Sometimes one large tub occupies the whole tumbril, the contents of which, on reaching the “fattoria,” have to be ladled out with buckets. Often the contents of the vat, trodden in one place—a most unsightly process—have to be transported in huge barrels, like water-carts, to another place to undergo fermentation. And then the thick muddy stream, laden with filth and impurities of all sorts, which is seen when these barrels discharge their cargo, is as little calculated to give one a pleasing idea of the “ruby wine” which is to be the result of all this filthy squash, as can well be imagined. Add to this an exceedingly unpleasant smell in and about all the buildings in which any part of the wine-making process takes place, and the constant recurrence of rotting heaps of the refuse matter of the pressed grape under every wall and hedge in the neighborhood of each “fattoria”—and the notions connected with the so be-poetized vintage, will be easily understood to be none of the pleasantest in the minds of those acquainted with its sights and smells.—_Trollope’s Impressions of a Wanderer._ HOW TO MAKE HOME UNHEALTHY. BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. Emperor Yao (very many years B.C.) established a certain custom, which was followed, we are told, by his successors on the throne of China. The custom was this. Outside the hall-door of his palace, he suspended a tablet and a gong; and if one among his subjects felt himself able to suggest a good idea to his ruler, or wished to admonish him of any error in his ways, the critic paid a visit to the palace, wrote what he had to say upon the tablet, battered at the gong, and ran away. The Emperor came out; and then, unless it happened that some scapegrace of a schoolboy had annoyed him by superadding a fly-away knock to a contemptuous hieroglyphic, he gravely profited by any hint the tablets might convey. Not unlike honest, patriarchal Yao is our British Public. It is summoned out to read inscriptions at its door, left there by all who have advice to give or faults to deprecate. The successors of Yao, finding upon their score so many conflicting tales, soon substituted for the gong five instruments of music. It was required, then, that the monitor should distinguish, by the instrument upon which he performed his summons, what particular department of imperial duties it might be to which he desired to call attention. Now not five but fifty voices summon _our_ royal public. One man courts attention with a dulcet strain, one brays, one harps upon a string, another drums. And among those who have of late been busiest in pointing errors out, and drumming at the public’s door to have them rectified, are they who profess concern about the Public Health.