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 Rh Whilst Paterfamilias is picking out his two hundred and forty separate and distinct toys, let us pause for a moment, and ask where they all come from. Reader, have you ever travelled for a livelong day through the dark and melancholy pine or fir forests of Germany? Ever listened to the soughing of the wind through the branches, or walked on the dumb carpet of pine tassels? If so, what has been the complexion of your thoughts? Possibly like mine, gloomy as the Halls of Dis. Yet, from these old inky forests, from the green valleys up which the pine-trees climb like black priests to the mountain summit, rush the torrents of toys which push on from year to year and penetrate into every nursery in Europe. In the recesses of the old Thuringian and other forests are glued, and turned, and painted, the legions of soldiers, the fleets of Noah's-arks, and the countless whips, rattles, and squeaking dolls that go to their last account in the snug nurseries of Europe. Strange fact, that in these grim forests half the laughter and joy of childhood should find their birth!

The same principle that plants cotton-factories in Laucashire determines the production of toys—the presence of the raw material. If the pine logs from which they are manufactured were not immediately at hand, there would be no penny toys—and, possibly, no German Fair. Let us examine one of these penny articles. Here is a man wheeling a barrow of fruit. The prime cost of this article in the forest where it was made is only a kreuzer, or one-third of a penny! The rest represents its package and carriage to these shores, the duty and the proﬁt of the proprietor. It seems inconceivable that for so small a sum such a result can be obtained, for the man is well enough proportioned, his barrow really will run, and the fruit is coloured after nature. A little inquiry, however, at the same time that it clears up the mystery only increases our astonishment.

In the first place, the wood is obtained for a mere nothing. For instance, the Grand Duke of Saxe Meiningen, on whose estates the flourishing toy colony of Sonneberg is situated, allows his people to select any tree from his forest close at hand for 2d. Thus the raw material may be said to be given to them. Again: the organisation and division of labour is carried to an extent in the production of these trifles which we can only liken to tha texhibited in this country by watchmakers or pin fabricators. Let us revert to the man with the barrow of fruit, for instance. Possibly a dozen hands have been employed in its production. The man who turned the body of the ﬁgure, had nothing to do with his arms. A third person was employed to put together the barrow; a fourth to turn the wheel; a fifth to put the spokes in; a sixth to put the linch-pin in; a seventh to turn the fruit; an eighth to turn the basket on which they are placed; a ninth to colour the fruit; a tenth to colour the barrow; an eleventh to glue the wholetogether; and a twelfth to supply the final varnish. The incredible rapidity with which this minute division of labour enables the men, women, and children to accomplish each detail, is the secret of the whole matter. Not only do the dozen individuals manage to make a living out of the third of a penny, or rather less, which is to be divided amongst them, but they contrive to live comfortably and respectably into the bargain. The toy thus completed, has to be packed and conveyed hundreds of miles along Alpine roads and down rapid rivers, until it is finally transported by the Rotterdam steam-boat to our shores, to be again unpacked and displayed by Mr. Cremer in the German Fair. The history of the fruit barrow is the history of almost every wooden article on the penny counters of this extraordinary place. The process of manufacture is the same throughout Germany, but the localities from which the different toys come are widely different. The vast majority are made at Grünhainscher, in Saxony. The glass comes from Bohemia. The bottles and cups are so fragile, that the poor workman has to labour in a confined and vitiated atmosphere, which cuts him off at thirty-five years of age. All articles that contain any metal are the produce of Nuremberg and the surrounding district. This old city has always been one of the chief centres of German metal work. The workers in gold and silver of the place have long been famous, and their iron-work is unique. This speciality has now descended to toys. Here all toy printing-presses, with their types, are manufactured; magic lanterns; magnetic toys, such as ducks and fish, that are attracted by the magnet; mechanical toys, such as running mice and conjuring tricks, also come from Nuremberg. The old city is pre-eminent in all kinds of toy diablerie. Here science puts on the conjuror's jacket, and we have a manifestation of the Germanesque spirit of which their Albert Durer was the embodiment. The more solid articles which attract boyhood, such as boxes of bricks, buildings, &c., of plain wood, come from Grünhainscher, in Saxony.

Very latterly a rapidly-increasing town named Furth has sprung up, six miles from Nuremberg, entirely devoted to the manufacture of Noah's arks, dissected puzzles, &c. The toys with motion, such as railroads, steam-vessels, and moving cabs, are the speciality of the people of Biberach, in Würtemberg. And where should those splendid cuirasses, helmets, guns, and swords come from but Hesse Cassel, the centre of soldiering Germany. But the workmen of the principality are not entirely devoted to arms. The charming little shops, and parlours, and the dolls-houses—without which no nursery is complete—are made here. Neither must we forget the theatres, beloved of boys. Here and there some exquisite little interior of a café, with its fittingsof marble tables, bottles, mirrors, and plate, attract the attention, and the inquirer learns with astonishment that they are made by felons in Prussian prisons. The taste and dexterity of hand displayed is amazing, and the result far preferable to the miserable hemp-beating or “grindings at nothing” at which some of our own prisoners are so fruitlessly employed.

But this counter is fitted up as a refreshmentstall. Here we have rolls and sausages and ducks and bottles of champagne and a hundred other dainties; but the children are too cunning; they are only shams—paper. The Berliners who make them call them “surprises,” for it is rather a