appearance of Australian gold fields. Many men made
their fortunes by the diggings, others for years
contrived to pay by them the rental of their farms.
The landlords claimed a share—generally half the
net profits—but the lord of the manor has no claim
at all.

Our coprolite is generally found within two miles of
the banks of either the Orwell or Dehen rivers, and
lies in beds, from ten to five hundred yards in width, and
from two to forty feet in depth. After digging through
the top soil we come to a light sand, and then to some
white crag, which gradually becomes red, next a layer
of dark crag, interspersed with every variety of sea
shells; under which, and above the loam, we find the
vein of coprolite, from six inches to thirty-six inches in
thickness. It is found mixed with crag, cement-stone,
shells, and water. In some cases there are two beds
of it with a sheet of crag between; and, at one place,
it is found in the sand just under the top soil. It
is worked by digging a long trench, about two yards
wide; and, when the workmen have dug out the coprolite
from this, they dig another parallel, the earth from
which pretty exactly fills up the exhausted pit, and so
on in succession. As the coprolite lies next the loam,
water is very troublesome; and, in most places, has to
be pumped out. After the coprolite itself has been
thrown out, the crag is sifted, or, when the soil is
sticky, it has to be washed, and then spread out on a
table, in order that the shells and stones may be picked
out by children. After this the whole produce is
weighed, and generally sent by water to the
manufactory. There it is ground up, and prepared for use
as an independent manure or for adulterating guano.
The refuse is used in the manufacture of fine ware
and some sort of paint.

AN EXPERIENCE OF AUSTRIA.

ON the tenth of December, eighteen
hundred and fifty-four, I entered the Austrian
capital, and took up my abode at a certain
hotel. I had no particular business in
Vienna. My object was to amuse myself;
and, at my leisure, see the many works of art
of which the imperial city can boast. My
name, reader, is Jenkins—Alfred Jenkins.
My passport, according to the regulation, was
deposited witli the police, and I was presented
in lieu thereof with a pass, or permission to
remain one month; this pass was renewable,
provided the authorities had no objection.

On the third day after my arrival I called
to the kellner to bring me the Lloyd (the
Times of Vienna).

The kellner approached me, rubbed his
hands, shook his head, and smiled:

"The Lloyd," I repeated.

"It is suspended, sir," said the kellner.

"How?"

"Not allowed to come out. sir."

"Why?"

"For abusing the Emperor of Russia."

"For how long is it suspended?"

"Cannot say, sir. It may be for one
month, or for ever—the minister of police
will settle that!"

Here I was guilty of a slight indiscretion.
I remarked to an English officer, with whom
I had established an acquaintance, and who
was seated at the same table with me,

"Only fancy, if the Times, the Daily News,
or the Post, was suddenly cut off from us!
Imagine Sir Richard Mayne riding down to
Printing House Square, and putting a padlock
on the premises!"

"Be careful," said my companion, in a
whisper. "Do you see that little man at
yonder table?"

"Yes. Who is he?"

"He is a spy. No one knows whether he
is a German, an Italian, an Englishman, a
Frenchman, or a Spaniard, for he speaks all
languages with equal facility and elegance.
Not that he ever opens his mouth in this
room except to eat. He gives himself
up to listening; and, by long practice, his
ears are peculiarly acute." I took the hint;
and discoursed on the weather and other
equally harmless topics.

At five o'clock I seated myself at one of
the small tables, and ordered dinner. My
companion, had left Vienna for Trieste, and
I was now alone; but, not far from me, I
espied the little man to whom my attention
had been called in the morning.

Now, if there be one thing in the world
that I detest more than another, it is having
no one to talk to after dinner. To sip wine
in silence, is to me insupportable, so I called
out in a very great voice:

"Kellner!"

The kellner, an intelligent, well-mannered,
—indeed, a gentlemanlike person—came; and
I made several inquiries touching the public
amusements for the evening, and concluded
by saying:

"Bring me the Times, please."

"The Times has not come to-day, sir—it
has been stopped."

"The Times stopped! How?"

"At the frontier, sir."

"Why?"

"It has got something bad in it, I suppose,
sir."

"O! Well, bring me the Daily News."

"That paper is forbidden in Vienna."

"Why?"

"It abuses the Austrian government."

"Indeed! Then serve it right to exclude
it from the Austrian dominions." Here I
glanced at the little man, who was now
smoking a cigar.

The kellner then volunteered the following
piece of information:

"When an English paper says anything
bad, there comes a telegraphic message from
London, and when that paper comes to the
frontier it is seized and burnt."

"Does this often happen?"

"Sometimes, sir," was the reply.

That evening I received a letter from a
friend in Brussels, who required me to
answer several questions by electric telegraph.
I proceeded to the office, and was furnished
with a paper, which I filled up thus:—