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of L.5. Presently after this, he was again settled in a school at Lynn, and his father gives him some advice, that loses none of its value through age.

As for his preaching, I prevailed upon him to do it plainly to the edification of his people, and not to preach himself as he did at his first setting out. And if some of his matter were sublime and uncouth [a strange junction of terms!] to such ears, and his enlargement in the university style, I question not he would in time have come to be more plain and affectionate for the good of the vulgar. In 1679, he entered upon his place at Northwich (called Witton School), which put me into a necessity of affording him fresh assistance. I therefore gave him some household goods, lent him others (which proved gifts in the event), and furnished him with money to buy such as I could not spare. But, alas! all was suddenly dashed, for he enjoyed this place only ten months. There was in the town a very mortal fever, whereof his wife fell exceeding ill; and he desiring her life, and fearing her death, begged of God that he might die in her stead, and was taken at his word. His corpse was accompanied from Witton School to his grave with many gentlemen, and other fashionable persons. But none suffered so much by his death as I and mine; for I did not only part with an only son in the best of his time (about thirty years of age), whose education had cost me so dear,. but also I sustained considerable additional losses:-For, 1st, He was the only life in my lease of this tenement, save only his mother, who was then fifty-nine years of age-a very considerable loss; 2d, The money that he owed me, and the goods I lent him, .... came to near L.40; 3d, I have kept his child ever since, and I would not take any man's L.30 to do for his child what we have already done for it, and are farther to do whether I live or die; so that, upon a moderate account, this last loss (after all the rest) may well be computed at L.80 or L.90; besides the charges of the funeral, which those that observed it will say was handsomely done.'

What a mixture of the pathetic and the thrifty! The trouble of losing an eldest son just settled in life, and also losing some L.80 or L.90 by his death, besides his funeral expenses! But then the consolation of having him followed to his grave by 'fashionable persons!'

The next is rich. If the shrewd chaplain (he was then living in Lord Delamere's family) had been allowed to manage matters, a better bargain than this would have been struck with my Lord Conway, who got his L.5000, but seems to us to have earned a cudgelling, than whom none would have administered it more heartily than Martindale.

'About this time the Earl of Conway married that virtuous and religious lady, Elizabeth, daughter of my Lord Delamere. There was great rejoicing at this marriage, he being a person of so great dignity and estate; but for my part I was much troubled and unsatisfied. The truth is, I liked not the man, for several weighty reasons; and I was utterly against the giving of L.10,000 portion, absolutely, without any exception, whether she lived or died, leaving any issue or none. This I thought unreasonable, and more than could well be spared. The next summer, the religious lady (an hundred times too good for such a man) dies while he was proling at court in a gainful office for money, and would not come down to her funeral, pretending excess of grief; but, however, it was soon past; for within a few weeks (as I remember, five), this excessively mournful lord took another comfortable importance, marrying a young, airy lady. After much ado, and long waiting on his lordship's pleasure, at last he declared he would be so kind as to take only L.5000 for nothing, and assigned the other L.5000 to my lord's youngest daughter, the Lady Diana.'

But the close of his eventful career is now at hand, and things grow worse instead of mending. Misfortunes rapidly follow each other, more than we care to transcribe: among the rest, the burning of his son-in

law's workshop and barn; the loss resulting from this accident, as usual, falling upon the poor old man. The memoirs close with a lamentation over the deaths of many worthy men of the nonconformist persuasion, that within a year, or little more, had left their earthly habitations in Lancashire for a better in Heaven. When God is housing his sheep (or rather his shepherds) so fast, it is a dangerous prognostic of a storm ere long to ensue.' The manuscript here ends abruptly. All that is further known of him is from the parish register at Roseterne, where the burial of Adam Martindale is entered, 'September 21, 1686.'

THE YOUNG ACTRESS. SOME time since, a beautiful young girl made her first appearance on the stage of one of the minor theatres in Paris. Her grace and loveliness attracted admiration, which her rising talent promised to secure. She concluded a long engagement with the manager, giving her services for a very moderate remuneration, but which sufficed for her wants and those of an invalid mother, who was totally dependent on her exertions. According to the usual custom, a clause in the contract stipulated that a forfeit should be paid in case of its non-fulfilment by either party.

Theatrical managers never fail to insert this article in the treaties signed by their actors; and it often happens forfeit. In this case it was fixed at ten thousand francs; that a very small salary is accompanied by an immense but the young actress attached no importance to the amount, being fully resolved to fulfil her engagement, and steadily apply to the cultivation of her powers. She felt how much depended on her success, and on she walked in the right path, refusing to be turned from it by the flattering vows and insidious homage which she daily received. But in our uncertain world the good and the prudent may sometimes change their plans as suddenly as the foolish and the fickle.

One day the young actress entered the manager's room, and announced to him that she wished to leave the theatre.

I

should have expected such caprice.' 'How!' cried he; 'you are the last person from whom

'Indeed, sir, it is not caprice.'

Is it, then, the offer of another engagement?' excellent young man, who wishes to marry me.' 'It is, sir, and one which I cannot refuse: it is from an

Here's a pretty business; a marriage in question!' My happiness for life, sir, I feel is in question.' "Then don't hesitate an instant; marry at once.' But the person who has proposed for me, would not wish his wife to continue on the stage.'

'A fine prejudice forsooth! What is his situation in life?'

'He is at present a merchant's clerk, but he intends to set up in business, and he will want me to attend our

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My dear child, I shall want you also to study your part in a new afterpiece which I have just received.' Then, sir, you refuse to set me free?'

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'I must think about it. At all events, you have it in your power to break the agreement by paying the forfeit.' "Ten thousand francs! 'tis very dear.'

'It was very dear when you signed your name, but now your services are worth more than that.' 'Alas, it will prevent our marriage!' said the poor girl in a voice choked with tears; and with a despairing heart she left the room.

Two days afterwards, the manager was seated close to the grate in his apartment, trying with all his skill to kindle a fire. All the theatrical attendants were engaged at rehearsal, so he was obliged to dispense with their assistance.

The cashier entered with a visage wofully elongated. The affairs of the theatre were in a critical state; the receipts had diminished; and pay-day at the end of the month approached with a menacing aspect.

"Yes,' said the manager, our situation certainly is

embarrassing. And this plaguy fire that wont light! I must call the souffleur* to help me.'

Astonished that he could jest under the circumstances, the cashier retired. As he was leaving the room, the young actress entered.

'Ah, is it you?' said the manager. You are coming from rehearsal ?'

'No, sir, I have come to return the part you gave me to study.'

So it seems you still think of quitting the stage?' 'I have brought you the forfeit.'

'The ten thousand francs?'

'Here they are.'

And how have you procured this sum?' 'My intended husband gave it me.'

Is he then so rich?'

'These ten thousand francs are nearly all he possessed. But he said, "What does it signify? we shall only have to defer setting up in business; or perhaps I may succeed in borrowing some money."

'Going in debt! That's a fine prospect for young housekeepers! So, the dowry you mean to bring your husband is want and ruin; you take from him the hardearned fruit of his industry, and you oblige him to renounce the prospect of honourable independence.'

Pray, sir-pray don't speak so cruelly!' sobbed the young girl.

'Have you considered that such a union cannot fail to be unhappy? Listen to reason-take back this money, and return it to him who gave it you. And if you're absolutely resolved to leave the theatre, I'll show you a simple way of doing it, that wont cost you anything. Take this paper, and have the kindness to put it in the grate.'

So saying, he handed her a sheet of paper carefully folded, which she threw among the smouldering sticks. The manager watched it as the languid flame gradually curled round it, and then shot up in a bright blaze.

'Do you know,' said he,' what that paper was? It was your signed engagement! And now I have no longer any claim on your services, and consequently can demand no forfeit. Go, my child, marry, employ your little capital well, and be happy.'

Deeply affected by this generous deed, the young actress expressed her gratitude as fervently as her tears permitted.'

'Don't talk to me of gratitude,' replied the manager, we are only quits. See, for the last hour I have been blowing in vain at that obstinate fire: you threw your engagement into it, and directly it blazed up. Thanks to me, you are free; and thanks to you, I am giving my hands a good warming!'

DWELLINGS FOR THE HUMBLER CLASSES. MR W. A. GUY, in a late lecture on the health of towns (Journal of Public Health, No. 4), makes some strong observations on the negligence of owners of houses occupied by the humbler classes in London and elsewhere.

One of our boasted metropolitan improvements-an apt illustration in itself of the evils of narrow and partial legislation-has left a single street with a few attached courts as a standing reproach to its owners and to the public. These owners, who are persons of wealth and good position in society, are absentees, having probably as little knowledge of, or care for, their property, as if it were at the antipodes; and they sub-let it for a fixed sum to middle-men, who, in their turn, let the houses out in rooms, at exorbitant rents. The tenants of these rooms, true to this wretched system, earn their living, or add to their means, by converting them into low lodging-houses, at a charge of threepence a night, or accommodate whole families of weekly lodgers in the corners or at the sides of the apartments. No one who has not visited this wretched place, and exa

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mined it, as I have done, house by house, and room by room, can form any conception of the depths of degradation to which human beings may be sunk by a vicious system, the offspring of cupidity and negligence. The overcrowding which results from this system, reinforced by the want of water, and the entire absence of the means of decency and comfort, convert every house and room into a focus of disease from which the workhouse infirmary is largely supplied, to the punishment of the ratepayer, whose indifference to his true interest has been one cause of his being thus made to bear the just burdens of other men. Such are the effects of individual and national negligence. The owner of property becomes an absentee, and neglects his duty. Disease and destitution are the inevitable results; and the light burden of prevention which should have been borne by the guilty proprietor, is shifted, as a dead weight of local taxation, to the shoulders of the innocent and unconscious ratepayer.'

All who are acquainted with our large towns, must admit that the appalling picture here presented is universally applicable-the community is every where burdened with rates, and exposed to dangers from the overcrowding of mean dwellings, and the general want of sanitary regulations. A social wrong of this kind ought not to be perpetrated with impunity. The owners of properties should be compelled either to put them in a proper condition, and under proper regulations, as respects health and decency, or abandon them to the public, so as to make way for dwellings of an improved character. We are aware that landlords in too many instances are offered little inducement to improve houses of a humble class, in consequence of the diffihence the practice of letting such houses to middle-men. culty of getting any rent from tenants in return; and But this excuse will not palliate the grievous wrong to which society is exposed: in this, as in other matters, private interest, injuriously exercised, must yield to that of the public. Notwithstanding the alleged valuelessness of much humble property in towns, it is remarkit except at an enormous price. Tenements inhabited able that there is scarcely a possibility of purchasing by paupers, and the constant focus of disease-houses which are almost abandoned by proprietors as worthless-no sooner become an object of request for the sake of public improvement, than prices many times their value are demanded. On a late occasion, we required a site near our printing premises on which to erect dwellings of a respectable order for our workmen. but though yielding a very trifling rent to its proAn old half-ruinous house was on the spot required; prietor, and discreditable as respects its internal condition-one of those structures, in short, which ought to be removed as a public nuisance-L.700 was demanded for it; and as this price would have been equal to a ground rent of L.35 annually, the plan of building was given up. Other instances of greed on the part of proprietors in Edinburgh-a greed which invariably defeats itself-could be mentioned: One of the most instructive examples is that of a person asking L.700 for a single floor in an old tenement which produced only L.7 of clear rent annually, the exorbitant demand being made under the impression that a projected improvement could not be executed unless the purchase were made. The improvement, however, has been effected without requiring the old building, which is therefore left standing as a public eyesore, greatly to the sorrow of its too avaricious owner, who would now gladly accept of L.300 for the wretched mass of decayed stone and timber, for which she formerly declined taking less than L.700. It is in no small degree the consequence of this species of cupidity that, private capitalists being prevented from doing anything in the way of renovation, large sections of the town subside into that miserable condition so well depicted by Mr Guy.

The remedy for this state of affairs appears to be, a law of universal application, which shall give magis

trates the power of removing waste, ruinous, and other hood; but from the account before us, we learn that tenements, injurious to public health, and interruptive such has by no means been the case. Much of the disof public improvements-in which improvements are to like to the edifice is perhaps attributable to a prejudice be reckoned the opening up of new thoroughfares, and against living on common stairs, as lawyers do at the erection of dwellings of a proper kind for the labour- chambers, or as the Scotch, French, and Germans of ing classes. By these means the regeneration of towns all classes are in the habit of doing, without any loss of would be placed on a simple and self-working principle. individual independence. Something also is due to an Private individuals and joint-stock societies would, for unwillingness to be governed by any sort of regulations. their own interest, be found undertaking schemes ofA great number of objectors are amateurs of orniimprovement publicly beneficial. Instead of being taxed thology and zoology; and the moment some of them for the making of new streets, communities would be found they would not be allowed to keep pigs, or free of all trouble and cost on that account. We do pigeons, or fowls, or rabbits, or dogs, they declined innot of course expect that proprietors of old buildings quiring further particulars, and walked away. All this should, by such a scheme, be robbed of their property, is very lamentable, because it renders the benevolent vile as it is. Let them be paid a fair equivalent by all labours of such associations as the builders of these means, but no more. lodgings, when specifically directed, almost hopeless. Whether a law of this nature be put in operation or The new dwellings, however, are not without tenants; not, it might be possible for the working-classes, by who are indeed of a higher grade than those aimed at union among themselves, to rent better dwellings at by the Association-persons already living in cleanly lower rents than those they now generally occupy. All comfort, though obtained at extravagant prices. The that seems desirable for them to do, is to offer a sufficient tenants are chiefly artisans of a superior order, such as guarantee to landlords, and this might be done by a journeymen pianoforte-makers, compositors, and perfund previously provided, and currently maintained. By sons who follow chamber trades, such as tailors, floweran arrangement with employers-as, for example, leav-makers, chasers, jewellers, &c.; besides clerks, and one ing a certain sum weekly in their hands, and all becom- or two who possess small independencies. As if to proing conjointly and severally bound to make good defi- vide an exception on purpose to prove a rule, there is ciencies, a guarantee might also be organised. We have one tenant who belongs to the class for which the buildheard of an instance of this nature, by which a large ing was meant - a gasmaker from the neighbouring body of men are provided with good houses on what works.' may be called a wholesale principle, the rents not being two-thirds of what they would be if let individually, and without the guarantee we mention.

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While on this subject, it may be mentioned that an exceedingly creditable effort has lately been made by a society in London to erect dwellings of an improved kind for the working-classes. We do not allude to the Model Lodging-Houses which have been here and there set on foot, but to a large edifice recently erected by the Metropolitan Association for Improving the Dwellings of the Industrious Classes,' in the neighbourhood of the old St Pancras Road. From the Daily News we gather the following particulars of this structure:-It is a building of four storeys, with a long frontage and two wings at right angles, the open space in front being designed as a playground, and the back space as a drying-ground for clothes. The building is on the Scotch plan of including a great number of separate houses under one roof, all reached by common stairs of stone. There are eight entries and staircases, and these give access to houses for one hundred and ten families; some of the dwellings consisting of two, and others of three apartments, but each possessing every accommodation within itself. The aspect of each house is neat and pleasing, and the arrangements for insuring cleanliness and ventilation satisfactory. Houses with two rooms are let for a rent of from 3s. to 5s. per week, according to size; and the sets of three rooms from 4s. 6d. to 7s. per week. These charges include taxes, parish and water rates, and gas in the staircases. Even they might have been less, but for the oppressive operation of the window-tax, which exacts, according to the mode of assessment insisted on, the same taxation for ten of these dwellings as that for one forty-windowed house; while each of these sets of rooms would have been exempt from the tax had they been separate cottages.' This exaction | we cannot understand; for in Scotland all dwellings on common stairs are legally considered to be distinct houses, and each accordingly pays no window duty if it has fewer than the chargeable number of windows belonging to itself. An appeal to the lords of her Majesty's treasury would surely rectify the mistake here complained of.

Considering the cheapness, the commodiousness, the airiness, and respectability of the dwellings which have been so meritoriously got up by the Association, it might have been expected that they would have been caught at with avidity by the working-men of the neighbour

We are told, in conclusion, that the labours of the Association for Improving the Dwellings of the Industrious Classes do not end in the Old St Pancras Road. It is their intention to found similar establishments in large manufacturing towns in the provinces; and we trust they will be able to secure another site in the Metropolis, for a building easily accessible to London journeymen. Example placed before the eyes of the inhabitants of squalid neighbourhoods, may in time wean them from the sloughs in which they now choose to exist. If, however, they do not profit by the spectacle of comfort and cleanliness, their children and successors may.'

A PEEP AT MINORCA. THE following sketch of a chance visit to Mahon-a spot so much out of the beaten track of our English tourists-will not prove uninteresting to our readers, if we may judge from the surprise and pleasure we ourselves experienced, during our twenty-four hours' halt at Minorca, on our voyage to Algeria.

In the beginning of December 18-, I embarked at Toulon in the Montezuma steam frigate, employed to transport from France to Algiers mules, soldiers, and colonists. Three hundred men, four hundred women, and three hundred children, were stowed on the decks of this ship, under the superintendence of the French government. A brilliant sun shone on our departure, a light breeze filled the sails, and before long, the coast of Provence disappeared from our sight.

The sea was calm, the sky serene, the future couleur de rose,' and the deck was crowded with its thousand passengers. Nothing, however, is so treacherous as the Mediterranean; you may feel, as we did, the most perfect security on its tranquil waters, and in a few hours the vessel may pitch and toss in a terrific storm. Such was our case in the present instance. The light breeze which had so gently borne us onward changed to a violent gale, the waters rose, the waves broke against our ship; in short, everything foreboded a wild night!' As if by magic, our decks became deserted, and soon the sighs and moans of the unfortunate sufferers were to be heard on all sides. Englishmen are so well acquainted with the evils of sea-sickness, that I shall only remark, its usual horrors were in this passage tenfold increased by the sight of the four hundred unfortunate women, with their three hundred children, heaped on one another in a space of forty feet by

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twenty, through the culpable negligence of the French authorities. Their sufferings during the night were dreadful, especially towards midnight, when the storm became a perfect hurricane. French nature is not rough, even in a seaman; and the delicate attentions of the officers and men to these miserable passengers were unremitting. At length day dawned, but stormy, dark, and gloomy; while the wind and waves seemed to drive us forward towards the coast of Sardinia.

Suddenly the watch cried, Land!' It must be Minorca,' exclaimed the captain. 'We can now stop at Mahon, our passengers can recruit themselves, and regain their strength, and we can clean out the vessel.' This decision was received with acclamation, and ere long the rocks of Minorca began to rise up before us. Had it been a hundred times more bare and arid, we should have hailed it as a terrestrial paradise. A cannon from our deck demanded a pilot; and in an instant we saw issuing from the fog, which covered the steep shore of the island, a boat, so small, as to be familiarly termed a' cockle shell:' it now appeared on the summit of a wave, and then disappeared, as if for ever, in a valley between. Two men steered the tiny craft, which soon approached a sailor threw a rope; one of them climbed on board; it was the pilot; and in a few moments we perceived a streak of white at the base of the cliff. It was Mahon or rather the sentinel of Mahon-Fort St Philip.

most obliging cicerone. Through his means we were enabled, in twenty-four hours, to visit every curio sity of the town. Besides, the Mahonese (or I should say the Mahonese ladies) are so very courteous, that every door is open to a stranger, provided his manners and appearance be that of a gentleman. 'Senor, let us speak of France-let us speak of Paris!' were the first words that greeted us on entering. On my remarking this to my French friend, he replied, with the usual vanity of his nation, 'Ah! mon ami, Paris is the Mecca of all the civilised women in the world!' Not being prepared to prove the contrary, I prudently refrained from pursuing the subject, especially as the Mahonese ladies to whom we spoke seemed to regard it as the tomb of their prophet.' Several had made their pilgrimage thither; and their graceful appearance, dress, and engaging manners, bore ample evidence to my companion of the advantages they had derived.

Mahon boasts the manufacture of those flowers in enamel so much prized for ornaments in Paris. Nothing is more attractive or coquettish than the workshops of these flower-makers. There, alone, are to be seen no jalousies, or blinds, those stupid jailors of Spanish houses. The atélier is on the ground-floor; and while passing in the street, you see twelve or fifteen young girls, all pretty (there is not an ugly woman in Mahon), cease their work, and fix their large eyes on the prying stranger who stops to observe them. As a matter of course, the owner of the establishment invites you to

We steered round an enormous rock, against which the waves dashed with violence-the surge soon sub-enter and examine her collection of flowers. Who could sided; a bay opened: it was the port, and Mahon lay before us.

It is but justice to the Spanish authorities to say, they did not keep us long waiting for permission to land. In a quarter of an hour after casting anchor, we were clambering up the steep rock leading from the harbour to the town.

refuse such an invitation? A selection is soon made, and the purchase concluded; and he who only entered through curiosity, still lingers to answer the numerous questions which are addressed to him in the most fascinating manner, and he departs in admiration of the grace and wit of his fair interlocutors.

The gravity of the Spanish authorities forms a striking contrast to the charming vivacity of this gay people. Inasmuch as the Mahonese love conversation and intellectual society, so are the Spaniards of Mahon morose and melancholy. Their character does not sympathise with that of the inhabitants, who take every occasion to draw the distinction of, I am not a Spaniard, I am a Mahonese!'

Mahon is built on a rock, and the port, one of the largest and safest in the Mediterranean, is enclosed within two lines of almost perpendicular cliffs. In the centre, and near the entrance of the harbour, lies a small island, covered with buildings now half in ruins. To this spot the invalided French soldiers of Algeria resorted for many years, to recruit their strength in the pure air of Minorca, or to make use of it as a resting- Mahon contains no public buildings, with the excepplace on their passage from Africa to France. But the tion of three or four churches, of very doubtful architeclittle island Del Rey is no longer ceded to them for this ture, and still more equivocal ornaments, in which the purpose by the Spanish government; and the French, enamel flowers, as may be supposed, figure conspicuously. glad to attribute every annoyance they meet with to the In the cathedral are a few monuments of carved wood, jealousy of the English, allege (with what reason I gilt, which at first sight make a brilliant effect, though could not learn) that this refusal is owing to the inter- the taste is not of the purest. The organs are the obference of our foreign office with the cabinet of Spain.jects most worthy of admiration in the churches. But,' enthusiastically exclaimed one of my French in the cathedral was made by a German, and the tones fellow travellers, what has been the consequence? are as sweet and full as any I ever heard. A young England ("perfide Albion ") did not foresee the result-Maestro di Cappella' performed for us on this magniMahon has come to seek France!'

Without doubt the town is now deserted. Its population, formerly amounting to 30,000 souls, at present scarcely numbers 6000. All Mahon is at Algiers, Oran, or Marseilles. The men, clever gardeners, steady and industrious merchants, leave it to make their fortunes at the above-named places; and the young girls, graceful, pretty, and witty, go in quest of husbands: both are eminently successful.

There are two representatives of France at Mahonone official, the consul; the other officious! the landlord of the Hotel de France. The former, a clever man, is of Dutch extraction, but his family have inhabited Mahon for upwards of a century. His house is a perfect museum of Balearic history, literary and artistic; doubly interesting when examined in the company of its agreeable and well-informed owner. The officious representative, M. Huot, is an old French prisoner of 1809. Brought then to Mahon, he there' married, and made his fortune. The houses at Mahon are extremely clean, but our host's hotel surpassed them all. He is most attentive to his guests; and in addition to his other qualifications, is a clever and

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ficent instrument for nearly an hour. He was a clever musician, and played twenty different pieces, from a sonata of Bach to the modern airs of Rossini, Auber, and Verdi. During this concert, given for our benefit, the nave of the church became crowded with listeners, and their joyous countenances proved how well they valued the talents of their young organist.

After the church, the cemetery is most worthy of remark. The Campo Santo, or burial-ground of Mahon, is a large yard encircled by high walls, and in which are as many entrances to mortuary chapels as the space permits. The names and rank of the deceased are recorded on a tablet over an altar, and the body lies in a vault underneath. The graveyard itself is nothing but an avenue divided into as many compartments as there are tombs; a horizontal slab contains the style and title of their inmates. The walls, in general, are painted black and blue, which gives them a fantastic appearance.

Nothing looks more melancholy than the gardens in the environs of Mahon. The gardeners, valued for their talents in other countries, have surrounded with heaps of pebbles the squares of cultivated earth which they have created for themselves on the barren rock, whereon

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stands the town. They have carried this earth up from the valley in the same way they carried up the pebbles, which prevent its being swept off by the annual torrents of rain. Imagine a country cut into squares like a chess-board by heaps of pebbles, and without the shade of a single tree! On this arid soil grow the vines of Mahon.

Mahon possesses a theatre supplied alternately by Spanish and Italian artistes. The latter enjoyed undivided sway at the time of our visit, and we availed ourselves of the leisure granted us by the storm to hear the Elisir d'Amore.' Certainly the singers were far | from being first-rate. Their voices were worn, and their instruction incomplete; yet the opera, as a whole, was better performed than in many of the provincial towns of the continent. It must be said, to the honour of the Mahonese, that they possess great musical taste. Far from being indifferent, they applaud every good effect, or well-executed passage. This love of music seems born with them; and the orchestra, which is excellent, is composed of amateurs of the town, who perform like true artists. The interior of the theatre is of a good size, and makes a pretty effect. The first, second, and third rows are divided into boxes, and a considerable portion of the pit is occupied by the orchestra. The Mahonese ladies appear there in full dress. Nearly all wear the mantilla or national veil, fastened coquettishly on their hair, and the fan plays in their hands the same graceful and malicious part which I believed alone to be the secret of the Spanish ladies.

Such is Mahon; and by what it now is, in its abandonment and poverty, we may judge of what it was in the days of its greatness. Of this grandeur of the past, nothing now remains but a vague reminiscence. And, alas! we are told that all this varnish of politeness, this elegance of manners, covers many a moral wound, and a vast deal of misery. Fortunately, we had no time to dispel our illusions by convincing ourselves of this fact. The morning after our arrival at Mahon, a cannon-shot recalled us to our ship. At one o'clock that afternoon we cast a farewell glance at this town, once so flourishing, at this hospitable port, which nature has formed in the centre of the Mediterranean; and, our last look resting on the little island Del Rey, the rugged shores of Minorca vanished from our view.

The following morning, about nine o'clock, I beheld rising before my enchanted sight the rich verdure of the Sahel of Algiers, and the white houses of this capital of French Africa.

TOWN LYRICS.*

We do not know that the term 'minor poetry' is justly applicable to such pieces as these, many of which rank with the highest of their class. They are at least major in their own circle; and that circle, though comparatively humble in point of genius, is far wider in extent, more general in influence, and therefore more important in its bearings upon the public mind, than the one which comprises only the higher and more complicated works of art.

There is one point in respect to which we are inclined to place Charles Mackay at the head of the fugitive or occasional poets of the day; and that isthe suggestive character of his verses. Mrs Hemans, and most of the writers who followed, or walked side by side with her, exhaust the subject they illustrate. There is a neatness and completeness in their pieces which leave the mind of the reader in a state of tranquil satisfaction. Charles Mackay, on the other hand, not only stirs up our thoughts like these, but leaves them in the midst of the turbulence. He makes poets of us all for the time; and when we have come to the end of his verses, our glazed eye rests without speculation upon the page, and we continue in our own

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ABOVE AND BELOW. Mighty river, oh! mighty river, Rolling in ebb and flow for ever

Through the city so vast and old;

Through massive bridges-by domes and spires,
Crowned with the smoke of a myriad fires:

City of majesty, power, and gold;
Thou lovest to float on thy waters dull
The white-winged flects so beautiful,
And the lordly steamers speeding along,
Wind-defying, and swift and strong;
Thou bearest them all on thy motherly breast,
Laden with riches, at trade's behest-
Bounteous trade, whose wine and corn
Stock the garner and fill the horn,
Who gives us luxury, joy, and pleasure,
Stintless, sumless, out of measure-
Thou art a rich and a mighty river,
Rolling in ebb and flow for ever.

Doleful river, oh! doleful river,

Pale on thy breast the moonbeams quiver,
Through the city so drear and cold-
City of sorrows hard to bear,

Of guilt, injustice, and despair-
City of miseries untold;

Thou hidest below, in thy treacherous waters,
The death-cold forms of Beauty's daughters;
The corses pale of the young and sad--
Of the old whom sorrow has goaded mad-
Mothers of babes that cannot know
The sires that left them to their wo→
Women forlorn, and men that run
The race of passion, and die undone;
Thou takest them all in thy careless wave,
Thou givest them all a ready grave;
Thou art a black and a doleful river,
Rolling in ebb and flow for ever.

In ebb and flow for ever and ever-
So rolls the world, thou murky river,
So rolls the tide, above and below:
Above, the rower impels his boat;

Below, with the current the dead men float:
The waves may smile in the sunny glow,
While above, in the glitter, and pomp, and glare,
The flags of the vessels flap the air;
But below, in the silent under-tide,
The waters vomit the wretch that died:
Above, the sound of the music swells,
From the passing ship, from the city bells;
From below there cometh a gurgling breath,
As the desperate diver yields to death:
Above and below the waters go,
Bearing their burden of joy or wo;
Rolling along, thou mighty river,
In ebb and flow for ever and ever.

A LATE CONTRIBUTION TO THE BANNATYNE CLUB.

THE Duke of Sutherland has made an interesting contribution to the works of the Bannatyne Club. It is a thin quarto volume, containing two ancient records of the bishopric of Caithness, procured from the charter-room at Dunrobin. To the records are attached a few preliminary pages descriptive of the early history of Caithness, of which the county of Sutherland once formed a part. The period referred to is the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, when this extreme northern part of the island of Great Britain owned a divided allegiance to the kings of Scotland and Norway-the power of the former latterly predominating, partly from the influence of the church. Some parts of this curious work present a graphic picture of the rudeness of ancient manners.

Earl Harald, for the redemption of his sins, had granted to the church a penny yearly from each inhabited house in the earldom of Caithness, and this revenue was levied by Andrew, the first bishop of the diocese, till his decease in 1185. The next bishop was John, who, it appears, declined to exact the contribution; but the Pope (Innocent III.) summoned him to obedience, and even granted a commission to the bishops of Orkney and Rosmarky to compel him to levy the tax, by the heavy censures of the church.

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