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Preservation of Eggs.

Relative to the preservation of eggs by immersion in lime-water, M. Peschier has given most satisfactory evidence of the efficacy of the process.  Eggs which he had preserved for six years in this way, being boiled and tried, were found perfectly fresh and good; and a confectioner of Geneva has used a whole cask of eggs preserved by the same means.  In the small way eggs may be thus preserved in bottles or other vessels.  They are to be introduced when quite fresh, the bottle then filled with lime-water, a little powdered lime sprinkled in at last, and then the bottle closed.  To prepare the lime-water, twenty or thirty pints of water are to be mixed up with five or six pounds of slaked quick-lime put into a covered vessel allowed to clear by standing, and the lime-water immediately used.

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SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

ARRIVALS AT A WATERING PLACE.

SCENE—­A conversazione at Lady Crumpton’s—­Whist and weariness, caricatures and Chinese Puzzle.—­Young ladies making tea, and young gentlemen making the agreeable.—­The stableboy handing rout-cakes.—­ Music expressive of there being nothing to do.

  I play a spade—­such strange new faces
    Are flocking in from near and far: 
  Such frights—­Miss Dobbs holds all the aces.—­
    One can’t imagine who they are! 
  The lodgings at enormous prices,
    New donkeys, and another fly—­
  And Madame Bonbon out of ices,
    Although we’re scarcely in July—­
  We’re quite as sociable as any,
    But our old horse can hardly crawl—­
  And really where there are so many,
    We can’t tell where we ought to call.

  Pray who has seen the odd old fellow
    Who took the Doctor’s house last week?—­
  A pretty chariot,—­livery yellow,
    Almost as yellow as his cheek—­
  A widower, sixty-five, and surly,
    And stiffer than a poplar-tree—­
  Drinks rum and water, gets up early
    To dip his carcass in the sea—­
  He’s always in a monstrous hurry,
    And always talking of Bengal;
  They say his cook makes noble curry—­
   I think, Louisa, we should call.

  And so Miss Jones, the mantua-maker,
    Has let her cottage on the hill?—­
  The drollest man, a sugar-baker,
    Last year imported from the till—­
  Prates of his orses and his oney,
    Is quite in love with fields and farms—­
  A horrid Vandal,—­but his money
    Will buy a glorious coat of arms;
  Old Clyster makes him take the waters;
    Some say he means to give a ball—­
  And after all, with thirteen daughters,
    I think, Sir Thomas, you might call.