Perhaps not many people south of the Border are aware that there are gold-fields in Scotland; but that gold can be found in Sutherlandshire and in the south-west, has long been known to the dwellers in those localities; and now in the _Scottish Naturalist_, Dr Lauder Lindsay describes the gold-fields of Lanarkshire. In the Upper Ward of that county he tells us that ‘of alluvial gold, from nuggets big enough to make breast-pin heads down to granular dust, there is no scarcity. It may be collected at any time by simple washing from the beds or banks of any streams of the district. Whenever a supply of gold is wanted for museum specimens or for presentation jewellery, a sufficiency is forthcoming. A few hours’ work of a miner, and still more the conjoint efforts of a band of miners extending over several days, produce the number of grains or ounces required.’ The people of Scotland have long known that gold can be found in various parts of the country. The difficulty, however, is to find it in sufficient quantities to pay the expense of working, or even in searching for it. Persons of an eager turn do not sufficiently think of this, and hence endless disappointments. Our notice (No. 726, p. 750, 1877) of Dr Sayre’s method of treating curvature of the spine has led to inquiries for further particulars: we have pleasure therefore in mentioning that Smith, Elder, & Co. have published a book by Dr Sayre, entitled _Spinal Disease and Spinal Curvature—their Treatment by Suspension, and the Use of the Plaster of Paris Bandage_. Besides clear descriptions, the book contains engravings which represent the method of treatment, and may be easily understood. BUTTERFLIES. Once more I pass along the flowering meadow, Hear cushats call, and mark the fairy rings; Till where the lych-gate casts its cool dark shadow, I pause awhile, musing on many things; Then raise the latch, and passing through the gate, Stand in the quiet, where men rest and wait. Bees in the lime-trees do not break their sleeping; Swallows beneath church eaves disturb them not; They heed not bitter sobs or silent weeping; Cares, turmoil, griefs, regrets, they have forgot. I murmur sadly: ‘Here, then, all life ends. We lay you here to rest, and lose you, friends.’ By no rebuke is the sweet silence broken. No voice reproves me; yet a sign is sent; For from the grassy mounds there comes a token Of Life immortal—and I am content. See! the soul’s emblem meets my downcast eyes: Over the graves are hovering butterflies! G. S. WASTE SUBSTANCE. A correspondent suggests that the refuse from broken slate which is thrown aside at the quarries as useless, might be ground down into powder and used as paint. The writer informs us that he has tried powdered slate, and found that it not only made good paint but that the paint lasted well for outdoor work. * * * * *