called the tubular method. Little pockets or
tubes of fine linen running the whole length
of the quilt, are filled with the down, which
then receives its covering of silk. But in
farmhouses in the interior of the country, the down
is frequently put into a bag the size of the bed;
and as there is nothing to prevent it from
collecting in one corner, the result generally is
that the occupant of the bed will wake up with
the quilt on the ground, and himself freezing.

The nest of the eider duck should never be
robbed of its down more than twice, and even
then it is a piteous sight to see the bird with
her breast almost bare. It is said that when her
supply of down is exhausted, the drake will
make up the deficiency from his own breast.
The down of the drake, by the way, is as white
as swans' down.

The eggs that have been taken are kept for
the winter's supply, but the duck is allowed to
bring up the second batch in peace and quietness.
And thus, as there is a natural instinct
more or less developed in all creatures to breed
in the old spot where they first saw the light, it
depends almost entirely on the owner whether
his colony of ducks shall flourish, or shall
dwindle away to one or two couples.

Many, to their sorrow, have often killed the
golden goose for her eggs, but in these days the
eider duck is usually treated as she deserves,
with kindness and care: attentions which she
never fails to repay "tenfold out of her bosom."

THE CENTRAL WORLD.

WHO was the Bruce among many Bruces
who discovered the Central World?
Whereabouts is the cottage in Kent to which he
retired after he had come back from his wonderful
voyage?

I do not know, and yet I flatter myself that
I am the only person on earth under sixty
years of age who ever heard of this particular
Bruce at all. Curious as were his discoveries,
he is certainly not famous.

My knowledge of Bruce is derived from a
little book containing rather more than forty
pages, which in 1802 was published by Mr. S.
Fisher, of St. John's-lane, Clerkenwell, and
which bears this elaborate title: "Bruce's
voyage to Naples and journey up Mount
Vesuvius; giving an account of the strange disaster
which happened on his arrival at the summit;
the discovery of the Central World, with the
laws, customs, and manners of that nation
described; their swift and peculiar mode of
travelling; the wonderful riches, virtue, and
knowledge the inhabitants possess; the author's
travels in that country; and the friendly reception
he met with from its sovereign and his
people." This title is not a specimen of
elegant composition, nor can much be said of the
aquatint frontispiece, which represents a young
man with his eyes blindfolded and an old man
with his eyes wide open, each astride on a flying
eagle. Nevertheless, the title and the aquatint
both inspired me with a certain amount of
curiosity, and I went steadily through the little
book which chance had thrown into my hands.

Nor was I ill rewarded for my slight trouble.
The work attributed to Bruce is one of those
many accounts of visits to imaginary or
inaccessible regions that have been written with
the view of satirising the world with which the
author is familiar. Famed specimens of the
genus are to be found in the works of Rabelais,
Quevedo, Swift, and Fielding. Less famed
specimens help to make up the voluminous
collection of "imaginary voyages" edited by
Gamier, and published in French towards the
end of the last century. Bruce, as I have said,
is not famous at all. He, or the person to
whom he owes his being, was born—not like
many a great man, before—but after, his time.
Had he stepped into existence a few years
sooner, he would probably have occupied a
niche in the Pantheon of Garnier.

But now to tell what befel this by no means
notorious Bruce. Having been very ill used
and utterly ruined at home, he went on board a
man-of-war as clerk to a kindly captain, and
sailing to Naples, made the ascent of Mount
Vesuvius with a chosen party, of whom the
captain was one. When he had gone as high
as folks usually went, he resolved, contrary to
the advice of his excellent friend, to proceed a
little further, and peep into the crater. No
sooner had he closely approached it on all fours
than the ground sank beneath him, and he went
headforemost somewhere, so completely
surrounded by fire and sulphur that he was
well-nigh suffocated. Instead of coming to a quick
and sudden termination, as is the case with
common falls, Bruce's fall went on, and the
view that met Bruce's eye was perpetually
changing. Sometimes there was nothing but
fire and smoke, sometimes he was charmed with
a brilliancy apparently produced by the lustre
of innumerable jewels, and then came a
resplendent glory that dazzled him outright.
Still the fall went on, and presently the excessive
glory was subdued into an agreeable
light, and a globe, in which were seas,
continents, mountains, and islands, eventually
became visible to Bruce, who alighted on a
load of hay that had been heaped together
in a field. As he did not now seem to be
above some six yards from the ground, he
placed himself on the edge of the heap and slid
down the side; but had no sooner reached the
bottom than he found himself fixed as an iron
nail by a powerful magnet. He would have
perished in this miserable state had not a
venerable old man come up to him, and, after
breathing a short prayer, anointed him with
the contents of a small box, which at once not
only set him free, but rendered him as light as
a feather. His first impulse was to fall on his
knees and to kiss the hand of his benefactor,
but he found, to his astonishment, that this
form of expressing gratitude was rather offensive
than otherwise. The old gentleman,
however, was not so much annoyed that he forgot