem just now to be turning
our attention a good deal to the question of
the practicability of a more extended hotel and
club life, in whose advantages what are called
family people should be included. There
certainly seem to be enormous advantages
connected with the hotel system. To have a
professional man acting as your purveyor, who
supplies you with house-room, furniture, meals,
servants, candles, fires, and all the other
necessaries of life, and who would be paid by a cheque
drawn once a quarter, would be very delightful.
It would be such a thing to be free from that
"party" who has "called for the poor-rate," or
the plumber who wishes to see you on the
subject of the pipes. If only the noise which
generally disturbs the stayer at hotels could be got
rid of, and if only the eatables could get to be
characterised by that freshness which belongs at
present only to home, or to club-cooked viands—
if these advantages could be attained, I for
one would cry, Long live the plan of living at
hotels! We might all live much cheaper, and
much better than we do, and might enjoy a much
greater variety than we do, if we combined our
resources. Our resources, observe, but not our
social moments. A perpetual table d'hôte, with
amiable bores assailing you in all directions, is a
horror not to be thought of.

I cannot but think that in the next generation
—the generation which is now growing up—the
general moral, physical, and intellectual level
will be very high. If we, still influenced by the
taint which that bad period between the Restoration
and the Regency infused into our blood—
we, in whose youth the present rational and
natural system for regulating the nursery was
not in practice—we, to whom the calomel powder
was not unknown, and who have had to adapt
ourselves to modern institutions instead of growing
up with them, and knowing no others—if we
have advanced so much and changed so much,
what will be the progress of that new race whose
inauguration into life we are now witnessing?
Those children whom we watch with so much
pleasure in our public places, with their fair hair
floating out to the winds, as well acquainted with
cold water and fresh air as they are
unacquainted with blue pill—a generation stands like
a fence between them and the dark ages of the
eighteenth century, and the fumes of the Georgian
punch-bowls do not linger in any of the intricate
folds of their cerebral developments. Also are
the traces of scrofula rare among these favoured
little ones, and few of them are seen tottering
along with rickety limbs, or with their feeble
bodies supported by a frame of iron. When that
new generation grows up, a wonderful world will
be before them. The different quarters of London
will probably all be brought close together by
railway communication, the aspect of the town
will be immensely altered, nay, for aught we
know, we may by that time have a new capital
for pleasure, the old one being abandoned to
business. India, if the present railway plans
be carried out, will be a few days off, and those
young gentlemen whom we see scampering
about upon their ponies in Rotten Row will be
whisking themselves back to the mother country
from their quarters in the Punjaub, whenever
they see their way to a six weeks' leave. The
changes we may legitimately expect to be
brought about by agencies now in existence are
prodigious, without taking into consideration
those which new inventions and new discoveries
may bring about in the score of years.

Of all the changes about us, a great diary is
kept on which such chronicles as these are but a
sort of gloss or comment. That diary is to be
found in the journals which come out every
morning. The Small-Beer Chronicler, drawing
near the close of his labours, refers those persons
—if there be any—who have been at all interested
in his reports, to those same public diaries, from
which they can now extract their Small-Beer for
themselves, and note its workings and fermentings
without assistance. Indeed, it is so firm a
conviction in the mind of him who has kept this
Chronicle, that by this time all his readers
are themselves fitted to Chronicle their own
Small-Beer, that he would feel it to be almost
a mean thing to occupy his post any longer.
And accordingly, with a few parting words in a
subsequent number, he will beg permission to
say farewell to all those whose taste for small
things has led them to be partakers of his
modest tap.