SHOOTING WITH RED PAINT.--A work has lately been published, called “Notes and Narratives of a Six Years’ Mission, principally among the Dens of London.” By R. W. Vanderkiste. The title gives a correct idea of the contents of this volume. The writer, for six years, was an agent of the London City Mission, and labored in one of the most unhealthy and morally depraved localities of that great metropolis, known as the “Cow Cross District.” The volume presents an interesting exhibition of what can be effected, under God, by an earnest and self-sacrificing man. The most romantic narratives are occasionally introduced. The following is one of them: “An Old Bow Street officer, who yet lives in the neighborhood, has detailed strange and terrible scenes to me. One I will give as nearly as possible in his own words, omitting some unpleasant vulgarities: ‘One of my mates come to me, as near as I can guess, it might be two o’clock in the afternoon. Says he, ‘P----, you must come up to the office directly.’ It was in Hatton Garden then, sir, close by. ‘What for?’ says I. ‘Oh!’ says he, ‘there’s the Irish murdering one another on Saffron Hill, and the place is blocked up with the mobs.’ So I takes my staff, and my cutlass, and my pistols, and away I went up to the office. It wasn’t a minute’s walk scarce, you know. Well, sir, there they was, breaking one another’s limbs on Saffron Hill, hundreds of Irish with great sticks and pokers; ever so many had been taken off to the hospitals wounded; they was so spiteful, the shopkeepers put up their shutters, and the place was full of Irish, cutting and slashing like mad, and coming from all parts, taking sides and fighting one against another. Well, sir, there was only six of us, and we found we must turn out. ‘My lads,’ said the head constable--and he didn’t like it at all, he didn’t--says he, ‘this is a queer job, but go we must!’ Well, sir, away we went, but it warnt no use at all; the mob didn’t mind our cutlasses a bit; great big fellows come up to us with their pokers, and we warnt in no pleasant situation in no respect. Well, I saw there’d be murder very shortly, and suddenly a thought struck me, and away I went round the corner--may be you knows the shop--it was a shop where they sold almost every thing then. Well, I knocked, but they were afraid to open the door. Says I, ‘It’s me, Mrs. ----, and do let me in;’ so they let me in. Says I, ‘Let me have some red paint of some sort immediately;’ so they gave me some rouge or carmine, I don’t know which it was. So I took out my pistols and put in a charge of powder, then some paper, then I wetted a lot of this paint and put it in, and some paper loose over it, and off I went. Well, there was my mates hemmed in, but no lives lost, thank God; they was fighting away; well, a great chap come up to me with a poker or a fender a-fighting with, so I outs with a pistol, and, says I, ‘Stand back!’ and presents it at him.