CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.

dress. Parties of the workmen of each nation made marriage presents, consisting of some piece of art or specimen of skill in their respective branches of workmanship; the English workmen alone looked idly on, and offered no mark of attention or civility.]”

The evidence of other manufacturers will form the subject of a subsequent article.

AN IRISH WEDDING.

WHEN the match is made, it becomes necessary for the bridegroom to obtain a certificate from the parish priest that he is free to contract marriage with any woman equally free from canonical bonds or impediments; to this a fee is always attached, we believe five shillings. He must also procure from the bishop or vicar-general, a license to marry, to which also a fee is attached, of seven shillings and sixpence. This being done, he repairs with his bride to the house of her parish priest, accompanied

You'll know her by her raven hair,
Her deep blue eye, her forehead fair,
Her step and laugh that banish care;

Come, come, come, my love, &c.

In form you may her semblance find,
But none like her, of womankind,
If you can see her heart and mind;
Come, come, come, my love, &c.
Oh, bring to me my Norah Fay,
For hours are days when she's away;
The sun looks dark, and sweet birds say,
Come, come, come, my love,
Come quietly, come-come stealingly
Beside the door and away with me,

And may my love come safe."

of the wounded blended with the funeral sounds around them.

In front were drawn up the dark legions of France; massive columns of infantry, with dense bodies of artillery alternating along the line. They, too, occupied a gently rising ground; the valley between the two armies being crossed half way by a little rivulet, and here, during the sultry heat of the morning, the troops on both sides met and mingled to quench their thirst, ere the trumpet again called them to the slaughter.

In a small ravine, near the centre of our line, was drawn up Cotton's brigade, of whom the fusileers bell's brigade, to the left of which, upon a gentle slope, formed a part. Directly in front of this, was Campthe staff were now assembled. Thither, accordingly, found myself among the generals of division, hastily I bent my steps, and, as I came up the little scarp,

by his and her friends, as many as they can muster, and, all the more timid part of the female guests slip out of summoned by Sir Arthur to deliberate upon a for

before he is married, pays down to the priest the marriage fee according to his circumstances. The friends of both parties are also called upon to pay down something; and between their reluctance to meet the demand, and the priest's refusal to marry them till he is satisfied, a scene, sometimes humorous and sometimes discreditable, often arises. If the bride's father or brother be a "strong" farmer, who can afford to furnish a good dinner, the marriage takes place at the bride's house, the bridegroom bringing with him as many of his friends as choose to accompany him. The same process as to money takes place here, and it is not uncommon for the collection to amount to twenty, thirty, and sometimes forty or fifty pounds, where the parties are comfortable, and have a long line of followers. The ceremony is in Latin what, or nearly what, the Church of England ceremony is in English, and the priest closes it by saying, wife the kiss of peace." A struggle often ensues for this "Give your kiss (the first kiss?) between some young wag of the party and the bridegroom-the latter generally surrendering it good-humouredly. The priests, in some instances, discountenance, and in others overlook, the practice. We have seen a priest give a severe slap on the face to a young fellow who attempted to snatch the kiss. The time most in favour for celebrating weddings is just before Lent. The guests are always numerous, and consist of all ranks, from the lord and lady of the manor, through the intermediate grades of gentlemen, "squireens," farmers, down to the common labourer-wives of course included. Perfect equality prevails on this occasion, and yet the natural courtesy of the Irish character prevents any disturbance of social order-every one keeps his place, while, at the same time, the utmost freedom reigns. The dinner is, as we have intimated, usually at the expense of the bride's family; and as nothing is spared in procuring the materials-and the neighbouring gentry allow their cooks, &c., to assist, and lend dinner services, &c.-it is always "got up" in the best style. The priest sits at the head of the table; near him the and the more respectable guests; the other guests occupy bride and bridegroom, the coadjutors of the clergyman, the remainder of the table, which extends the whole length of the barn, in which the dinner generally takes place.

In the course of the night, a collection is made for
generally continues till morning, when the first intima-
"the music," and another for the poor. The dancing
tion of breaking up is the dancing of the figure called
"Sir Roger De Coverley." As soon as that dance is over,
music striking up the quadrille air called " Voulez-vous
the barn to avoid the finale, which is as follows:-The
danser," a "gentleman" goes round with a handkerchief,
which he throws around the neck of any "lady" he
kisses her; then giving her the handkerchief, continues a
chooses, falls on his knees, gently pulls her down and
with any gentleman she likes, and giving him the hand-
kind of trot round the barn. The lady does the same
kerchief, catches the first gentleman by the skirts of the
coat, and trots after him around the barn. This is done
alternately by all present, until all the young men and
as in the play of Chickens come cluck." They then
women are trotting round, catching hold of each other
form a ring around the last person who has the handker-
chief, who selects a lady or gentleman, as the case may
be, and after another salutation, leads his or her partner
to a seat. This is done until the whole circle is broken
Mrs Hall's Ireland, now publishing in monthly parts.
up; and thus terminates a country wedding.-Mr and

BATTLE SCENE AT TALAVERA.

THE following vivid account of a stricken field in
modern warfare, is given in a lately published number
of the "Life of Charles O'Malley, the Irish Dragoon,
by Harry Lorrequer"*_an off-hand series of sketches
of a popular character.

for General Crawford, I did not reach Talavera till
Having been dispatched to the rear with orders
the morning of the 28th. Two days' hard fighting
had left the contending armies still face to face, and
without any decided advantage on either side.
of the morning was over.
When I arrived upon the battle-field, the combat
and the troops were at breakfast, if the few ounces of
It was then ten o'clock,
dignified by that name. All was, however, life and
wheat, sparingly dealt out amongst them, could be
animation on every side: the merry laugh, the pass-
the grass; and, except when a fatigue party passed by,
character of the soldiery, as they sat in groups upon
ing jest, the careless look, bespoke the free and daring
bearing some wounded comrade to the rear, no touch
of seriousness rested upon their hardy features. The
morning was indeed a glorious one: a sky of unclouded
liness. Far to the right, rolled on in placid stream
blue stretched above a landscape unsurpassed in love-
the broad Tagus, bathing in its eddies the very walls
of Talavera, the ground from which, to our position,
gently undulated across a plain of most fertile rich-
ness, and terminated, on our extreme left, in a bold
height, protected in front by a ravine, and flanked by
a deep and rugged valley.

ter of an hour, and when I presented myself to deliver
ward movement. The council lasted scarcely a quar-
my report, all the dispositions for the battle had been
decided upon, and the commander of the forces, seated
upon the grass at his breakfast, looked by far the most
unconcerned and uninterested man I had seen that
morning.

fore the aide-de-camp could announce me, called out,
He turned his head rapidly as I came up, and, be-
Well, sir, what news of the reinforcements?
"They cannot reach Talavera before to-morrow,
sir.'

"Then, before that we shall not want them. That will do, sir.'

So saying, he resumed his breakfast, and I retired, more than ever struck with the surprising coolness of the man, upon whom no disappointment seemed to have the slightest influence.

I had scarcely rejoined my regiment, and was giving line, and communicating with the several commandan account to my brother officers of my journey, when an aide-de-camp came galloping at full speed down the ing officers as he passed.

not guess at, for no word to fall in followed, and yet What might be the nature of the orders, we could it was evident something of importance was at hand. of Sir Arthur still being led up and down by the usual bustle appeared, and we could see the grey cob Upon the hill where the staff were assembled, no ungroom, with a dragoon's mantle thrown over him. the morning, lay stretched around upon the grass, and The soldiers, overcome by the heat and fatigue of every thing bespoke a period of rest and refreshment.

"We are going to advance, depend upon it,' said a has been a smart lesson to the French, and Sir Arthur young officer beside me; the repulse of this morning won't leave them without impressing it upon them.'

'Hark! what's that?' cried Baker; listen.'

wafted across the plain. It was from the band of a As he spoke, a strain of most delicious music came the notes swelled upwards yet fuller, and one by one seemed, in the calm stillness of the morning air, like French regiment, and, mellowed by the distance, it something less of earth than heaven. As we listened, the different bands seemed to join, till at last the whole air seemed full of the rich flood of melody.

We could now perceive the stragglers were rapidly line. The hoarse drum now beat to arms, and, soon falling back, while high above all other sounds, the after, a brilliant staff rode slowly from between two clanging notes of the trumpet were heard along the dense bodies of infantry, and, advancing some distance into the plain, seemed to reconnoitre us. A cloud of Polish cavalry, distinguished by their long lances and floating banners, loitered in their rear.

marries the young couple, and then the bridecake is Immediately on the cloth being removed, the priest brought in and placed before the priest, who, putting on his stole, blesses it, and cuts it up into small slices, which are handed round on a large dish among the guests, generally by one of the coadjutors. Each guest takes a slice of the cake, and lays down in place of it a donation for the priest, consisting of pounds, crowns, or shillings, according to the ability of the donor. After that, wine and punch go round as at any ordinary dinner-party. In the course of an hour or so, part of the range of tables is removed, and the musicians (consisting, usually, of a piper and a fiddler), who, during the dinner, had been playing some of the more slow and plaintive of the national airs, now strike up, and the dance immediately commences. First, single parties dance reels, jigs, and doubles.* Country-dances now succeed, in which, as in the single dances, priest and laic, old and young, rich and The Spaniards occupied the right of the line, conpoor, the master and his maid, the landlord and his tenant's daughter, as well as the landlord's daughter and necting with our troops at a rising ground, upon which his tenant's son-all join together without distinction. a strong redoubt had been hastily thrown up. The Yet it is pleasing to observe how the poor peasants fourth division and the guards were stationed here. stood silent and anxious spectators of the scene before

mans ;

of all, which might be called the key of our position.
Mackenzie and Hill holding the extreme left
In the valley beneath the latter were picquetted three
cavalry regiments, among which I was not long in
detecting my gallant friends of the twenty-third.

return, on such occasions, the condescension of their next to whom came Cameron's brigade and the Ger-
superiors with additional respect. During the intervals
of the dance, drinking is, or rather was, resumed; and
though on these occasions it was often carried to excess,
we never knew, nor ever met any one who knew, of any
thing like a quarrel taking place at a country wedding.
Indeed, we have seen people who, as the saying goes,
were "wicked in their licker" get intoxicated at these
joyous festivals without manifesting ill-temper-on the
contrary, they have been remarkably entertaining, as if
the general harmony had expelled the demon of discord.
Songs are also sung both in English and Irish.

a

The Irish words of one of them were given to us by friend, accompanied by a literal translation; we have endeavoured to return them to verse. They are sung to the well-known air, "Shule Aroon":

"Oh, have you seen my Norah Fay? She's left me all the sad long day,

Alone to sing a weary lay:

Come, come, come, my love,

Come quietly, come-come stealingly
Beside the door and away with me,
And may my love come safe.

*This last is a species of dance very difficult to describe it is, however, the male partner who "shows off" in it: the best idea we can give of it is, that it consists in striking the ground very rapidly with the heel and toe, or with the toes of each foot alter nately. The perfection of this motion consists, besides its rapidity, in the furor with which it is performed. A stranger, not hearing the music and seeing only the dancer, would be likely to imagine he was killing a rat; nor would it be very safe to have this dance performed by a stout fellow on a crazy loft.

face at each moment, I could not help feeling struck
As I rode rapidly past, saluting some old familiar
had raged there. The whole surface of the hill was
at the evidence of the desperate battle that so lately
one mass of dead and dying; the bear-skin of the
French grenadier lying side by side with the tartan of
the Highlander. Deep furrows in the soil showed the
track of the furious cannonade, and the terrible evi-

dences of a bayonet-charge were written in the
mangled corpses around.

The fight had been maintained without any inter-
mission from daybreak till near nine o'clock that
morning, and the slaughter on both sides was dread-
ful; the mounds of fresh earth on every side told of
the soldier's sepulchre, and the unceasing tramp of
the pioneers struck sadly upon the ear, as the groans

* W. Curry, Jun., and Co., Dublin. The first volume of this work appears now to be completed.

We had not time for further observation, when the Fall in, fall in there, lads!' resounded along the line. drums on our side beat to arms, and the hoarse cry, It was now one o'clock, and before half an hour the troops had resumed the position of the morning, and

them.

Upon the table land, near the centre of the French Joseph, around which a large and splendidly accoutred position, we could descry the gorgeous tent of King staff were seen standing. Here, too, the bustle and dark masses of the infantry seemed converging from excitement seemed considerable; for to this point the of attack. the extreme right, and here we could perceive the royal guards and the reserve now forming in column

by a powerful artillery and deep masses of heavy the dark dense ranks extended, the flanks protected From the crest of the hill down to the very valley, cavalry. It was evident that the attack was not to commence on our side, and the greatest and most intense anxiety pervaded us as to what part of our line was first to be assailed.

height, had been patiently observing the field of battle, Meanwhile, Sir Arthur Wellesley, who, from the Campbell's brigade, posted directly in advance of us. dispatched an aide-de-camp at full gallop towards As he passed swiftly along, he called out, You're in for it, fourteenth. You'll have to open the ball today.'

from the French boomed heavily through the still air. Scarcely were the words spoken, when a signal-gun The last echo was growing fainter, and the heavy smoke breaking into mist, when the most deafening thunder ever my ears heard came pealing around us : eighty pieces of artillery had opened upon us, sending a

very tempest of bullets upon our line, while, amidst the smoke and dust, we could see the light troops advancing at a run, followed by the broad and massive column in all the terror and majesty of war.

"What a splendid attack! How gallantly they come on!' cried an old veteran officer beside me, forgetting all rivalry in his noble admiration of our enemy.

The intervening space was soon passed, and the tirailleurs falling back as the column came on, the towering masses bore down upon Campbell's division with a loud cry of defiance. Silently and steadily the English infantry awaited the attack, and returning the fire with one withering volley, were ordered to charge. Scarcely were the bayonets lowered, when the head of the advancing column broke and fled, while Mackenzie's brigade, overlapping the flank, pushed boldly forward, and a scene of frightful carnage followed. For a moment a hand to hand combat was sustained; but the unbroken files and impregnable bayonets of the English conquered, and the French fled back, leaving six guns behind them. The gallant enemy were troops of tried and proved courage, and scarcely had they retreated when they again formed; but just as they prepared to come forward, a tremendous shower of grape opened upon them from our batteries, while a cloud of Spanish horse assailed them in flank, and nearly cut them in pieces.

While this was passing on the right, a tremendous attack menaced the hill upon which our left was posted. Two powerful columns of French infantry, supported by some regiments of light cavalry, came steadily forward to the attack. Anson's brigade was ordered to charge.

Away they went at top speed; but had not gone above a few hundred yards, when they were suddenly arrested by a deep chasm. Here the German hussars pulled short up; but the twenty-third dashing impetuously forward, a scene of terrific carnage ensued men and horses rolling indiscriminately together under a withering fire from the French squares. Even here, however, British valour quailed not; for Major Francis Ponsonby, forming all who came up, rode boldly upon a brigade of French chasseurs in the rear. Victor, who from the first had watched the movement, at once dispatched a lancer regiment against them, and then these brave fellows were absolutely cut to atoms; the few who escaped having passed through the French columns, and reached Bassecour's Spanish division on the far right.

and near across the wide plain, bespoke the track of
the fatigue parties in their mournful round; while
the groans of the wounded rose amid the silence with
an accent of heart-rending anguish so true was it,
as our great commander said, 'There is nothing more
sad than a victory, except a defeat.''

DISCOVERIES IN AUSTRALIA.

IN a late number of the Literary Gazette, there is a
communication from a correspondent in New South
made in that part of the world by a wandering Polish
Wales, which gives an account of certain discoveries
count. In the account is the following extract from the
readers:-
Port Philip Herald, which may be interesting to our

in Melbourne, of Count Streleski, the enterprising pedes"We have sincere gratification in announcing the arrival, Messrs Macarthur and Riley, from an exploratory tour trian naturalist, and his friends and compagnons de voyage, through the terra incognita on the south-east coast of New South Wales, in the course of which they have made several highly important discoveries, and have undergone excessive privations. Some interesting particulars of the journey, gleaned in conversation with the travellers, we hasten to lay before our readers, and we hope to be able very shortly to publish a more detailed account of the important discoveries they have made. The present tour was undertaken by Count Streleski, in continuation of those geognostic and mineralogical remiles, within the limits of the colony, and now induced searches which had previously carried him over 2000 him to start from the Murrumbidgee, to explore the unknown, and by white men untrodden, territory lying between the Hume and the south-eastern coast of New South Wales. At Ellerslie, a station belonging to H. H. Macarthur, Esq., M.C., the count was joined by Mr James Macarthur and Mr Riley, both of whom were eager to share with the count in the toils and gratifications of such an undertaking. The party seems to have started well provided with provisions and pack-horses, and all well mounted excepting the count, who having with him a considerable number of valuable instruments necessary for the prosecution of his observations, which, greatest care of carriage, preferred pursuing his journey on account of their delicate construction, required the party descended into the beautiful valley of the Hume, on foot, with his budget on his back. From Ellerslie the or Murray, and followed its picturesque windings for about fifty miles. Here the travellers encamped. The count and Mr Macarthur ascended the Australian Alps; and on the 12th of February, about noon, they found themselves sitting on the most elevated peak of Australia, at the height of 7800 feet above the level of the sea, beyond the reach of vegetation, surrounded by perpetual snows, with a serene and lucid sky above them, and besquare miles. On the summit of the Alps, Count Strelow, an unbroken view over an extent of about 4000 The guards waited without flinching the impetuous observations; the trigonometrical survey, which the leski secured many valuable meteorological and magnetic rush of the advancing columns; and, when at length count had begun and carried on from the Murrumbidgee, within a short distance, dashed forward with the received new supports from this predominant point; bayonet, driving every thing before them. The French valuable materials for future publication were also obfell back upon their sustaining masses, and, rallying intained in aid of the count's barometrical survey, and his an instant, again came forward, supported by a tre- geognostic and mineralogical investigations. From the mendous fire from their batteries. The guards drew Snowy Range, retracing their steps for about thirty miles back, and the German legion, suddenly thrown into to the westward, the party struck for the south, through a confusion, began to retire in disorder. This was the broken and uninhabited country, opening, as it were, by most critical moment of the day; for, although suctheir first track, perhaps a future communication with cessful upon the extreme right and left of our line, the Murray. Arrived at Omeo, the country afforded our centre was absolutely broken. Just at this monew and ample harvest of observation and gratification, ment Gordon rode up to our brigade: his face was from its peculiar geognostic character, and connecting links of the survey. In three days' journey from Omeo, pale, and his look flurried and excited. range, and in four days more found themselves in a new in a south-east direction, the party crossed the dividing and splendid country, clothed with the richest pasture, and intersected with numerous rivers-an immense inland lake and its ramified lagoons-in fact, opening up in every direction fresh fields for the operations of the settler, such as no other part of the colony, which had come under the observation of the travellers, presented. The country, from latitude 37 degrees 10 minutes south, assumed the most cheering and gratifying aspect; but the rivers which beset the country from north-west to whose provisions now began to fail. south-east greatly retarded the progress of the travellers,

During this time, the hill was again assailed, and even more desperately than before, while Victor himself led on the fourth corps to an attack upon our right

and centre.

"The forty-eighth are coming: here they are; support them, fourteenth.'

These few words were all he spoke; and the next moment the measured tread of a column was heard behind us. On they came like one man, their compact and dense formation looking like some massive wall. Wheeling by companies, they suffered the guards and Germans to retire behind them, and then re-forming into line, they rushed forward with the bayonet. Our artillery opened with a deafening thunder behind them; and then we were ordered to charge. We came on at a trot: the guards, who had now recovered their formation, cheering us as we proceeded. The smoke of the cannonade obscured every thing until we had advanced some distance; but just as we emerged beyond the line of the gallant fortyeighth, the splendid panorama of the battle-field broke suddenly upon us.

a

'Charge forward!' cried the hoarse voice of our colonel, and we were upon them. The French infantry, already broken by the withering musketry of our people, gave way before us, and, unable to form square, retired fighting, but in confusion, and with tremendous loss, to their position. One glorious cheer from left to right of our line proclaimed the victory, while a deafening discharge of artillery from the French replied to this defiance, and the battle was over. Had the Spanish army been capable of a forward movement, our success at this moment would have been much more considerable; but they did not dare to change their position, and the repulse of our enemy was destined to be all our glory. The French, however, suffered much more severely than we did; and, retiring during the night, fell back behind the Alberche, leaving us the victory and the

battle-field.

The night which followed the battle was a sad one. Through the darkness, and under a fast-falling rain, the hours were spent in searching for our wounded comrades amid the heap of slain upon the field; and the glimmering of the lanterns, as they flickered far

bread, which, notwithstanding the allowance had been greatly restricted, did not last longer than four days from this time. From this place, the count and his companions took, and at all hazards maintained, a direct course to Western Port, in the hope of bringing their sufferings to a close as speedily as possible; but, unfortunately, this course led them for days together through a dense scrub, which it was almost impossible to penetrate. The party was now in a most deplorable condition. Messrs Macarthur and Riley, and their attendants, had become so exhausted as to be unable to cope with the difficulties which beset their progress. The count

hands on half rations (a biscuit and a slice of bacon per On the 6th of April, it was determined to place all day), but new difficulties and new delays soon rendered it evident that, even with this precautionary measure, it would be impossible to make the stock of provisions last out the journey. The greatest impediment the travellers had to contend with was the exhausted state of their horses; each day saw one or other of the party dismounted, to follow the count on foot; but this, far from removing, only increased the impediments to their progress, for the men, unaccustomed to walk, like the horses, began to feel the effects of the wear and tear of the journey. In this situation, it became necessary for the their original intention of prosecuting their researches as travellers to relinquish (which they did with regret) far as Wilson's Promontory, and thence, commencing the exploration of the sea-coast, its inlets and outlets; and to take, instead, the straight course for Western Port, the nearest point whence fresh supplies could be obtained. The open forests, plains, and valleys, through which the party, if well supplied with provisions, might have travelled at leisure, had now to be exchanged for a rocky and mountainous path, through which a passage could not be effected without infinite difficulty. The horses, now completely exhausted, served more to retard than to accelerate the progress of the travellers, and they were finally obliged to abandon them in a valley of tolerbeyond Western Port; here also they were forced to able pasture and well watered, about seventy-five miles leave the packs with the men's wearing apparel, and the count's mineralogical and botanical collection, taking with them only their blankets and the residue of their

being more inured to the fatigue and privations attendant hospitable interior, alone retained possession of his upon a pedestrian journey through the wilds of our instrength; and, although burdened with a load of instruthrough an almost impervious tea-tree scrub, closely to pioneer his exhausted companions day after day ments and papers of forty-five pounds weight, continued and reeds. Here the count was to be seen breaking a interwoven with climbing grasses, vines, willows, fern, passage with his hands and knees through the centre of the scrub-there throwing himself at full length among his body a pathway for his companions in distress. Thus the dense underwood, and thus opening by the weight of the party, inch by inch, forced their way, the incessant rains preventing them from taking rest by night or day. journey, consisted only of a very scanty supply of the Their provisions, during the last eighteen days of their flesh of the native bear or monkey, but for which, the only game the country afforded, the travellers must have travellers describe as somewhat of the toughest, was but perished from utter starvation. This food, which the altogether insufficient for the maintenance of the health scantily obtained, and the nutriment it afforded was and strength necessary for undergoing such fatigue. their horses, the travellers came in sight of Western Port, On the twenty-second day after they had abandoned the water, on which a small vessel was riding at anchor, and the sensations which were created by the first view of and the blue smoke curling among the trees, may be more easily imagined than described. It was upon Mr Berry's tent the party had stumbled, and to his hospitality and kind attention to their wants they owe their recovery to health and vigour. Messrs Macarthur and Riley acknowStreleski, to whom, under Divine Providence, they attriledge themselves to be under great obligations to Count artificial horizon, the state of the weather was such, that bute their safety. Although furnished with sextant and during the last twenty-two days, notwithstanding the muth could only twice be ascertained; but such attenutmost exertion of the travellers, the latitude and azition was paid to the variations of the compass, and laying down the course upon the chart, that the latest observa

tion did not differ from the meridian of Western Port
more than two miles.

opportunity will be afforded for the inspection of the
In the course of a few days, the public may expect a
more circumstantial narration of the journey, and an
chart of the new and valuable country, which the count,
Gipps' Land. We have much pleasure in stating, that,
in honour of his excellency the governor, has designated
in the opinion of Count Streleski, there exists no impedi-
ment to the immediate occupation of Gipps' Land, by
the enterprising settlers of Port Philip, and that it is
Maneroo, or the Omeo country. The brilliant prospects
much more easy of access from Melbourne than from
(hitherto considered barren) region lying between Aus-
which the discovery of so splendid a country in the
tralia Felix and the outer coast stations of New South
Wales, opens up to this province, must be obvious to all;
and we trust Count Streleski and his gallant companions
will not be allowed to leave Melbourne without some
public testimonial of the approbation of the colonists."

The announcement of the above, we are told, created graziers, who foresaw a new prospect of abundance in a considerable sensation in the minds of Australian the rich pastoral districts which had been made known. circumstance, that, after a possession of half a century, For our part, we cannot but esteem it a very remarkable the British are only now for the first time discovering the nature of the country. Australia, large as it is, should have been long since generally surveyed and

mapped.

TAGLIONI, THE DANCER.

all merits the least meritorious-is actually fêted throughThis woman, whose sole merit is that she dances well-of out Europe; received at the table of emperors and empresses, hussared by counts; presented with a purse of diamonds by one super-opulent fool, and with a chariot, with solid silver spokes to its wheels, by another; demanding for a few nights of pirouetting and bounding at the Italian Opera, a sum which would feed the peasantry of a province for a month; amassing money which might raise the drooping sculpture, painting, music, and literature of an empire. What was the engagement which Taglioni had the modesty to demand at the theatre of Drury Lane? One hundred pounds a-night for herself three nights a-week, and six hundred pounds to be paid dred pounds to her brother and sister to dance with her; for the services of her father as ballet-master; nine hunwith two benefits to herself, guaranteed to her at six guaranteed at two hundred pounds-in all, six thousand hundred pounds; one-half a benefit to her brother, pounds! All this is monstrous; it actually disgusts the mind to think of such sums lavished on a parcel of jumpers-even the cffrontery of the demand is offensive. Here is a knot of the meanest of mankind-the very dross of Parisian life-actually think their caperings worthy of being paid at a rate which the liberality of a nation has scarcely ever offered to their greatest benefactors. The noble poet, the most profound philosopher, the greatest mechanical inventor, the most gallant soldier, all would which these vulgar contributors to the Italian Opera be regarded as exorbitantly over-paid by half the sum think themselves entitled to demand, and, by the prodigal folly of fashion, actually obtain.-Blackwood's Mag.

SCRAPS FROM AMERICAN PAPERS.*

ECONOMY IN A FAMILY.

There is nothing which goes so far towards placing young people beyond the reach of poverty, as economy in the management of their domestic affairs. It matters not whether a man furnish little or much for his family, if there is a continual leakage in his kitchen or in the parlour; it runs away he knows not how, and that demon waste cries more, like the horse-leech's daughter, until he that provided has no more to give. It is the husband's duty to bring into the house, and it is the duty of the wife to see that none goes wrongfully out of it-not the least article, however unimportant in itself, for it establishes a precedent-nor under any pretence, for it opens the door for ruin to stalk in, and he seldom leaves an opportunity unimproved. A man gets a wife to look after his affairs, and to assist him in his journey through life; to educate and prepare his children for a proper station in life, and not to dissipate his property. The husband's interest should be the wife's care, and her greatest ambition carry her no farther than his welfare or happiness, together with that of her children. This should be her sole aim, and the theatre of her exploits in the bosom of her family, where she may do as much towards making a fortune, as he can in the countingroom or the workshop. It is not the money earned that makes a man wealthy-it is what he saves from his earnings. A good and prudent husband makes a deposit of the fruits of his labour with his best friend, and if that friend be not true to him, what has he to hope? If he dare not place confidence in the companion of his bosom, where is he to place it? A wife acts not for herself only, but she is the agent of many she loves, and she is bound to act for their good, and not for her own gratification. Her husband's good is the end to which she should aim his approbation is her reward. Self-gratification in dress, or indulgence in appetite, or more company than his purse can well entertain, are equally pernicious. The first adds vanity to extravagance, the second fastens a doctor's bill to a long butcher's account, and the latter brings intemperance, the worst of all evils, in its train.

SLIPPERS.

The best slippers are a pair of old shoes; the worst, those of plaited cloth or list, which make the feet tender from undue warmth, and when taken off in the cold weather create chilblains. To keep the feet warm, there is in reality but one good and wholesome expedientbrisk exercise.

UNIFORMITY OF NATURE.

The lark now carols the same song and in the same key, as when Adam first turned his enraptured car to catch the moral. The owl first hooted in B flat, and it still loves the key, and screams through no other octaves. In the same key has ever ticked the death-watch; while all the three noted chirps of the cricket have ever been in B, since Tubal Cain first heard them in his smithy, or the Israelites in their ash-ovens. Never has the buzz of

does now.

the gnat risen above the second A; nor that of the housefly's wing sunk below the first F. Sound had at first the same connexion with colour as it has now; and the right angle of light's incidence might as much produce a sound on the first turrets of Cain's city, as it is now said to do on one of the pyramids. The tulip, in its first bloom in Noah's garden, emitted heat, four and a half degrees above the atmosphere, as it does at the present day. The stormy petrel as much delighted to sport amongst the first billows which the Indian Ocean ever raised, as it In the first migration of birds, they passed from north to south, and fled over the narrowest part of the seas, as they will this autumn. The cuckoo and the nightingale first began their song together, analogous to the beginning of our April, in the days of Nimrod. Birds that lived on flies laid bluish eggs in the days of Joseph, as they will two thousand years hence, if the sun should not fall from his throne, or the earth not break her harness from the planetary car. The first bird that was caged oftener sung in adagio than in its natural spirit. Corals have ever grown edgeways to the ocean stream. Eight millions two hundred and eighty thousand animalculæ could as well live in a drop of water in the days of Seth as now. Flying insects had on their coats of mail in the days of Japhet, over which they have ever waved plumes of more gaudy feathers than the peacock ever dropped. The bees that afforded Eve her first honey made their combs hexagonal; and the first house-fly produced twenty millions eighty-three hundred and twenty eggs in one year, as she does at present. The first jump of the first flea was two hundred times its own length, as it was the last summer. There was iron enough in the blood of the first forty-two men to make a ploughshare, as there is to-day, from whatever country you collect them. The lungs of Abel contained a coil of vital matter one hundred and fifty-nine feet square, as mine; and the first inspiration of Adam consumed seventeen cubic inches of air, as do those of every adult reader. The rat and the robin followed the footsteps of Noah, as they do ours.

EPITAPH ON A MR PECK.

Here lies a Peck, which some men say
Was first of all a Peck of clay;

This, wrought with skill divine, while fresh,
Became a curious Peck of flesh.
Through various forms its maker ran,
Then adding breath, made Peck a man.
Full fifty years Peck felt life's bubbles,
Till death relieved a Peck of troubles;
Then fell poor Peck, as all things must,
And here he lies, a Peck of dust.

THE VINE AND THE OAK.

A vine was growing beside a thrifty oak, and had just
reached that height at which it requires support. "Oak,"
said the ivy vine," bend your trunk so that you may be
a support to me." "My support," replied the oak, "is
naturally yours, and you may rely on my strength to bear
you up, but I am too large and too solid to bend. Put
your arms around me, my pretty vine, and I will manfully
support and cherish you, if you have an ambition to
climb, even as high as the clouds. While I thus hold
you up, you will ornament my rough trunk with your
pretty green leaves and shining scarlet berries. They
will be as frontlets to my head, and I shall stand in the
forest like a glorious warrior, with all his plumes. We
were made by the Master of Life to grow together, that
by our union the weak should be made strong, and the
strong render aid to the weak."
"But I wish to grow independently," said the vine;
"why cannot you twine around me, and let me grow up
straight, and not be a mere dependant upon you?"
"Nature," answered the oak, "did not so design it. It
is impossible that you should grow to any height alone, and
if you try it, the winds and rain, if not your own weight,
will bring you to the ground. Neither is it proper for
you to run your arms hither and thither among the trees.
The trees will begin to say, 'It is not my vine-it is a
stranger-get thee gone, I will not cherish thee.' By this
time thou wilt be so entangled among the different
branches, that thou canst not get back to the oak; and
nobody will then admire thee or pity thee."

THE BRIDE.

The writings of Irving abound in pictures, which, for delicacy, taste, and truth, are not surpassed by any writers in the English language. The following is an exquisite passage:-"I know no sight more charming and touching than that of a young and timid bride, in her robes of virgin white, led up trembling to the altar. When I thus behold a lovely girl, in the tenderness of her years, forsaking the house of her fathers and the home of her childhood, and, with the implicit confidence and the sweet self-abandonment which belong to woman, giving up all the world for the man of her choice-when I hear her, in the good old language of the ritual, yielding herself to him for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and obey, till death us do part-it brings to mind the beautiful and affecting devotion of Ruth: Whither thou goest I will be my people, and thy God my God."" go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shall

BRAHAM'S FIRST CONCERT.

Long before the doors opened, a dense crowd surrounded the entrance to the Tabernacle; and, by eight o'clock, between two and three thousand people were seated in breathless silence to hear the great Braham, whose reputation in London as first tenor, both in sacred and secular music, has been undisturbed for the last forty-five years. The overture to the Messiah was ably performed by Dr Hodges on the organ, which, however, is not one of the best specimens of Erben's manufacture; after which Mr Braham made his first appearance before an American audience. The applause and cheering with which he was greeted had a visible effect upon his nerves, for he commenced, although an experienced artist of years, trembling and rather flat; but he soon rallied and became himself. His first tender and expressive cadence was received with a feeling of surprise which seemed too great for utterance; but, when he once showed the full power of his wonderful voice, there was no controlling the enthusiasm of the auditors, and a burst of applause took place, such as has been seldom heard in the Tabernacle. "Thy rebuke hath broken his heart," brought tears into the eyes, in spite of many a manly struggle not to show such weakness; but "Thou shalt dash them in pieces," was a perfect tornado of tone, and a volume of voice to which there appeared to be no end. His crescendo, at the end, was the most extraordinary musical effort we ever listened to. It appeared as if a thousand mortals were dashed into pieces like a potter's vessel; in short, each effort was crowned with increased effect and astonishment. In his "Jephtha's rash Vow," no one can imagine any thing more expressive of the Give generously, my friends; not four-pence - half-heart-broken grief of a father than Mr Braham in the pennies, but run your hand into your pocket up to the words, "My only daughter-so dear a child!" and the elbow, and bring out a handful, as a sailor would do if struggle to sing "But Gilead hath triumphed o'er his you needed his aid.-Rev. Mr Taylor. foes;" again with convulsive sobs, "Therefore to-mor row's dawn," and the hopeless "I can no more," seemed almost too much to listen to. To say he has lost his powers, is ridiculous; his expression of feeling and tenderness he can never lose, for it was born with him, and will descend with him to the grave. His flexibility is the only point in which his age may be detected; in all other respects he is as full of freshness and vigour as when he was in the prime of life.-New York Mirror.

"Ah me," said the vine, "let me escape from such a destiny!" and with this she twined herself around the oak, and they both grew and flourished happily together.

ELOQUENCE.

Different styles of eloquence, each producing the de

sired effect:

Contribute liberally, my brethren; give such a sum as you would not be ashamed to place on the altar of heaven in presence of an assembled universe.--Bishop

Griswold.

A REVOLUTION.

In Shakspeare's time all the world was a stage, and all the men and women merely players. In ours all the world's a book, and all its population simply readers.

AMERICAN GENIUS.

genius and poetry were said to go hand in hand, and to
In England formerly (writes an English traveller),
be constant companions. Hence the old couplet,

"Poets and painters never can be fat--

Sons of Apollo, listen well to that."

But in America, at the present time, fact contradicts
this fable. Irving, Paulding, Halleck, Hillhouse, Cooper,
and other literary men, are independently rich, and there
are a number of artists who are wealthy. Forrest, the
tragedian, is thought to be worth a plum. He is the
only one of those we have just named, however, who
acquired his possessions by his profession; the others
obtained theirs in other avocations. Literature is not a
business in America-it is a pleasure; consequently,
most of her citizens are engaged in more profitable busi-
ness, such as commerce, banking, or trade. Bryant and
Willis, however, are editors of newspapers, and both
"prosperous gentlemen;" but Wetmore is a merchant,
Worth a broker, and Sprague the cashier of a bank.

EXCUSES FOR NOT GOING TO CHURCH.

Overslept myself; could not dress in time; too cold; too hot; too windy; too dusty; too wet; too damp; too sunny; too cloudy; don't feel disposed; no other time to myself; look over my drawers; put my papers to rights; letters to write to my friends; mean to take a walk; going to take a ride; tied to business six days in the week, no fresh air but on Sundays; can't breathe in church, always so full; feel a little feverish; feel a little chilly; feel very lazy; expect company to dinner; got a headache; intend nursing myself to-day; new bonnet not come home; torn my muslin dress coming down stairs; got a new novel, must be returned on Monday morning; wasn't shaved in time; don't like a liturgy, always praying for the same thing; don't like extemporary prayer; don't like an organ, 'tis too noisy; don't like singing without music, makes me nervous-the spirit willing, but the flesh weak; dislike an extemporary sermon, it is too frothy; can't bear a written sermon, too prosing; nobody to-day but our minister, can't always listen to the same preacher; don't like strangers; can't keep awake when at church-fell asleep last time I was there-shan't risk it again; mean to inquire of some sensible person about the propriety of going to such a public place as a church-will publish the result.

BRIEF CORRESPONDENCE.

Cooper says, I remember somewhere to have heard of
a gentleman who, by mere chance, strolled into a coffee-
house, where he met with a captain of his acquaintance
on the point of sailing to England, and from whom he

received an invitation to accompany him. This he ac-
cepted, taking care, however, to inform his wife of it,
which he did in these terms:

"DEAR WIFE, I am going to England. Yours, &c."
Her answer was not less laconic or tender:
"DEAR HUSBAND, A pleasant voyage. Yours, &c."

THE SPIRIT OF SOLOMON.

An honest old man endured heat and cold, and tilled his land in cheerfulness and hope. On a sudden a heavenly vision appeared before him, and he was afraid. Then the shape spoke-" I am Solomon. What art thou doing, old man ?" "If thou art Solomon, how canst thou ask?" inquired he. "Thou didst send me in my youth to the ant; I considered her ways, and learned to labour and to save, and do so still." "You learned only half the lesson," replied the shadow. "Go once more to the ant, and learn from her to rest in the winter of thy days, and to enjoy the fruits of thy labour."

DINBURGA

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,"

NUMBER 478.

MISPLACED PRIDE.

SOME years ago, a gentleman of the county of Essex,
in the course of a Scottish tour, was conducted by
an Edinburgh friend to an eminent station on the
Calton Hill, that he might have a panoramic survey
of all the beauties of the Modern Athens at once. The
southern gentleman was a good deal of a pococurante,
or,
if he had any particular likings, they were in
favour of his own country. When desired to re-
mark the picturesque hills around Edinburgh, he said,
"Oh, my dear sir, what are all your barren hills to
the fine corn-land of Essex ?" At length he turned
his eyes to the large county jail, so conspicuously
perched on a shoulder of the hill, and, being told what
was the object of the building, "Well," said he, deter-
mined on all hands to undervalue poor Scotland, "how
many criminals may you have here at a jail-delivery?"
"Why," said his cicerone, who was a barrister,
consider thirty or forty a considerable number to bring
at once before the High Court of Justiciary." "Thirty
or forty!" exclaimed the Essex man; "Lord bless you,
in Chelmsford we have often between three and four
hundred at an assizes!"

66

we

SATURDAY, MARCH 27, 1841.

quire "What fine building is that?" It is to be feared
that they rarely stop to reflect on the character and
situation of the parties to be accommodated in such
buildings, or bethink them how, by a different expen-
diture of the money, superior benefits might be se-
cured. It is rather the glory of the persons building,
than the good of the class for whom the building is
reared, that prompts the style of these structures.
There is a vague notion that it is creditable to the
public to have magnificent institutions, for whatever
end these may be. Hence, when any stranger visits
a town, he is sure to be saluted with-"Oh, you
must visit our infirmary," "our jail," "our lunatic
asylum," or whatever else; and this evidently not
from any notion that the internal arrangements com-
prehend any thing interesting, but simply because it
is a grand building and a great ornament to the place.

In a particular city, the name of which we shall
not mention, as our aim is not to censure particular
persons or public bodies, but a general failing or error,
there exist a considerable number of beneficiary es-
tablishments, some of which boast of an extraordinary
degree of external elegance. One of them, devoted
to the maintenance and education of between one and
two hundred boys, the children of persons in declin-
ing circumstances, is perhaps of all other buildings in
the town that which would most arrest the attention
and call forth the admiration of a stranger. There
are more than one British palace of inferior elegance.
In this case, rather oddly, the founder directed in his
will that the institution should be, if possible, formed
in a certain plain house then belonging to him; but,
after his death, his executors determined on rear-
ing the present magnificent mansion. Generally,
both testators and executors incline to the grand
style, the former being anxious for a monument, and
the latter being led away by the notion that nothing
of a homely character would suit the dignity of the in-
stitution. In the same city, there is an institution de-
voted to the maintenance and education of ninety-six
girls, the daughters of tradesmen in reduced circum-
stances, or who have died without leaving any pro-
vision for their families. The expense of lodging these
children is considerably higher in proportion than that
of lodging the families of independent persons in their
own grade. The cost of their present very handsome
house was L.12,250, which, at six per cent., gives an
annual rent of L.7, 13s. for each, the rents of most
entire families of their rank being not more than L.25.
Being anxious to illustrate still farther a subject in
which the interests of the unfortunate are much con-
cerned, we may advert to a third institution, the
managers of which have erred still more egregiously,
though, we believe, under the best intentions. It is
an asylum for orphan children, of whom eighty-six
are supported. The original plain building was in a
low situation, though not lower than one-half of the
houses of the poor in the same town, and much more
airy than most. Some years ago, an alarm was taken
respecting the health of the children, and, the evil
being attributed to the situation, it was resolved to
rear a new house in the outskirts of the town. This
new house cost nearly L.16,000! Every one admired
its elegance, and there was a general feeling of plea-
sure in thinking that poor orphans should be so well
cared for. But how does the case really stand? Each
of these children costs, for house-accommodation, L.11
per annum. Eleven pounds would pay for good cot-
tages, sufficient to accommodate four families, with the

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

house-room; but, let him be adopted by the public, he must cost as much as six-and-twenty persons of his own grade. Surely the child might be lodged in a manner perfectly healthful, without so great an expenditure as this. The health of the children in question was, after all, not certainly improved by the change of residence, for, ere four years had elapsed, it was necessary to consult physicians with regard to a wide prevalence of disease amongst them. The prescription now was what it probably ought to have been at first-an increase of generous diet. This was a most instructive circumstance. The large expenditure for ornamental buildings for the poor by no means forms a measure of the actual comfort enjoyed by them. Much may be spent for show, or for the credit of the public body concerned, while there may be undue parsimony on points of real importance.*

If we pause and consider for a little, we shall find that a vast number of other things which we are accustomed to feel proud of, or at least to regard with complacency, ought rather to be painful subjects of reflection. In our recollections of the history of our own country, which are the points that we regard with most pleasure? Are they not either those battles which we gained over neighbouring nations, or triumphs accomplished in national struggles by the party to which we consider ourselves, as individuals, attached? How strange that, in the retrospect of our country's career, we should dwell with peculiar satisfaction on such an affair as that at Agincourt, where we only aided an ambitious and inconsiderate monarch in the attempt to wade through innocent blood to a sovereignty with which he had nothing to do-or on such a transaction as that at the Boyne, where, admitting that the event was for the general advantage, still it was a business afflicting and deplorable in itself, and which caused a large section of our countrymen to be condemned, though unavoidably, to a painful subjection. However clearly, in the latter class of cases, it may be shown that the triumph has been on the right side, still it is a sad subject to have a triumph upon, and a generous spirit would feel that the sooner it were forgotten on both sides the better. Henry IV. could bear no congratulation, even at the moment, on victories gained over those who opposed him; but he is almost singular in this trait of magnanimity. Most men, and most parties, and most nations, can gain no triumph over their opponents, without fêting and anniversarying it for ever after. The detection of a frantic attempt at crime, on the part of a few individuals connected with a depressed party, is dinned into the ears of that party for centuries by annual ringing of bells and discharge of cannon. The defeat which finally broke the power of a hostile nation, is celebrated and commemorated in every possible way, long after the first sense of relief and triumph which it gave was past. We wonder and declaim at the symptoms of vengeful feeling which we see sparkling out occasionally in the vanquished parties, without once reflecting that, while we continue to remember our victory, it is natural for them to remember their defeat. On an enlarged view of the happiness of our species, party struggles, wars international and civil, and all that tends to rend mankind asunder, and make them snarl and fight, must be held as lamentable. The victor, at the best, protects himself from some evil that was threatened to him: he creates no positive good. The

We may laugh at this anxiety of the Englishman respecting what must appear as somewhat of a bad distinction; but is it not an error almost universal, to take a pride in such matters, or at least to act as if they were something to be proud of? Every considerable town in the kingdom has its public buildings, and it is two to one that the handsomest and most prominent of these are receptacles for poverty, disease, crime, or something else relating to the woes of our mortal condition. By far the most elegant public building in Manchester is the infirmary. The "hospitals" in London are generally imposing structures. So are the county jails every where-including, no doubt, that at Chelmsford.* Asylums for the insane and blind are sometimes placed in such situations, and reared of such materials and in such a style, as to have what is called an ornamental effect. We have even seen some good-looking workhouses. Penitentiaries of any thing like modern date are generally very tolerable in appearance, probably to render them the more attractive to those whom the public wishes to bring to repentance. We lately lighted upon a very goodlooking hospital for incurables, and our recollections of the exteriors of deaf and dumb institutions are all of a pleasing kind. If custom did not blind us, we could not fail to see these things in a different light from what we do. We would reflect that such institutions are called for, in order to remedy evils in our nature and social condition, and that to put them prominently forward, or to connect them with fine objects, is not, to say the least of it, in good taste. It would also appear by no means right or proper that that money should be expended on elegance, which might be so much better bestowed in extending the actual benefits of the institution to larger numbers. The reflections of those who rear structures of this order do not seem to involve such considerations. Their avowed reasonings on the subject are simply these "We are going to build a large edifice, let us by all means have a good plan; since it is to be a large and ornamental structure, let us put it in a place where it will be seen, and be an off-set to the town." It is, therefore, placed at the end of some spacious street, so as to terminate the vista, or else on some rising ground in the environs, so that every stranger entering the town must needs see it, and in- statistical quantity of children each (41), or twenty- great mistake in policy, if it were nothing else. It causes them

* Economising too much in the diet of pauper children is a

to grow up with weakly constitutions, so as to be the more likely to continue or to return as burdens on the public funds, or to become the parents of children also of weakly constitutions, and whom the public will have sooner or later to take charge of.

CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.

event is well for him; but the whole affair is discreditable to the nature common to both, and one party at least must suffer. Decency, then, and humane feeling, rather require that all such contentions should be immediately forgotten, than that they should be trumpeted in perpetuity. Suppose two individuals reconciled after a lawsuit, a duel, or any other unhappy dispute which they might have had, would it not be in the worst possible taste for the victor to take every opportunity of reminding his now peaceable adversary of his humiliation? Why should not a victorious political or religious party, or a victorious nation, after peace had been proclaimed, be equally guarded against every word or act tending to remind the defeated party or nation of its reverses, and to keep alive in it painful, and therefore vindictive feelings?

down.

man.

into the room as softly as she had opened the door.
ters then wringing the heart of her father. She stepped
before her, with the apparent intention of placing
and she advanced smilingly, with her hands held out
them upon the old man's eyes, and making him guess,
which the little hands would have rendered very, very
easy, who had surprised him so.
But suddenly she
saw M. Vermond, and a blush overspread her counte
and M. Vermond had an opportunity of seeing her
nance. For a moment or two she stood in confusion,
fully; but, though still blushing, she recovered herself
entered, putting her finger at the same time to her
so far as to retreat, which she did as softly as she had
lips, and begging the young man by that motion, and
by the smile accompanying it, not to tell her father
that she had intruded on his engaged moments.

nance that would have been very pleasing in a state of repose; but, at the moment under consideration, it which made it pale and red in quick alternations, was stirred by emotions of anger and haughty dislike, There was also a slight portion of triumph mingled evidently with these feelings. M. Charles Vermond was attired in deep mourning, and attired so elegantly, though with perfect plainness at the same time, that, bound upon a formal visit of respect. When M. Pernon but for other indications, one might have thought him mustered fortitude to cast a glance at his visiter, it seemed, from the sigh he gave, as if he concluded that all hope was fruitless, and that the creditor before him was determined upon showing no mercy. M. Pernon, nevertheless, placed a chair, and the visiter sat have not honoured your acceptance, sir." "So," said M. Vermond, after a cold pause, "you This apparition was that of a most lovely girl, just no," stammered the old merchant; "but believe me, "Alas, blooming into womanhood-a creature with light tresses and blue eyes, and a countenance mingling the sir, upon my honour"- "Yes, yes, I know what charming innocence of the girl with the intelligence Amongst the various ways of gaining a livelihood, you will say," said M. Vermond; "but learn, sir, that of womanhood. The sight of her made a strange it is somewhat remarkable that some of the most dig- it would, but thought not that it was so near." I heed it not. The hour of reprisal is come; I knew revulsion in the young man's feelings. It was not the nified relate not to services tending positively to in-prisal !" answered Michel Pernon; "reprisal! Ah, There was something nobler and better, at least, "" "Remere effect of beauty on a young and susceptible heart. crease human happiness, but only to prevent or al- sir, upon an old man, whom the chances of trade mingled with that impression. While the disconsoleviate evils which flow from human error. The alone have made your debtor. Reprisal! and you so law depends either on our direct mutual aggressions, young, so rich, so happy!" "I thank the chances angry creditor thought within himself, and for the late old merchant sat in silence by the fire, his lately or on the failure of the common intellect to discern that you speak of with all my soul," said the young first time, of all that his revenge, if indulged in, would the proper limits between men's respective rights. merchant, "since I was rich; my speculations were beauty, and simplicity, was it right, was it manly, was "It is but eight days," continued the ruined effect. That smiling creature, radiant with youth, Medicine owes its existence to errors, either of igno- promising, and my confidence had not been abused. it honourable, to cast a gloom over her path, and inrance or of unregulated will, with respect to the laws Ah, sir, the fall is great enough. I knew not that my volve her, who had never injured him, in the punishgoverning the economy of our animal frames. The paper was in your hands"glittering business of the soldier, which young men Yes," interrupted ment which another had incurred? Again, however, pant for as for a place in some glorious drama-which the continued presence of the merchant; "yes, your and reprobated his own weak relentings. But the the young man, whose anger seemed to increase with M. Vermond thought of his parents and their injuries, has been the theme of poets and the admiration of paper is in my hands, and much more of it than you vision which had passed before him was not to be so the fair sex, from the most ancient times-what is it, are a bankrupt." At the word bankrupt, so galling the vain hope of seeing the smiling face reappear dream of. I am your principal creditor, sir, and you banished, and his eye turned ever upon the door, in at the best, but a thing necessary amongst national arrangements to keep the public head unbroken? Its shuddered; but he revived, and said, with some degree figure that had tripped so lightly into the apartment. to the ears of a mercantile man, the old merchant with the beautiful tresses, and the charmingly rounded truest claim to respect is, in reality, its mere usefulness. Amidst the passions of a large body of men, it but none will doubt my probity. All my transactions of animation, "All the world may not lament my ruin, The feelings of the young man had undergone a change is required to support peace and maintain law. But have been open; my books are regular, my losses too which he had thrown angrily on the table, and reas complete as sudden; and he finally lifted the book, the distressing consideration is, that we should be still plain; my expenses have always been moderate, placed it carefully on the shelf, after which he reso far from right social regulations-still, in short, so and suited to my means." far barbarous as to need military force. Not less Your moderate expenses were but from hypocrisy, scene that had passed and its remarkable conse "Bah!" cried the young sumed his seat by the merchant's side. man bitterly, "tricks, tricks, to deceive the better! painful is it to consider that so much law and medi- and your seeming losses set down to cover secret quences, "believe me, hate and vengeance are evil pas"Sir," said M. Pernon gravely, ignorant of the cine should be required. All are alike indications of gains!" "Sir, sir!" cried the agitated old man. "M. sions. Do not think that I have yet to repent of my prevalent error and woe. Considered, then, with re- Pernon," said the young man, I only repeat words conduct to your father; I repented of it long, long gard to the good of all, and not merely the good of one man against another, great and well-appointed armies, sir, what you said sixteen years ago to my poor father. of yours. You taught me this language. Remember, since. I myself was not at that time a parent, but bethe pomp of justice in her dusky courts, colleges of I was but a boy then. He was in the condition in fortunes, and then I first saw that my behaviour had came one almost immediately after your father's missurgeons and physicians, are things to be contemplated to you now, he explained his affairs to you, he showed father's sentiments, and his anxiety for his children. which you now are; you came to him then, as I come rather with melancholy than with exulting feelings. you his books, he avouched his honesty, and he prayed If he could speak to you now, knowing how sincere been unjust, inhumane. I learned to appreciate your If such things were essentially glorious, Ireland, with for time-nothing but a little time. her immense barracks and her stupendous jails, ought humble and smooth as you are now, but loud and in-giveness. Ah, sir, the happiness of my family-of And you-not to be one of the first countries in the world. But solent-you loaded him with reproaches and insults. my Cecile is in your hands! Pardon the past, and was my regret, he would counsel you to pity and forthey are not so, and, while the men are entitled to all respect as in the mean time serving at least a negaYou asked, you remember, 'How a bankrupt dared be lenient with me!" tively useful end, we ought nevertheless to look for- scoundrels; and you exclaimed against the laws, which fully but hesitatingly, "you will doubtless find friendto speak of honesty. All bankrupts, you said, were “Sir-M. Pernon," said the young man, respectward with fond anticipations to a time when this now stately machinery will be much reduced in its needful fore the assembled world. In fine, sir, you opposed all were too lenient upon such defaulters, and which you liness, there is no fear"would have had to pillory them on the Exchange beM. Vermond could say no more. He felt so surprised at his own emotions, arrangement, all compromise, and we drank the cup in himself, that he could not trust himself to speak so confused by the alteration which had taken place of misfortune to the very dregs. I, even I, a boy, further at the time. The old merchant looked at him Ar a time, and that not a distant one, when the world took me by the hand, and brought me to this house-tor in his last words, and still more was he astonished shared directly in your pitiless anger. My mother with surprise, as he heard the mild tones of his crediof commerce was shaken to its very foundations, and nothing was heard of but gazettings, and, still worse, shelf, these boxes-then gorged with wealth-I reto this very room, which I well recollect. This book when M. Vermond rose up hastily, and holding with suicides among its denizens, M. Michel Pernon sat in member them all perfectly. My mother knelt to en- lately touched by Cecile, left the room with a hurried his ungloved hand for a moment the door-handle so his cabinet alone. He had that morning driven his treat your mercy. If you are resolved against my bow, but without another sentence. wife and daughter almost angrily from him, and from husband,' said she, 'have compassion upon my Charles, the seat in which he had then placed himself, he had never stirred for many consecutive hours. He was a upon my poor boy! Do not take away our every remerchant, and some late intelligence of an alarming on which our bread may yet depend!' source; leave us something to finish that education nature was the cause of his indulgence in solitude. But sir," continued the young man, his anger seeming to I remember, the reader will err if he imagines the subject of M. Per-revive with every fresh recollection" I remember non's meditations to have been sombre throughout. His that I, in the thoughtlessness of a boy, took down a difficulties occupied his thoughts at first, indeed, but, book from this shelf the book is yet here-the very fatigued with reflecting upon them, his imagination book-a Cicero! I took it down to show how far I had gradually turned to brighter and fairer images. His paper, he thought, circulated once more with mother's words. You snatched the book from my was advanced in my education, and to aid my poor facility; his ships covered the seas anew; all arrived hands, exclaiming, 'Cicero, indeed! Here is the son in port without loss or damage; and with returning of a broken merchant with mighty ideas! You sucfortune came happiness and the respect of the world. ceeded, sir. My education never was completed. I Unfortunately, these were but fancies, and fancies quitted France, and my object became to gain money, that were speedily dissipated. A loud and imperious not to acquire knowledge. I did become rich, and voice outside the cabinet door dispelled them at once. "I tell you that he is at home. I know it; and I since paid. But I never forgot, nor can forget, what every farthing that we owed you has been long must see him. Announce me, or I will announce myelse we owe to you; and I vowed, if an opportunity should occur, that I would discharge that debt also. from me, sir. Can you look for it? Can you ask it? The chance has fallen in my way. Look for no pity

amount.

self."

THE CRISIS-A STORY.*

Thus forced to break through the orders given to him, the servant opened the door, and, without look ing at M. Pernon, read from a card, with discomposed tones, the words, "M. Charles Vermond and Co." M. Pernon suddenly turned his back upon the door on hearing the words, but though he thus prevented himself from seeing the person who entered so authoritatively, his face became deadly pale, and the spiration started instantaneously to his brow. The pernew comer in the mean time made a circuit round the table to place himself in front of his debtor, for such Michel Pernon was. There was certainly nothing terrible or alarming in the outward appearance of the merchant's visiter. He was a young man of twentysix or so, remarkably well formed, and with a counte

#Translated from the French.

No!"

before

you,

the merchant made no other answer than by a deep
To this long statement of the irritated young man,
girl! my Cecile, my poor Cecile !""My mother knelt
sigh, and the exclamation, "My poor wife! my poor
yet you pitied us not," said M. Vermond. "I shall
and her hand was then in that of her child,
die, sir," cried M. Pernon; "the shame and mortifi-
cation will kill me!"
and you heeded not his anguish," was the answer.
My father told you the same,
bent his eye on the fire in hopeless dismay. At that
For a moment there was a pause, and M. Pernon
instant the door of the cabinet opened gently, and a
young girl appeared, who at first saw not M. Vermond,
and who was ignorant, evidently, of the unhappy mat-

In a few minutes afterwards M. Pernon entered the the agitating scene he had undergone, he sank down apartment of his wife and daughter. Exhausted by upon a sofa, and uttered some sorrowful exclamations, side. which speedily drew Cecile and her mother to his ruined!" said the merchant; "Dearest father, what has distressed you?" said the former, kissing his pale cheek. "We are "dear wife, dear child, only are we ruined, not only do I owe more than I hardness to others, and, I may add, with usury. Not we are ruined! God has punished me for my former ber, wife, for you counselled me to be more merciful can pay, but our fate is in the hands of the son of at the time. Ah, he was misrepresented to me; but Vermond, who, sixteen years ago-but you remem that matters not now. Our fate is in his son's hands; tongue, and vengeance in his heart. Fortunate it was he was here but now; he came with threats on his that neither of you were with me; you would have suffered as much as I did. His menaces were overmiracle, some interposition of heaven, his anger seemed whelming; and yet, all of a sudden, as if by some leave with civility and respectfulness.” he grew confused as I had been, and at last took his to be appeased, and we changed places, as it were, for the daughter blushed divinely. Madame Pernon and Cecile exchanged glances, and minutes," answered M. Pernon. just now?" said madame. "Was he with you young man so harsh, papa?" said Cecile, still blushing. "But within these few "That fine-looking "What! you saw him, then?" exclaimed the father. All will be arranged, you will see.' her arm around him, " do not give way to despair. My dear husband," said Madame Pernon, throwing

husband came comfortably out of the crisis of the day, The acute lady was not in error. Ere long, her and M. Charles Vermond, usually a most attentive