A patent has been taken out for the following applications of mangel-wurzel:—­1st, To prepare a substance which may be combined with, or employed in place of coffee, the mangel-wurzel roots are well washed, cut into pieces; about the size of peas or beans, and then dried and roasted in the same manner as coffee-berries.  The product is ground after being roasted, and it is then ready for use. 2d, A substitute for tea is produced by cutting the leaves of mangel-wurzel into small strips or shreds, drying the same, and then placing them upon a hot plate, which is kept at a temperature sufficiently high to slightly char the leaves.  The charred mangel-wurzel leaves are to be used in precisely the same way as tea. 3d, To manufacture a fermented liquor, the mangel-wurzel roots are well washed, cut into small pieces, and put into a vat, wherein they are permitted to ferment for two or three days, at a temperature of about 70 degrees, and water is added thereto.  A fermented liquor is thus obtained similar to perry or cider. 4th, When the mangel-wurzel roots are to be employed in the preparation of wort, they are washed, and cut into small pieces, which are dried, or slightly charred, by the action of kilns or ovens, of the kind used for drying malt; and wort is prepared from this produce in the same manner as from malt.

THE MARTYRDOM OF FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR.[6]

I.

The great human whirlpool!—­’tis seething and seething: 
On!  No time for shrieking out, no time for breathing;
All toiling and moiling—­some feebler, some bolder,
But each sees a fiend-face grin over his shoulder: 

        Thus merrily live they in Vanity Fair!

The great human caldron—­it boils ever higher;
Some drowning, some sinking; while some, creeping nigher,
Come thirsting to lean o’er its outermost verges,
Or touch—­as a child’s feet touch trembling the surges: 

        One plunge—­Ho! more souls swamped in Vanity Fair!

  ’Let’s live while we live, for to-morrow all’s over. 
  Drink deep, drunkard bold! and kiss close, thou mad lover! 
  Smile, hypocrite, smile! it is no such hard labour,
  While each with red hand tears the heart of his neighbour
      All slyly.—­We’re strange folk in Vanity Fair!

  ’Hist!—­each for himself, or herself, which sounds smoother,
  Though man’s no upholder, and woman no soother,
  Both struggle alike here.—­What, weeping?—­what, raving? 
  Pah!—­fight out the battle all!  No time for saving! 
      Ha! ha! ‘tis a wondrous place, Vanity Fair!’

  The mad crowd divides, and then closes swift after;
  Afar, towers the pyre, lit with shouting and laughter;
  ‘What new sport is this?’ lisps a reveller, half turning;—­
  ’One Faithful, poor wretch! who is led to the burning: 
      He cumbered us sorely in Vanity Fair!