jack-booted half way up his thighs, has his body enveloped in a brown goatskin jacket, or some other dark-coloured material-not à la Brien O'Lynn, but with the hairy side out-and his head encased in a cap slouched over his ears, while his chin is defended from the wind with a thick bushy covering of natural hair, such as might render a buck-goat jealous: he carries a rifle or fowling-piece slung over his shoulder. The French idea of fox-hunting is, that it is only suited to bungling and inexperienced sportsmen, and an inferior kind of hound; and in point of practice, it is merely a system for destroying the animal, without much regard to the sport itself; just as the Scottish Highlander would kill him for the security of his master's sheep, and with the sole object of producing the head, in proof of his industry, on quarter day. Instead of stopping the earths in our fashion, the experienced earth-stopper in Normandy puts opposite to each hole at night a piece of well-oiled white paper, fastened to a wooden pin stuck into the ground, which has the double advantage of not preventing the egress of the fox, and yet of deterring him from entering during the night, if he had been previously without. The number of dogs used in the chase of the fox is so small, that it is very hard to make him break cover; nor is this desired, for in such case the sportsman would never see any more of him. He takes up his position in the wood, and there the manoeuvres on both sides are conducted, though the piqueur himself can do little in person but sound his horn and shout as a Frenchman loves to do. The sportsman, clad in his dark jacket, stands to leeward, but under the close shelter of a tree or hedge, in order that the fox may neither wind nor view him; and he places himself on the paths by which the fox is likely to make his retreating doubles, because if he be not pressed or disturbed, he is sure to try them, and all his earths in the neighbourhood. The cries of the different persons in the wood indicate the close appearance of the fox. If the riflemen in ambush can get a shot at the poor fellow, who is by one contrivance or another prevented from entering his earth, the battle is won; otherwise, he is destroyed by the terriers in the earths, or in running from one stronghold to another; and sometimes he and a whole family, perhaps, are destroyed in his barracks with sulphur put into the earth, which is closed at the entrance. In short, there is no sport at all in the whole affair, except in a few localities where the English have introduced something of regular hunting. The flesh may possibly, to some persons, be an inducement to persecute him; it is said not to be very bad, if pickled, roasted, and served up in a hare ragout. A WORD TO COTTAGERS. COTTAGERS who keep cows and pigs are not aware of the loss they incur from allowing these animals to live in an uncleanly manner. Some people think they do quite enough for their cows or pigs if they only give them food and shelter; but, besides this, it is certain that both require to be kept very cleanly, though seldom indulged in that luxury. The cow should be curried daily like a horse; its hide should be freed from all impurities, and relieved from every thing that causes uneasiness. When you see a cow rubbing itself against a post, you may depend on it that the animal is ill kept, and requires a good scrubbing. If well curried, the health is improved, and that improves the quality of the milk, besides increasing the quantity. A cottager might easily make two or three shillings more of his cow weekly by attention to this point; and if he at the same time took pains to preserve all the liquid refuse of the cowhouse, he might double that amount. How strange to reflect that many decent and well-meaning, but ignorant and rather lazily-disposed people, are suffering a dead loss of four or five shillings weekly from no other cause than this! It is long, however, before old habits are eradicated, and new and better ones introduced. In some parts of England, the quality of pigs has been greatly improved by attention to cleanliness. The pig is not naturally a dirty animal. No animal is naturally dirty. The whole of the inferior animals possess an instinctive love of cleanliness, and will keep themselves clean accordingly, if left to pursue their own way. But neither cows nor pigs are allowed to take their own way; they are reduced to servitude, pent up in confined houses, and have not opportunities for pursuing their inclinations. The pig, if let alone, wallows in the mire ; some people call this a symptom of dirtiness; it is no such thing. The animal takes this means of cleaning its skin. The mire, being dried on its body, is afterwards rubbed off, and with it those impurities which it is desirable should be removed. Under man's dominion, the process of cleaning can be much more effectually performed by means of a brush and water. The pig never offers any objection to this agreeable operation, and the benefit derivable from it is remarked in the increased comfort and growth of the animal. This is no theory; it may be proved by experiment. Some time ago, as we lately observed by a paragraph in the newspapers, a gentleman in Norfolk tried the experiment as follows:-Six pigs of equal weight were put to keeping at the same time, and treated the same as to food and litter for seven weeks. Three of them were left to shift for themselves as to cleanliness: the other three were kept as clean as possible, by a man em ON THE FATE OF “THE PRESIDENT” STEAM-SHIP. BY CAMILLA TOULMIN. "The best in ployed for the purpose, with a currycomb and brush. Well, so matters rested until a certain day in last June, The last consumed in seven weeks fewer peas by five when a lady called at Mr Mowitt's store, and asked for bushels than the other three, yet weighed more when Mr Pelsing. She was told the particulars of his story. killed by two stones and four pounds upon the average. "And hasn't he been here since?" she inquired. "Not Here, it is obvious, was a considerable gain, all by a since," replied Mr Mowitt. "I know he has," said the little attention to cleaning a few pigs; and there is lady. "He has not, I assure you, at least to my knowno reason in the world why every cottager who rears ledge," answered Mr Mowitt. "But I am positive!" these animals should not gain money in the same way. said the lady, somewhat smartish. "What proof have A little less lounging and smoking, a little less drink-you of it?" inquired the shoemaker. ing, a little less expenditure of thought on matters of the world," returned the stranger, "for I am here, no practical concern, would leave ample leisure for and I and Mr Pelsing are one and the same person." performing the useful duties we have taken the liberty And, strange as it may appear, such was the actual of pointing out. fact. Well, the question was, whether Mr Pelsing was a gentleman or a lady, and it turned out that she was a lady; and more than that, her name wasn't John Pelsing at all, but Charlotte Conroy; and furthermore, that she was the widow of the man that had been found drowned. She then stated that her husband was a shoemaker in Philadelphia, to whom she had been married about two years, and who treated her very badly, the consequence of which was, that she picked up his trade by stealth, and when she thought she was sufficiently perfect, equipped herself in men's clothes, and ran off to this city to be the more safely out of the reach of her lord and master. Here, as we have seen, she got into the employment and remained in the confidence of Mr Mowitt until the time of the coroner's inquest, immediately after which she proceeded to Philadelphia, where she learned that her husband (who had become a wandering loafer) had, on the hint of some friend, set out to New York about a week before, to look for her; but where, instead of an injured wife, he found a watery grave. The upshot of this romantic affair was, that Mr Mowitt requested Mrs Conroy to make his house her home; that after a while he found that he liked her yet better as Mrs Conroy than as Mr Pelsing; that by virtue thereof, he proposed a renewal of their terms of partnership, which was accepted; that on last Tuesday week Mr Mowitt and the late Mr John Pelsing became husband and wife. This is the first instance, we believe, on record, wherein a wife performed the office of a coroner's jury. man on the body of her own husband, or wherein a young man was married to his own master. The lady, by the way, is very good-looking, and still on the safe side of thirty. Is there not one the mournful tale to tell, Do ye no message to the mourners bear? Will ye not cast one ray to light the gloom Above, a pall?-is ocean but a tomb?- Hopes rudely crush'd-affection's sever'd ties- Is it not said that in this real world, He who descends to a deep pit can see, ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. [From the New York Sunday Morning News.] "Married on Tuesday, by the Rev. William Ash, Thomas Mowitt to Charlotte Conroy, both of this city." The above marriage took place in New York on last Tuesday week, and thereby hangs a tale of the marvellous. Mr Mowitt is a respectable boss shoemaker, who keeps several men employed, and amongst the rest was John Pelsing, who had ingratiated himself so much in his favour by his faithfulness, industry, and sobriety, that he took him into partnership about three years since, and had no cause to regret his kindness. From that period Mr Mowitt and Mr Pelsing were constant friends and companions, and boarded in the same house, until about twelve months since, when one day they were subpooned for a coroner's inquest, which was about to be held on the body of a man that had been taken out of the Maiden Land Dock. The deceased had all the appearance of having been a regular dock loafer, and it was the opinion of all present that he had fallen into the slip while in a state of intoxication; but the verdict-which was given in a few minutes was merely "Found Drowned." The jury being dismissed, Mr Mowitt turned round to look for his friend and fellow-juror, who had been at his side till that moment, but he was gone; and he thought he saw him running at almost full speed up Maiden Lane. This struck him as being curious; and it also reminded him of another curious fact (at least curious as taken in connexion with his sudden flight), namely, that when Mr Pelsing had first glanced at the face of the corpse, he started and turned deadly pale. Mr Mowitt then proceeded to his boarding-house, and thence to his store, to look for his partner, but he was to be found at neither; nor did he return that night; nor the next; nor the next; and two months passed away without bringing any intelligence of him, during which time Mr Mowitt had fully made up his mind that there was some mysterious connexion between his friend and the man that was found drowned, and that, in consequence thereof, Mr Pelsing had in all probability made away with himself. IMPROVEMENTS IN HAVANNA. From a letter written from Havanna, by General Talmage, president of the American Institute, to a friend in the United States, and lately published in a newspaper, we learn that the island of Cuba is beginning to partake of that species of practical improvement which seems to be spreading gradually over the earth. The inhabitants, who are mostly of Spanish origin, have long been known as sunk in that ignorance and slothful indifference to objects of utility which has brought Spain and all its foreign possessions to a state of general decay. For instance, it is still customary in Cuba to carry all country produce to the ports for shipment on the backs of mules. We are told that caravans of fifty or one hundred mules, loaded with sugar, tobacco, coffee, or molasses, are often met on the tracks which serve for roads, the transport being both most tedious and expensive. One planter has for some time transported his produce on the backs of camels, having imported that kind of animals for the purpose. But, as the authority above quoted observes, all this is passing away. "A railroad has recently been completed from Havanna, forty-one miles into the country, and is in very successful operation. It is to be continued a much greater distance, and three or four lesser roads are now commenced. The example and influence thus far, are amazing. The Spaniard is aroused from his magnificent sleep of ages. He sees the force of action; he feels the influence and facilities of communication; he realises that the cost of the transportation of produce of his estate is changed from pounds into pence, and that care and speed are exhibited in the place of waste and delay. Thousands of mules and hundreds of slaves are already dismissed from the business of transportation into other pursuits. The competition in the production of cotton, coffee, and sugar, has, within our memories, reduced the price of those articles to the consumer one-half or onethird of what it was. This competition is increasing. Egypt, South America, Mexico, and Texas, and our own southern and western states, are increasing their abundance, and India, guided by British skill, is adding her surplus to fill up the market, and all will yet reduce their prices to the lowest point of production. Sugar is now selling here at three cents, which must pay freight, commissions, expenses, and duty to us of 2 cents, before it can get into our markets in competition to the sugar of New Orleans." What a fact is communicated in the last sentence ! Sugar selling in Cuba at three halfpence a pound; and upon this the United States impose an import duty of twopence halfpenny, while as much is charged upon its import to England. Verily, mankind exercise no small ingenuity in the art of self-tormenting. Printed and Published by W. and R. CHAMBERS, Edinburgh. Sold by W. S. ORR, Amen Corner, London; J. MACLEOD, Glasgow; and all booksellers. Complete sets of the Journal are always to be had from the publishers or their agents; also, any odd numbers to complete sets. Persons requiring their volumes bound along with title bookseller, with orders to that effect. pages and contents, have only to give them into the hands of any DINBURGA JOURNA CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,” "CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c. NUMBER 494. SOME IDEAS RESPECTING THE THERE is one feature of social life which we fear has undergone much deterioration since the days of our grandfathers. These old gentlemen seem to have entertained more gallant and deferential feelings towards the gentler sex than we do. Take any department of the light literature of the eighteenth century, and you find it invariably the rule that the smiles of the fair are understood to be a matter of high competition. Happy is the swain who succeeds in inducing Phillis or Chloe to look favourably upon him; and bitter are the reflections of the numerous rivals whom she has been pleased to dismiss. Hudibras, meeting the widow, "as is his duty, Honours the shadow of her shoe-tie." Sir Roger de Coverley sighs half a lifetime for an unrelenting lady, and Will Honeycomb speaks of having been more barbarously used by that young fellow's grandmother than he ever was by any woman in England. The songs of those days are full of the cruelty of the fair. Damons sit by every brook, bewailing the impenetrability of the female heart, and Strephons wander through every grove, telling the nightingales that they once were loved, but now are loved no more. It is a favourite and constantly recurring idea of the poets, that the bosoms of their dames are white as snow, but likewise as cold. Coquetry was much complained of a vice of which it would now be quite refreshing to fall in with one genuine and well-authenticated specimen. In short, the ladies of those days appear to have been persons of real importance. It was presumed of them that they could decide the weal or woe of any man who took the slightest fancy for them. The men paid them incessant court, and their favour was propitiated by an amount of flattery and deference not far short of idolatry. SATURDAY, JULY 17, 1841. posal of their daughters, or the plottings of the ladies themselves for young eligibles. A great deal of good wit, as well as wisdom, is shown in ballad and song, with respect to the propriety of avoiding detrimentals --that is, younger brothers who cannot marry. Only the other day, we observed a prose fiction advertised under the name of the Marriage Mart, being a whimsical picture of husband-hunting amongst our countrymen in India. The writing of such a book, and the giving it such a title, clearly show a presumption that the glory of election and the favour-dispensing prerogative have departed from the gentler sex, and that they are now understood to be glad to use any tolerably decorous expedient for obtaining that affection which was formerly wooed from them with such extreme solicitude. We find the same notions expressed in the common-places of daily conversation. When a young lady is about to be married to a young man of good income or prospects, her good fortune in securing such a match is loudly spoken of, and she is evidently understood to be the envy of her sex. For a woman to be married at all now-a-days, excites some degree of wonder. She becomes for the time a kind of heroine, as if there were something great and signal in her fate. This is because an event is about to take place, which had but the other day been considered as to the last degree problematical. So also, when a number of daughters are found in a family, there is a disposition to regard it as a melancholy case. Six girls growing up together -what is to become of them? If a tolerable husband can be got for one out of the number, it will be an event worthy of formal thanksgivings in church. The very idea of six marriageable young women in one house is frightful. It oppresses the mind with a sense of Inutility beyond all fair endurance. It looks like some great unnatural excrescence upon society. Great love or daring must indeed be in the heart of that youth who can think of breaking a phalanx so formidable. Now, all this is, we think, much to be lamented. To regard women in such points of view, is degrading both to the object and to the spectator. The natural position of woman with respect to man, as the softener, the cheerer, the refiner of his existence— and her own natural constitution, as weak in frame, but powerful in moral influence—make it appear proper that man should approach her with sentiments of deference and respect. We would even say that that worshipful feeling which inspired knights and bards of old was not quite misplaced, for is there not something worthy of a high and devout admiration in a being upon whom the Deity has lavished such grace and witchery, all for the purpose of gratifying, and at the same time elevating, man? This feeling, or something approaching to it, is, we would say, the feeling which nature designs civilised men to entertain respecting the gentler sex; and see, accordingly, how, when duly entertained, it sweetens, purifies, and enriches society. If it be true that such a feeling is that designed in the case by nature, we may be perfectly sure that a departure from it, or the entertainment of a contrary feeling, will tend to harmful consequences. This we may be assured of, upon the general principle that whatever is contrary to a natural ordinance will prove detrimental. But we need only look to the actual clearly traceable results of such a feeling, in order to be convinced of its pernicious character. So certainly does moral impurity attend any thing like a light way of regarding the All this is now changed. When a young lady of the present age enters into life, the cry is not, whom will she take, but whom will she get. She is presumed to come forward, not as a goddess, whose favour is to be sought, but as an adventurer who is to endeavour to palm herself upon the best man within her reach. When a mother appears in a drawing-room with two or three grown daughters, we hear young fellows making sneering allusions to the object she is supposed to have in view. The said young fellows, instead of sighing and moping as their predecessors did for the favour of nymphs, instead of burning with alternations of love and rage, or following with worship the steps of some disdainful fair one, talk in the coolest manner of the misses they see paraded before them, and, while perhaps going so far as to ask one or two out to a quadrille, secretly resolve that they shall not be the fools to fall into the snares prepared for them. It is now understood to be the business of gentle fair ones to look out for beaux, and by every decent art to make them their own. For this they are supposed to dress, to acquire accomplishments, and even, save the mark, to go to church. The competition is not now amongst men for the favour of women, but amongst women for the favour of men. Jilting and coquetry have come over from the one sex to the other, and, instead of Damons complaining beside the clear stream of being forsaken by Amaryllis or Orinda, we have actions at assizes by Miss Vand Miss D- for breach of promise of marriage-female part of society, that the one thing may almost a thing never heard of in the days of good Queen Anne. Literature is affected accordingly. Our novels turn upon the schemes of selfish mammas for the dis be considered as inseparable from the other. How is that man to entertain right feelings respecting mother or sister, who looks upon the sex at large as a horde PRICE THREE HALFPENCE. of selfish and designing intriguantes? What respect can that man entertain for the wife whom he ultimately takes, if the notion be inveterate in his mind that women are in general mere adventurers? There is something sacred in woman, and it is a kind of irreligion to despise her. He who begins by scoffing at the finest object on earth, will not long continue to venerate the heaven that is only next in loveliness and majesty. Besides, women are, as we have said, the natural refiners of society. If they be regarded in a mean light, how are they to operate to this good effect? They must at least, in such a case, be deprived of that power which, in proper circumstances, they would use so much to the benefit of men. Society must then necessarily take a low tone, for it will be destitute of one of the most important means which exist for sustaining its purity. There will, in such circumstances, be a general want of faith in what is good. Nothing will be esteemed at its worth, and the bounds between every virtue and every vice will become less clearly defined. The change is certainly not the result of any tendency of our community to a lower moral standard. It must, we apprehend, be attributed solely to certain causes which have made marriages less readily entered upon than they used to be. There must be, to come to precise language at once, more marriageable females than there are suitable young men, able and willing to marry. To this several causes have contributed. In our advanced state as a community, the standard of comfort which individuals of the more affluent classes set up for themselves as that alone endurable in the married state, is comparatively high. Young men, reared in comfortable circumstances, do not incline to marry unless they can commence their matrimonial life in the same style as that in which they have heretofore lived in the paternal mansion. Accustomed to the regard of a certain class in society, they will not marry unless they are to live in such a manner as to retain the regard of that class. Thus it is the unavoidable tendency of a highly wrought artificial system of society, to make marriage no rash or even easy matter amongst its members. It may be said that, in the middle and upper classes, to which alone we are here referring, there should be occasion for a sufficient number of marriages to keep up the stock at its present amount at least; and that, if such a number of marriages take place, there ought to be no particular depreciation in the value of unmarried women. But we suspect that these classes have, in this respect, scarcely fair play. There is this peculiarity in our present more generally educated and more active condition, that the great inexhaustible mass of the humbler classes is constantly sending up vast numbers of its members into the middle and upper classes, to supersede and drive from the field the less energetic of those classes. Hence, the chance of any young man of the middle or upper classes to settle himself agreeably in life, is considerably diminished; and just in so far do the females of his order suffer. New fields of industry and enterprise, whether in the form of colonial additions to our territory, or the abolition of restrictions upon commerce and manufactures, would tend to relieve the press under which the middle and upper classes may be said to groan; but still the efficacy of more generally diffused education would remain, to send up hordes of competitors from below, and thus to a certain extent limit the chances of those born in affluent circumstances. It therefore appears to us that, while society remains in aught resembling its present state, there will be a superfluity of females in the middle and upper circles, and a tendency, consequently, to a count. lowering of the tone of society, from the way in which females in such circumstances are apt to be regarded. But, though there may be more females than are needed in marriage, there is no absolute necessity why the sex should be held in mean esteem on that acWe would respectfully suggest that they have it in their power to maintain their proper dignity by other means. We humbly think it would be proper, in a state of society which makes marriage difficult, to train women to regard it as only a step which it may be well to take if an opportunity shall be broadly laid before them, but one which there can be no harm in not taking, should their destiny be so ordered. Women should be taught to feel, and, if possible, they should also be taught to be, independent of the other sex, as far as matrimony is concerned. So far from rearing a troop of girls to consider the getting of a husband as the great aim of their lives, we should deliberately explain to them those social circumstances which reduce their chance of being married, and call upon them to exert such philosophy as may be in them, so as to feel in no way disappointed if they should never get a tolerable offer. We should show to them how, in a single life, females may be as useful and as happy as they have any chance of being in wedded life, if they only choose to act as they ought to do. It might be allowed that to be married would be well, as that course of life is upon the whole the best, but that there was no ordinance to make celibacy for females either unpleasant or dishonourable, but the reverse; while there were hazards of care and vexation in married life, which might well make unmarried females glad to submit to their fate. Thus, we think, women might be instructed to maintain a dignified independence of the opposite sex, and not only improve their own situation, but sustain the moral tone of society. Young women would be less likely to contract imprudent marriages merely for the sake of being married; and young men, taught to regard a virtuous female as something to be only gained by the best efforts of their industry and talents, and by an affectionate and deferential regard, would not be liable to contract that light way of thinking and speaking of the sex which we must here once more emphatically condemn as unmitigated abomination. THE ALPACA-WOOL TRADE. It is perhaps not very generally known to persons engaged in pastoral affairs, that attempts are now making, under the most respectable auspices, to introduce the alpaca, or Peruvian sheep, into the number of our domestic animals. As the subject is of vast importance, in a national as well as individual point of view, we propose offering a few explanatory observations upon it. Nature, as is well known, furnishes animals expressly suited to the climate, vegetable productions, and other circumstances, connected with the locality which they are destined to inhabit. The Andes, and other high mountain ranges and slopes of South America, are accordingly provided with several species of sheep adapted by their habits to these lofty regions of scanty vegetation, and which so materially differ from the sheep of this and other European countries, as to seem a perfectly distinct tribe of animals. The two most common of these South American sheep are the llama and alpaca, and they abound most extensively in Peru. The llama is somewhat taller than the alpaca, and though in some respects a remarkable animal, its peculiarities are not such as to render it so especially interesting as the alpaca, for purposes of practical utility, out of its native regions. The alpaca, which it is proposed to domesticate in Britain, is an animal combining the appearance of the common European sheep with that of the goat, and partly of the deer and camel. Like the sheep, the alpaca is lanigerous or wool-coated; in its general structure it is light, and possesses limbs adapted for springing and leaping like the goat; it resembles the deer in skin, flesh, and general appearance; and, though without the camel's deformities, it is gifted, like him, with patience and docility, being often used as a beast of burden by the natives of South America. The height of the alpaca is from three to four feet, when measured from the ground to the top of the back; the eyes are large, black, soft, and expressive; the animal has no horns; the neck is long, slender, curved backwards, and finely set; the head handsome, and the muzzle and ears lengthened; the hoof is horny and divided; the tail long, and resembling what is called a switch-tail; the body has a tapering towards the loins, resembling that of the greyhound; and, as regards other points, the alpaca has partly the characters of the sheep (its incisors on the lower jaw, for example, and six molar teeth on each side), and partly those of the camel (the most remarkable being a similar reservoir in the stomach for fluids, suiting the creature to an arid climate). To common observers, the alpaca might seem to be a fine tall goat, with a small head and no horns, but of more gentle and fleecy appearance than that animal. The wool of the alpaca forms, of course, a point of peculiar importance, taking into view the proposal for introducing the animal into Great Britain. The colour of the wool varies considerably, the majority of the tribe being of a tint intermediate between black and brown, while others are of a pure white. The texture is admitted on all hands to be peculiarly fine. In a memoir on this subject, written by Mr W. Walton, and printed for the Natural History Society of Liverpool, fleece, and as he never perspires, like the ordinary sheep, he is not so susceptible of cold. There is therefore, no necessity to smear his coat with tar and butter, as the farmers are obliged to do with their flocks in Scotland-a process which, besides being troublesome and expensive, injures the wool, as it is no longer fit to make into white goods, nor will it take light and bright colours. the wool is thus described :-" With the polite assist- Mr Walton alludes to the strong enamel on the Another material question is, could the alpaca live in this country? "Although delicate in appearance, the alpaca is, perhaps, one of the hardiest animals of the creation. His abstinence has already been noticed. Nature has provided him with a thick skin and a warm * Each bale averages from 85 to 90 lbs. upon it six inches long. A fine male alpaca, shorn three years ago, has at present a coat upon it from eighteen to twenty inches long, thus proving that the wool grows from six to eight inches yearly, if regularly shorn. Speaking of the practicability of introducing the Peruvian sheep more generally, in a letter addressed to William Danson, Esq., of Liverpool, who, accompanied by a friend, visited Knowsley at the beginning of the current month [April], his lordship says, that he certainly knows of nothing likely to prevent the propagation of the animal in this country. On the contrary,' he adds, "the gentlemen will see in these grounds living specimens that they can and will do so, one female having produced in each of the two last seasons, and the young are doing well.' His lordship then expresses his anxious desire to obtain the remainder of the species, more especially the vicuna.' Already does this interesting animal adorn the pleasure-grounds of the Marquess of Breadalbane, at Aberfeldy, Perthshire; J. J. Hegan, Esq., Harrow Hall, Cheshire; Charles Tayleure, Esq., near Liverpool; Mr Stephenson of Oban, and others. The Duke of Montrose has lately become a purchaser of alpacas, and Earl Fitzwilliam has also bought a llama at L.80. Various isolated trials in other countries have proved equally successful." Messrs Ducrow, Wombwell, and other proprietors of menageries, have also kept specimens of Peruvian sheep, which have been at once wonderful for docility, and have lived healthily upon the usual food procurable for animals in Great Britain. From the tone in which this notice has been drawn up, it may be observed that the statements before us have been convincing in our eyes, in so far, at least, as regards the propriety of making fair and full experiments on the subject of the alpaca. This animal, we conceive, without infringing materially on the keeping of sheep, might prove the means of enlarging the profession of the pastoral farmer, and of varying, extending, and improving our manufactures. From the alpaca wool which we do procure at present, yarn is spun, which the French import at from 6s. to 12s. per lb. In conclusion, we give a few additional words from Mr Walton. "When we consider the great improvement which we have attained in sheep's wool, there is every reason to look for a similar success in that of the alpaca ; and in devising means to increase the productive power of the country, we ought never to forget that there have been periods in our history, when we were dependent upon foreign supplies for the raw material required for our woollen manufactures, and that the best way to be independent is not to be under the necessity of buying that which it is in our power to grow. The task of obtaining suitable breeds of the alpaca is by no means a difficult one; and in our attempts to naturalise them we ought to feel the more encouraged when we reflect on the recent changes in the growth and supplies of sheep's wool,* and how soon a farming stock propagates under judicious management. It must be equally borne in mind, that in using alpaca wool we are not competing with that of our own sheep, but rather with that of the Angora goat (mohair) and silk; and the manufacture, it has been ascertained, does not cost half so much as that of the latter." One other point calls for notice. Our present breeds of sheep are of essential importance as food to man. The flesh of the alpaca is spoken of as excellent by Acosta, Garcilasso de la Vega, and other writers on Peru. Of the various breeds of sheep on the Andes, "the alpaca (says Garcilasso de la Vega) is chiefly valued for its flesh." General O'Brien, an Irish gentleman in the Peruvian service, speaks of the flesh as "delicious," and likely also to improve much on the animal being placed on milder pastures than those of the Peruvian mountains. The flavour resembles that of venison, and, from all accounts, could not fail to command as fair a price in our markets as mutton, beef, or any other kind of meat. MR CARLETON'S TALES. MR CARLETON, author of "Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry," and a variety of other light and amusing works, is one of the many clever writers whom Ireland has the honour of producing within the last few years, and, what is fully more creditable, of encouraging and supporting-for he remains an Irishman in every sense of the word, and we believe no temptation would induce him to leave the beloved green isle which gave him birth. Carleton is allowed to be to Ireland what Burns was to Scotland, with the difference that his delineations of character are in prose instead of poetic verse. Others excel him in the elegances of style and power of invention, but not one is more intensely Irish-frisky, humorous, witty, and even pathetic, as suits his fancy, he discloses visions of the Irish heart and feelings which have never been surpassed by any author we are acquainted with. Being, withal, a modest and simpleminded man, we are glad to have an opportunity of referring to a series of tales which he has lately put forth as a new candidate for public approbation, and which we can recommend to readers of fiction.+ Were the present sheet less limited in dimensions, we should have willingly presented a specimen of the author's power of pathetic as well as comic description; but being confined in space, we offer an abridgement of one of his humorous pieces, which he entitles THE MISFORTUNES OF BARNEY BRANAGAN, Barney Branagan, one of the luckiest men that ever was persecuted by misfortune, was the son of a wealthy farmer, who, to his agricultural, or, we should rather say, his pastoral pursuits, added the mellow business * An instructive article on this subject will be found in the Polytechnic Journal for last October. The Fawn of Spring-Vale, the Clarionet, and other Tales, by William Carleton. 3 vols. Dublin: W. Curry, Jun. & Co. 1841. of a butter-merchant. Barney, when a boy, thought short-lived, for they soon found that, however the his father the greatest man (taking him merely as an good luck and the bad might be blended in his case, individual) in the parish; but as a butter-merchant, it uniformly turned out that, whilst the latter only he was certainly of opinion that a person of more im- fell to their share, fortune always enabled Barney portance could not exist. To deal in this golden com- somehow to retain the benefits of the former to himmodity was an office for which he felt an ambition self. altogether boundless. It was, in his imagination, state, authority, power. To go among the farmers' wives and daughters, with his hammer in one hand and his augur in the other, breaking off the covers of casks and turning cases about with the air of a man on whose word, eye, and taste, depended the character for cleanliness and industry of so many good women-the very thought was fascination! All greatness is relative, and, of course, known only by comparison. Barney early resolved to tread in the footsteps of his father, who, seeing he was created for no other purpose than to buy and sell butter, advanced him, after a few years, a small sum of money as capital, on which, in addition to a windfall to be heard of by and by, he commenced business in a spirit literally exuberant with delight. "And now we must disclose to our readers an untoward destiny that followed Barney, and occasioned him to be termed what is called in the country unlucky,' or, we should rather say, to be remarkable, even from his boyhood up, for a species of luck very difficult to be defined. Scarcely any thing he ever put his hand to prospered with that healthy description of good fortune which so frequently occurs to other men. Yet, somehow, it still happened that amidst the general sympathy usually expressed for his misfortunes, he was able always to wind up the matter with some happy and unexpected hit, that more than compensated him for all he lost or suffered. Still the unfavourable character had gone abroad upon him, and, notwithstanding that he generally came off, in the long run, as well, or perhaps better, than if no disaster had befallen him, yet, as the ill-luck was sure to be blazoned about, whilst perhaps very few were cognisant of the good, the consequence was, that the idea of blunder, and misfortune, and Barney Branagan, were inseparable. It was even with some apprehension that his father advanced him the very small capital he did a circumstance which he put off from time to time, until he saw that one of Barney's misfortunes proved nearly sufficient to enable him, without other assistance, to set up for himself. But to give the reader a notion of the kind of fortune which attended him, we will merely say, that at cards, for instance, he was always the object of ridicule, in consequence of the proverbial ill-luck with which he was attended, until near the conclusion of the play, when fortune, literally through his own blunders, enabled him to carry off a greater share of the winnings than any man present. He would play a card, for example, which no one, at all acquainted with the game, would think of playing; yet it almost always so fell out, that in that instance this card was precisely the only one that could win. Our readers may have seen this. But before we enter into the grand adventures which befell him during his first and only trip to Dublin, we must recount the misfortunes which, with his father's assistance, set him up in the butter trade for himself. It so happened that a neighbouring family, named Cassidy, remarkable for a high degree of integrity and an unsullied reputation, were making preparations to emigrate to America, in consequence, principally, of repeated acts of wildness and misconduct, which, in the person of one of their sons, entailed upon them such shame and disgrace as they did not wish to bear among those who knew them so well. [This reckless young man was left by his family when they sailed for America, and that he might not be absolutely destitute, his brothers gave him a cask of butter, which he sold to his acquaintance Barney. After fetching home his purchase, he became desirous of ascertaining the quality of the article, and opened the cask accordingly; what, however, was his vexation when he found that in the butter was imbedded a huge stone, and this feeling gave way to astonishment, when he saw a false bottom fall out, under which was visible a layer of butter, covered with yellow guineas to the amount of sixty-three.] This, in truth, was the cask in which the farmer's wife had secreted her private purse, and which she evidently intended to bring with the family to America; the butter being, we imagine, intended for their use, and the stone put in to prevent its being sold in mistake. Thus once more was Barney visited by one of his peculiar hits, and which, had he bought any other of the casks, could not have occurred to him as it did. Barney, on making this discovery, considered himself bound to transmit this money to those who had the proper claim upon it, as soon, at least, as their residence abroad could be ascertained; or he would have given five pounds out of his pocket to have discovered Jack-who now stood acquitted of fraud-to whom, as the representative of the family, he would gladly have restored it. In the mean time, for the present he might without much hesitation bring into practical effect a little appropriation clause of his own, especially as he held himself bound in conscience to return it whenever he could find an opportunity. Barney's family and friends became in time so well satisfied of the successful calamities which befell him, that he was sometimes requested to undertake the transaction of their business and the sale of their property and effects. This confidence, however, was but [The history of a transaction which Barney undertook to manage for his uncle, by selling for him a cart-load of wheat at a neighbouring market, is given in illustration of this singular mixture of bad and good fortune; but we pass it over by merely mentioning, that though Barney was completely cheated out of his wheat in the transaction, he was more than compensated by finding a pocket-book well stuffed with bank-notes, which by mistake had been put into the pocket of his greatcoat in the inn at which he lodged.] It was to no purpose that Barney puzzled himself by attempting to solve a mystery which nothing within the bounds of his knowledge enabled him to penetrate. Having quietly, and without suspicion, ascertained the amount of the notes, by bringing them in small parcels to be examined by different people, he laid them by for a while, judging that the person who lost them would of course use every possible effort for their recovery. Week after week, however, and month after month passed on; but whether any public inquiry had been set on foot was more than came to his ears. Two circumstances might easily account for this, that is, his inability to read, and the remoteness of the neighbourhood in which he lived-a neighbourhood where a newspaper was looked upon at that period as one of the rarest literary curiosities that could be mentioned. In the mean time, as in the case of Mrs Cassidy's little hoard, he deemed it no harm to make it fructify a little by industriously turning a portion of the capital thus fortunately sent him to some account. He accordingly entered into the butter business so eagerly and extensively, that it was only now it might properly be asserted that he was a bona fide butter-merchant at all. He certainly went on blundering most successfully, adding pound to pound by his mischances, and increasing in wealth and a character for being unlucky as he advanced in life. One thing we cannot help making the reader acquainted with : in the course of a couple of years, on reflecting that were it not for the trip he took to oblige his uncle, he would have come in for no such windfall as the pocket-book, he considered himself bound in honour to make full compensation for the loss of his wheat, an act of generosity which raised him very much in the good opinion of that worthy man, as no doubt it will in that of our readers. Having thus shown how misfortune stood his friend and raised him to independence and an unlucky name, we will pass over a considerable portion of his life, and wind up by an account of his first trip to Dublin and his last adventure as a butter-merchant. We pretermit his marriage, which, by the way, was also a very fortunate calamity to him, on receiving a legacy of three hundred pounds left his wife by an old aunt who was a cook to an absentee nobleman. The reader must now consider him the father of a fine family, his eldest son being twenty-two years of age, just ready to step into his father's shoes, and the stout hale father nearly as fresh-looking as ever, being now a wealthy man, and just as ready to resign them to him. It was on a fine breezy morning in the delightful month of August, that our friend Barney set out with two loads of butter, each cart covered, in good carmanlike fashion, with a strong tarpaulin. [Nothing extraordinary occurred to Barney on the way. His first adventure was meeting an old beggar man near the entrance to Dublin, and from whom, after a little chat, he received a recommendation to put up at the White Horse at Stoney Batter. Barney was about to proceed on his way, when a man dressed in a fustian jacket approached, bearing upon his shoulders a large and apparently weighty trunk, which he asked Barney to take in one of his carts to the White Horse. The mendicant seconded the request, and said the man would pilot him on the way to the inn. Barney was not ill to persuade; the trunk was placed on one of the carts, and the party proceeded into town]. Barney, on looking back, was struck with the cold sneer on the features of the weather-beaten beggar, and could not avoid observing to his companion, that he thought him a curiosity in his way. And a quare ould chap, too,' he added. Why,' said the other dryly, he is that. From day-break till afther the quality all pass to dinner, he seldom budges from that spot. Then he disappears, and it's odd, but nobody can tell what becomes of him nor where he goes. They say he's very rich. Numbers of the gentry that know him on his stand for years, give so much a-day, or so much a-week, not to mention what he gets from others.' The look of the old fellow, sinister and bitter as it was, haunted Barney's imagination in spite of himself, and clung to him with such tenacity, that for several minutes he was completely absorbed by the consideration of it. At length he resolved to ask his companion if he knew, or had ever heard any thing to the disadvantage of the inn in question; but on turning about to address him, he found that he had disappeared. By this time he had fairly entered the city, and it was of course a very easy thing for any one to turn a corner and give him the slip; but why the man should run away and leave his there,' he added, flinging down the old coat upon the 'You were robbed, Barney?' said the wife. You The honest purport of his journey proved fruitless; old O'Cullenan had been dead exactly three months upon the day that Barney discovered the contents his coat; or, to speak more plainly, the fury of his vengeance against Barney for taking his cloak, and the paroxysm of the old villain's despair at losing his money, caused a blood-vessel to burst, and he was in less than a week a very interesting subject in the hands of the surgeons. Of his lineage or relatives Barney could get no clue whatsoever a circumstance which rendered it probable that the wretch went under a false name. Barney and his friends returned home, where he sat down to enjoy life in the repose of a happy old age. free from care, full of benevolence and charity, and ever willing and able to aid a friend in distress. It was often his custom to amuse his neighbours and beguile the long evenings with a history of the adventures we have so imperfectly narrated; and so generally did they become known in the course of time. that the last of his misfortunes grew into a proverb; so that to be as full of money as O'Cullenan's coat,' is a saying well known in a certain part of Ireland, even to the present day." Throw it in the fire-burn it to ashes!' said his wife, transferring to the coat the indignation which she felt against the robbers; 'don't be keepin' it here to put us in mind of what we've lost; and she was about to execute her own sentence to the letter. 'Aisy,' said Barney, 'aisy a bit. No, whatever CONDITION OF A CLUSTER OF HIGHLAND happens, I'll keep this very coat in the family, jist to tache my childlier and grandchildher what an unlucky boy their ould fool of a father was, when he should go all the ways to Dublin to sell his butther, instead of sellin' it nearer home.' All was right. In a moment's time he backed himself out, got his foot upon the upper ledge of the lower window, twisted himself round, so as to leap down with his face to the street, which he did without any serious injury. He immediately set off at full speed, having only his shirt and small-clothes on; but as he was almost ignorant of the streets, and the directions in which they led, nearly an hour elapsed before he found himself on the way to the Park. He was questioned and about to be stopped by two or three watch-ney's sleeping-room, as a lesson to his children and men; but, on assuring them, in breathless haste, that he was going for a midwife, they had too much national gallantry to make further inquiries or retard his progress upon such an interesting message. He had not passed far through the park gate, when the first person-indeed the only one-he saw was the mendicant, who, hearing his quick tread and rapid breathing, turned round with his usual bitter sneer to see who it was. "What? what? eh, how is this? What's wrong? Are you attacked?' Barney seized him like lightning with the gripe of a vice, and whipping out the iron skewer which pinned on his old greatcoat, dragged it off him before he had a moment's time for resistance or remonstrance. 'I gave you the price of a betther coat,' said he, and in the mane time I'll borrow this. You can get another with my money. A fair exchange is no robbery. And now may my curse light down upon Dublin, and you, and every man, woman, and child, that's in it.' The old man attempted to run after him, but he became for a short time quite paralysed, and could not get out a word. At length he uttered scream after scream, so wild and sharp, that Barney, going at full speed as he was, could not avoid turning round to look at him. His gestures of menace were frantic, convulsive, spasmodic; his keen eyes glittered with the concentrated venom and lustre of fifty rattlesnakes; the foam was white upon his lips as he uttered one imprecation after another, each deepening in Satanic bitterness and malignity. "Take it aisy,' shouted Barney over his shoulder; 'my conscience doesn't throuble me. When I'm cotch in Dublin again, you'll rob me among you, that's all. Divil saize the whole of ye.' On coming to the turn of the road that brought him out of the mendicant's sight, he again looked back, but the old fellow no longer stood. He was lying on the ground grasping at the earth, and kicking his limbs about after the manner of an ill-tempered boy, who, for his perversity, has been deprived of some plaything on which he had set his peevish and selfwilled heart. * That Barney was forced to throw himself upon the kindness and hospitality of his warm-hearted countrymen, it is scarcely necessary to state to our readers, who know the destitute condition in which he travelled. He got, however, an old hat from one farmer, and a pair of half-worn shoes from another, and would have got a better coat than that of the mendicant, but he declined to accept it. I'll not part wid it,' said he, in regard that it's all I have to show for my butther, my horses, and my carts. An' God he knows it's an ugly witness to a bad bargain. Mavrone, this day, but I'm the nice unlucky boy, wid this upon my back!' At length he reached home, and as he approached the house, he knew by the hour of the day and the appearance of the place, that the family were at dinner, and that he should be forced to suffer the mortifica tion of meeting them together, and bearing either their combined ridicule or anger. What on earth to do he knew not. For twenty minutes he kept lounging and skulking about, in the garb of some sturdy overgrown beggar blade, who might be manoeuvring to steal something off the premises. This, however, was all in vain; for after sliding up to the door, with as much apparent sheepishness as a country lad or wench going to dance in public for the first time, he was detected by his youngest son, in the act of stretching his neck to look into the window of his own bedroom, through which he intended if possible to enter unseen. Barney,' asked the wife, tell us at wanst, man, what happened you? You'll hear it time enough; in the mane time, The coat was accordingly hung up on a peg in Bartheir descendants, that the air of Dublin was not exactly the atmosphere in which they should attempt to thrive. One evening, just three months after his luckless return from the metropolis-of which unfortunate day it was the anniversary-Barney was sitting at home taking a glass of punch with his brother, his uncle, and a neighbour or two, one of whom, by the way, was a butter-merchant like himself, who had returned only about a week before from Dublin. This circumstance caused the conversation to turn on the far-famed city, and ultimately induced Barney to narrate the full particulars of his disastrous speculation and journey to it. 'The worst fortune ever I met with,' said he, always was sure to have a twist for the betther towards the heel o' the hunt; but divil a thing's left for me here but an ould cothamore that you'd not dirty your feet upon the muddiest day in winther. Mavrone, oh, but it's I that was the unlucky boy in that whole business !' 'Arra! let us have a sight of the price o' your butther, Barney,' said the butter-dealer; 'begad, it must be a valuable coat to be worth so much-ha, ha, ha! Maybe if you set it up to auction you'd get the worth o' it-ha, ha, ha!' This made the mirth very general and loud at his expense, especially with his rival, who took great pleasure in leading the joke on this occasion. Folly on,' said Barney, 'folly on-I own the laugh's fairly against me. How-and-iver the coat you shall see, sich as it is, the dirty thief.' He then went to the room where it hung, and immediately returned with a very long face, bearing the graceful object in his hand, amidst the loud laughter of all present; for even in Ireland a man can laugh at the misfortunes of his friend, provided they keep aloof from himself. There it is,' said he, holding it up and shaking the dust off it-there it is, an' the devil's weight's in it too; for it's as heavy as if it was lined with lead but-whisht! Tare an' age, what this?' On shaking the coat something fell upon the ground and jingled; but judge of his surprise when, on stooping to lift it, he found that it was a guinea. Whishit, he exclaimed; 'hould-will ye whisht?' At this moment they were every one silent as the He immediately proceeded to rip the coat, and, sooth Barney rejoiced at his good luck, but he also re- EMIGRANTS IN NEW SOUTH WALES. IN a late article on the destitute condition of the population of a large district of the Highlands, mention was made of the improvement which had taken place in the circumstances of a particular individual who had emigrated from Skye in 1837, and settled upon the property of Mr Lang, on Hunter's River in New South Wales. We are now able to present an account of the improved circumstances of the whole cluster of Highland emigrants to which that individual belonged. We derive our information from a private letter of the Rev. Dr Lang to Mr John Bowie, W.S., Edinburgh. It is first to be observed that these men were generally in the most wretched state before they left Skye. They were totally unable to pay their own passage-money, and consequently were carried out at the expense of the colonial emigration fund. Many of them had no property whatever besides their clothes, and some had to be assisted even with clothing, before they could undertake the voyage. One or two excerpts from the notices of the Skye parishes in the New Statistical Account of Scotland, will help to complete the idea of how these poor men and their families lived in their native island. We quote from the notices of several of the parishes, which are all in the same condition :-"The poor tenants are almost invariably under the necessity of having their cattle under the same roof with themselves, without partition, without division, and without a chimney; their houses, therefore, are smoky and filthy in the extreme, and, having little either of night or day clothing, and their children nearly approaching to absolute nakedness, they are fully as much without cleanliness in their persons as they are in their houses. No people on earth live on more simple or scanty diet than those in this parish. The greater number of them subsist on potatoes of the worst kind, sometimes with, but oftener without fish. * The inhabitants may be characterised as sober and active, but it must be admitted that they want that persevering industry which is necessary to improve their condition. The able-bodied among them, after their potatoes are planted in the end of spring, go to the south in search of employment. They return again at Martinmas, and their earnings go to pay the landlord's rents, and to support the weaker members of their families. The winter is almost altogether spent in idleness. There is no demand for labour in the parish, and hence there is only occasional exertion on the part of the people. As the summer's earnings are spent during the winter, there is seldom or never a fund laid up for sickness or old age, and when either of these comes, there is great poverty and privation. Their clothing consists of cloth of their own manufacture; this they find fitter to resist the weather than any manufactured in the south. Their food consists principally of potatoes. Oatmeal is a luxury among them, and butcher-meat is seldom tasted. Their poverty arises very much from overpopulation. There are 500 families in the parish. Of these only six pay upwards of L.50 yearly rent; 269 pay from L.10 to 7s. 6d. per annum; and there are 225 families, comprising upwards of 1100 individuals, located in different parts of the parish, who pay no rents, deriving their subsistence from small portions of land given them by the rent-payers for raising potatoes. These are a burden to the proprietor, inasmuch as they destroy the land in cutting fuel and turf, and are a grievous burden to the inhabitants generally, from the extent of pauperism prevailing among them. * The flocks of the large sheepowners are annually thinned by those who feel the pinching of famine; and to such an extent is this system carried now, that it has led to the proposal of establishing a rural police throughout the island, which is expected to come into immediate operationa measure completely unprecedented in the history of the Highlands." * * Such being the condition of vast numbers of people in the Highlands, it must be gratifying to every huemigrants has been improved, even within the first mane mind to learn how greatly the condition of our |