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[April 13, 1^> 



tail foromost, with their limbs closely pressed to their 

 IxkHi's, and are, at first, cylindrical in shape. 



By ciMiipnting with shellac glue a glass ring to an ordi- 

 n*ry slidi', a convenient cell is made to hold the creatures, 

 and a glass cover will adhere if the edge of the ring is 

 tonc'Iied with a little wax — or, what is Ijetter, a mixture 

 of tallow and wax. 



Ci'lls are also conveniently made by cutting a small hole 

 in a tliiii disc of cork and gumming on to a slide. A phial 

 cork about five-eigliths of an inch in diameter cut across, 

 so as to make a disc one-sixteenth of an inch thick, and with 

 an oblong hole in the middle, makes an excellent cell ; and, 

 as gum is not dissolved by paraffin oil, it is just the thing for 

 au experiment wliich will be described in the next article. 

 . , Most of the description now given is applicable to all 

 species of plant-louse, but some of the details differ in each 

 one. 



THE NEW SKIRT. 



By a Lady. 



I HATE received, through the Editor, many letters 

 asking about the new skirt : too many for me to 

 answer directly. I now answer them, so .far as I can. 

 I would have done so sooner, but I have not the pen of a 

 ready writer. 



Most of the letters ask where to obtain the new skirt, 

 and others ask how it is to be made. I do not know 

 where it can be obtained. But, in reality, there is very 

 little difficulty about making it, or getting it made. The 

 shape is very similar to that of gentlemen's trousers, only 

 rather fuller. It should reach to the ankle. I put pleating on 

 mine, about eleven inches deep, fulness about two breadths 

 of satin. The skirt thus made not only does not interfere 

 with walking, but is much easier to walk in than any 

 single skirt imaginable. There is nothing to show that 

 the skirt is divided, unless, perhaps, in getting into a 

 carriage, when a, bystander may recognise that the new 

 skirt is worn, — from the simple circximstance that the 

 ankles are not seen, as when a single skirt is worn. 



Many have asked me how the dress can possibly be kept 

 from wrinkling after stays have been left off. I have three 

 •whalfbones put in each dress, in front These do not sup- 

 port me in the least, or, in other words, have none of the mis- 

 chievous effect of stays; they simply keep the dress smooth. 



Patterns can, I believe, be obtained from the Rational 

 Dress Society ; but ladies can easily make their own, or 

 get them made by their dressmaker. The Rational Dress 

 Exhibition, to be held about the 1.5th of May, in Princes' 

 Hall, Piccadilly, will doubtless afford a number of useful 

 suggestions. 



I take this opportunity of correcting a figure in my 

 former remarks — instead of 'M inches round the chest, 

 35 inches should have been named. I suppose my " 5 " 

 was mistaken for a " 9." 



[Tl\fre has been a complete revolution of ideas among my 

 " womankind " (as Mr. Monkbarns used to call the ladies 

 of his household) since the discussion on waist-compression 

 went on. Without a word of suggestion on my part (in 

 fact, I am not in the habit of giving advice on such matters 

 unasked) one after anotb.fr has first left off" stays, then 

 presently tried the divided skirt, which seems essential to 

 comfort, because without it the dress drags and wrinkles ; 

 and now, after three months, they one and all agree that 

 they " would not go back to stays and petticoats, /or r??!?/- 

 thi„(j" For tricycling the dress is jierfcct, for lawn-tennis 

 delightful, for singing splendid, and for dancing simply 

 exquisite. I venture to suggest that the substitution of a 



softly-clad, lissome, and yielding waistfor that hard enclosure 

 of steel and whalebone which the arms of our youth have 

 heretofore encircled in the mazy dance, will make mazurka, 

 waltz, and polka a littli' too pleasant to be altogetlier 

 approved of by the strait lucpri ; bc't then even Jlrs. Clrundy 

 will cease to be strait-laced if rational dress becomes the 

 fashion.— R P.] 



THE 



CENTRAL TELEGRAPH 



By W. Slin-go. 



OFFICE. 



LONDON, the centre of the commercial world, the 

 heart of one of Europe's great nations, has within it 

 many edifices, monumental or useful, which awaken 

 feelings of pride within the breasts of its citizens, and call 

 for the greatest respect from its visitors. Its position and 

 the millions of its residents call into existence several in- 

 dustries peculiar to itself, and foster the development of 

 other callings in a way that no one would have foreseen or 

 even deemed possible. It is often said, and doubtless very 

 truly, that the genuine Londoner knows less of his city's 

 features than a sojourner could learn in the space of a few 

 days. How many are there who, when walking along 

 St. Martin's-le-Grand, give a thought to what is .going on 

 almost over their heads, or indeed have the smallest con- 

 ception of the work that is being performed 1 As to the 

 visitor who has wandered so far from the general track as 

 to venture within the room which embraces the whole of 

 the uppermost story of the huge building commonly known 

 as the new General Post^Oflice, and which room is called 

 the Central Telegraph Office ; what is the effect upon him ? 

 Is it comparable to that produced by any other sight ^ The 

 Royal Arsenal, the Mint, and such-like places, are all 

 objects of great interest, but the result of the labour 

 is visible, it is tangible — there is nothing suppositi- 

 tious about it. Even the sorting-room of the Post- 

 Office, interesting and thrilling as it is at mail-time, has 

 still an air of mechanical reality about it. Huge piles of 

 letters and packets are sorted, bagged, and sealed, and then 

 taken to the mail-cart for conveyance to the railway ter- 

 minus, whence everyone knows they are carried bodily to 

 their \-arious destinations. There is little in all this com- 

 pared to what one sees in the instrument-room " over the 

 way." There one perceives hundreds of clerks seated at 

 their instruments, all busy — doing what 1 A piece of paper 

 — a telegraph message — is laid before one of them. You 

 see him rapidly shake his hand over a " key " for a few 

 seconds, then a few clicks are heard, and the piece of paper 

 is hung on a spike, to be eventually taken away, and, after 

 a time, converted into pulp. If you ask him what he has 

 done, he will tell you that he has despatched the message, 

 letter for letter, to Liverpool, Glasgow, Dulilin, or wherever 

 may be its destination, that he may not know the meaning 

 of a single word contained in it, and that it is in all proba- 

 bility, by the time you have done speaking, in the mes- 

 senger's pouch, and on the point of delivery. On turning 

 to the next instrjument, you hear a series of rapid clicks, 

 or you see a string of dots and short strokes im- 

 printed on ,a narrow strip of paper as it issues from 

 the instrument, and the clerk is translating these 

 "signals" or " marks " into common everyday language, 

 at the same time committing the word.s to paper to be 

 subsequently delivered as a telegraphic despatch. Here, 

 then, is something which appeals almost exclusively to 

 one's conception of the marvellous, the unseen, the imma- 

 terial. It may be, however, that we should be disposed to 

 think less of it were it not that the operations above 

 described are going on more or less simultaneously at each , 



