every month a new one, better than all before, is launched:  gold, too, is a favourite topic; and Australian and Californian mining-shares are plentiful in the market; so also are those of Irish Waste-Land Improvement Companies, who, in addition to the reclamation, propose to grow beet-root, flax, and chicory.  At last we have got one or two penny news-rooms—­not so good, however, as yours in Edinburgh; and a project is mooted to establish reading and waiting rooms combined, in different parts of the capital.  There is talk, too, of central railway termini, of new bridges, new streets, and of converting Kennington Common into a park—­how soon to be realised remains to be seen.

THE TURN OF LIFE.

From forty to sixty, a man who has properly regulated himself, may be considered as in the prime of life.  His matured strength of constitution renders him almost impervious to the attacks of disease, and experience has given his judgment the soundness of almost infallibility.  His mind is resolute, firm, and equal; all his functions are in the highest order; he assumes the mastery over business; builds up a competence on the foundation he has formed in early manhood, and passes through a period of life attended by many gratifications.  Having gone a year or two past sixty, he arrives at a critical period in the road of existence; the river of death flows before him, and he remains at a stand-still.  But athwart this river is a viaduct, called ‘The turn of Life,’ which, if crossed in safety, leads to the valley, ‘Old Age.’  The bridge is constructed of fragile materials, and it depends upon how it is trodden whether it bend or break.  Gout, apoplexy, and other bad characters are also in the vicinity to waylay the traveller, and thrust him from the pass; but let him gird up his loins, and provide himself with a fitting staff, and he may trudge on in safety with perfect composure.  To quit a metaphor, the ‘Turn of Life’ is a turn either into a prolonged walk or into the grave.  The system and power having reached their utmost expansion, now begin either to close like flowers at sunset, or break down at once.  One injudicious stimulant—­a single fatal excitement, may force it beyond its strength—­whilst a careful supply of props, and the withdrawal of all that tends to force a plant, will sustain it in beauty and in vigour until night has entirely set.—­The Science of Life, by a Physician.

NERVE.

An Indian sword-player declared at a great public festival, that he could cleave, vertically, a small lime laid on a man’s palm without injury to the member; and the general (Sir Charles Napier) extended his right hand for the trial.  The sword-player, awed by his rank, was reluctant, and cut the fruit horizontally.  Being urged to fulfil his boast, he examined the palm, said it was not one to be experimented on with safety, and refused to proceed.  The general