Church, a new corn market has been erected, greatly to the convenience of farmers and others, who formerly exposed their grain in the open street during all weathers; it is not yet completed, but the covered hall is already in use on market days.

DR COMBE ON THE MANAGEMENT OF
INFANCY.-EARLIEST MENTAL

EDUCATION.

DR COMBE has added another to the list of his valuable publications, in the small volume of which the title is quoted below. The prominent merit of the new treatise appears to us to be, that, for the first time, it fully and clearly carries those who inquire respecting the right management of infants, to natural principles. He first expounds "the nature and laws of the infant constitution," and upon these founds the rules which he asks us to obey. Throughout the whole work he keeps this object steadily in view; and so reasonable, accordingly, do the rules appear, that, even where they most diverge from ordinary practice, they seem calculated to make conviction of their soundness almost unavoidable. The composition of the work is marked by the same clearness and simplicity as the former treatises of the same author. As a specimen, we select Dr Combe's views respecting the earliest mental education :

"** At birth, the brain, which during life is not less essential to the action of the internal faculties than the eye, ear, nose, &c., are to the external senses, is so imperfectly and delicately constituted as to be almost wholly unfit for active mental manifestation; and, accordingly, we meet with none except sensation of bodily pain, and the desire for food. Beyond these, scarcely any trace of activity of mind can be detected; and hence sleep, or the negation of mental action, occupies nearly the whole time. The structure of the brain, however, being then extremely delicate, is very easily disordered, and susceptible of permanent injury, which, as in the similar instances of the eye and the ear, may impair the efficiency of its functions to the end of life; or, in other words, induce permanent idiocy or imbecility.

looking person, happens suddenly to approach an
infant, are not the instantaneous results an exclama-
tion of terror, and a clinging to the mother's bosom
for protection?

The bearing and importance of these truths would
be at once perceived, were parents acquainted with the
structure and laws of the animal economy, and with
the fact that the mind acts through the medium of
bodily organs, to the influence of which it is subjected

during the whole course of life.

the moral and intellectual treatment of even the ear-
The grand principle, then, to be borne in mind in
liest period of infancy, is, that the objects which are
specially related to each individual faculty form the
natural stimulants of that faculty. Danger is thus
the object or natural stimulant of the feeling of fear,
and suffering that of the feeling of compassion, just as
sound is of the ear, or light of the eye. The child has
no choice in the matter. If the natural stimulant of
any feeling be presented, that feeling will start into
activity, precisely as vision does when the eye is pene-
trated by rays of light. We cannot by an effort of
the will cease to see or hear, so long as light and sound
reach the eye and ear; and neither can we prevent
the internal feeling from arising when its object is

present.

It is a law of the internal faculties, as well as of
the external senses, that, when they are repeatedly
and appropriately exercised upon their own objects,
they gain both in strength, in durability, and in rea-
diness of action. We have seen, that by exercise of
this description, the Indian becomes expert in follow-
ing tracks and distinguishing sounds which the un-
practised European cannot detect. By the applica-
tion of the same principle to the emotions of the mind,
and to muscular efforts, the Indian becomes trained
to the display of firmness in enduring pain, to the
prosecution of revenge, and to dexterity in the use of
the bow; and it only requires to be carried farther
and more consistently into practice by civilised man,
lectual advancement.
to yield equally marked results in his moral and intel-

From the principle already laid down, that each
faculty is constituted with a distinct relation to objects
or qualities as peculiar to itself as light to the eye or
exercise or strengthen any of them, we must directly
sound to the ear, it follows, that when we wish to
excite them to activity by the presentment of their
own stimuli; and when we wish to keep in abeyance
a faculty which is already too strong, the only effec-
tual way is to withdraw its objects and leave it in
repose, in short, to lead it not into temptation.' But
of its objects, temptation would be a word devoid of
for the ready response of the faculty to the stimulus
meaning.
'Even

Such is the state of the mind and brain for some time after birth. By degrees, however, traces of extended mental activity begin to show themselves, and the appetite for food is no longer the only instinct which seeks for gratification. The infant, by its looks and smiles, gives indications of awakening consciousness long before it can conceive the nature of the cause by which it is excited. In this way it exhibits, even at a very early age, movements which neither sensation nor experience can explain, and which, as is happily remarked by a late acute and elegant writer, are in truth the signs of its dawning affections. at the early age of six weeks, when the infant is still a stranger to the world, and perceives external objects so indistinctly as to make no effort either to obtain or avoid them, he is nevertheless accessible to the influence of human expression. Although no material object possesses any attraction for him, sympathy, or the action of a feeling in his mind corresponding to the action of the same feeling in the mind of another, is already at work. A smiling air, a caressing accent, raises a smile on his lips; pleasing emotions already animate this little being, and we who recognise their expression are delighted in our turn. Who, then, has told this infant that a certain expression of the features indicates tenderness for him? How could he, to whom his own physiognomy is unknown, imitate that of another, unless a corresponding feeling in his own mind impressed the same characters on his features. That person near his cradle is perhaps not his nurse; perhaps she has only disturbed him, or subjected him to some unpleasant operation. No matter, she has smiled affectionately on him; he feels that he is loved, and he loves in return.'

Here, then, is the true key to the philosophy of infancy, and to the right training of the infant mind. The internal emotions, like the external senses, are distinct from each other, and independent in their action. Present its appropriate object to one whose organ is already sufficiently developed, and it will start into activity, just as the eye does when the rays of light are directed upon the retina. Look at an infant six months old, for example, and observe the extent to which it responds to every variety of stimulus addressed to its feelings. If we wish to soothe it in a moment of fretful disappointment, is it not a matter of notoriety that we succeed by gentle fondling, and singing to it in a soft and affectionate voice? If our aim is to rouse it to activity, are not our movements and tones at once changed to the lively and spirited? When, inadvertently, an acrimonious dialogue ensues between the nurse and any other person in the presence of an infant, is it not a common occurrence for the child to become as uneasy as if the scold was directed to itself, and forthwith begin to cry? If, on the other hand, an affectionate and gentle-temperd mother enters a nursery, and, imagining the infant to be asleep, merely addresses the nurse in the soft tones characteristic of her mind, do we not instantly see the infant waken up, and with a placid smile look around to solicit the notice of its parent? Or, to use one more example, if a disagreeable, ill-tempered, coarse

* A Treatise on the Physiological and Moral Management of Infaney. By Andrew Combe, M.D. Edinburgh: Maclachlan, Stewart, and Co., and Simpkin, Marshall, and Co., London. 1840. Pp. 376.

spond readily to its natural stimulus, it obviously
From this proneness of the mental faculty to re-
becomes a matter of great importance to the future
character of the individual to regulate the circum-
he is surrounded, especially during the very impres-
stances in which he is placed, or the stimuli by which
sionable period of infancy; for with the fact before us,
ened by reiterated exercise, it is natural to suppose
that every feeling or faculty is in this way strength-
that many a child owes much of its perverse temper
or cheerful disposition to the continued influence of
similar dispositions exhibited by the nurse or mother,
during the early period of its existence.

acquainted with an occurrence which so strikingly
After the preceding pages were printed, I became
illustrates and confirms the accuracy of the principle
insisted upon, that I cannot refrain from inserting it.
A respectable-looking woman made some purchases in
five-pound note. The clerk, on examining it, refused
a shop in town, in payment of which she presented a
it as a forgery. The poor woman took it back with
some surprise, and offered another of the same value
in its place. It also proved to be forged-some sus-
picion was excited, and the woman was handed over,
in a state of great agitation, to the police. Having
her possession, an inquiry was instituted, and by which
failed to account satisfactorily for having the notes in
it was ascertained that she had been for several years
she bore a high character for integrity and good con-
in the service of a gentleman in the country, where
duct. About a year before, she first saw the two notes
lying unconcealed among some old papers in her
master's room, where they continued undisturbed for
time she never thought of touching them; but at
month after month, as if forgotten by him. For a long
length the desire to appropriate them arose in her
mind, as she believed they would never be missed.
increased so much by the daily stimulus of the object
After resisting the impulse for months, the desire
herself, for the first time in her life, to the degrading
which excited it, that she at last yielded, and subjected
consciousness of guilt. Afraid of detection, she made
no use of the notes for some time, but reserved them
result we have already seen.
for the purchase above referred to, and with what
The gentleman had
known the notes to be forgeries, and allowed them to
remain undestroyed.

Considering the manner in which this poor woman
was led into temptation,' and her desire of appro-
priation strongly excited and educated by the daily
stimulus of its appropriate object-and considering
also the fearful moral evil brought upon her in the
permanent degradation of character of which she must
have been conscious even when undetected-it is im-
possible not to acknowledge, that she was an object

more deserving of pity than of punishment, and that greater blame was due to the person who so carelessly exposed a fellow-creature to such a snare, than to her who fell into it after so long a period of resistance. Had the gentleman been fully aware of the real force of a direct stimulus thus incessantly addressed to any feeling of the mind, he would have felt that his own negligence was not less culpable than its results were unfortunate.

It is astonishing, indeed, from what an early age a faculty will respond to its stimulus, whether that stimulus be direct or only from sympathy. Madame Necker de Saussure gives an affecting example of this fact, which she witnessed in a child of nine months old. The child was gaily playing on its mother's knees, when a woman, whose physiognomy expressed deep but calm sadness, entered the room. From that moment the child's attention was wholly fixed on the person, whom it knew, but for whom it had no particular affection. By degrees its features became discomposed; its playthings dropt from its hands, and at length it threw itself sobbing violently upon its mother's bosom. It felt neither fear nor pity; it knew not why it suffered, but it sought for relief in tears.' Facts like these show how careful we should be in duly regulating the moral as well as physical influences by which infancy is surrounded.

It has often been affirmed, that bad temper, strong passions, and even intellectual peculiarities, are communicated to the infant through the medium of the mother's or nurse's milk, and that hence it is of great consequence, in choosing a nurse, to select one of a cheerful and amiable character. But, while admitting that the quality of the milk may exert an influence, I am disposed to believe, that the effect upon the child is caused more especially by the natural action of the evil passions stirring up, and, in a manner, educating the corresponding passions in the child. Many sensible people imagine that they may say or do any thing in the presence of an infant, because it is too young to observe or be affected by it. This, however, is a great mistake. It is true that an infant may be unable to form an intellectual opinion on any occurrence; but it is not less true, that, from a very early period, as shown by Madame Necker de Saussure, its thus give a bias to the mind long before the child can feelings respond to the calls made upon them, and exercise any act of judgment.

*

Let us, then, not deceive ourselves, but ever bear in mind, that what we desire our children to become, we must endeavour to be before them. If we wish them to grow up kind, gentle, affectionate, upright, ties as regulating principles in our conduct, because and true, we must habitually exhibit the same qualithese qualities act as so many stimuli to the respective faculties in the child. If we cannot restrain our own

passions, but at one time overwhelm the young with kindness, and at another surprise and confound them by our caprice or deceit, we may with as much reason thorns, as to develope moral purity and simplicity of expect to gather grapes from thistles, or figs from character in them. It is vain to argue that, bethe inconsistency which we practise. The feelings cause the infant intellect is feeble, it cannot detect and reasoning faculties being perfectly distinct from each other, may, and sometimes do, act independently, and the feelings at once condemn, although the judgment may be unable to assign a reason for doing so. we meet with in the animal economy of the harmony Here is another of the many admirable proofs which and beauty which pervade all the works of God, and which render it impossible to pursue a right course without also doing collateral good, or to pursue a wrong for example, controls her own temper for the sake of course without producing collateral evil. If the mother, her child, and endeavours systematically to seek the guidance of her higher and purer feelings in her general conduct, the good which results is not limited to the consequent improvement of the child. She herself becomes healthier and happier, and every day adds to hand, gives way to fits of passion, selfishness, caprice, the pleasures of success. If the mother, on the other and injustice, the evil is by no means limited to the suffering which she brings upon herself. Her child also suffers both in disposition and in happiness; and regard of all who come into communication with her, while the mother secures, in the one case, the love and she rouses, in the other, only their fear or dislike."

FOREIGN ENGLISH,

Some tradesmen in Paris, and other continental cities

where the English resort, among various ways of paying their shop cards, usually printed underneath or at the court to our countrymen, give English translations of result occasionally from this practice, when zeal outrung back of the original. Very odd assemblages of words knowledge. Thus the keeper of a cooking shop at Brussels, which has for its sign, "Au Bœuf à-la-mode," advertises himself, on the English side of his card, as "J. P. V. -Board House, at the Fashionable Beef!" But of all the mystifications in this way that ever fell under our notice, the greatest was contained in a play-bill, which we read not very long ago on the front of the Theatreing because we could scarcely suppose the misprint to be Royal at Brussels, where the enigma was the more puzzlpure blunder. The first piece to be performed that night was announced under the following title:--- MAEDE AS AN MARSH HEAR." We may almost defy our readers to guess that this riddle was meant as the English name of an extravaganza called "MAD AS A MARCH HARE!"— Newspaper paragraph.

den church, and to open the coffin and examine the JOHN HAMPDEN AND HIS GRAVE. body. Leave to this purpose having been granted by JOHN HAMPDEN, one of the most venerated of English his lordship, and confirmed by the rector, the search patriots, was the descendant and heir of a family of took place on the 21st July, in the presence of Lord Saxon origin, long settled in Buckinghamshire, and Nugent, Counsellor (now Lord) Denman, the Rev. possessed of extensive property both in that and ad- Mr Brookes, and nearly twenty others, onlookers and joining counties. He was born in the year 1594, his assistants. The circumstances have been thus detailed mother being Elizabeth, second daughter of Sir Henry by an eye-witness :-" It is remarkable that so distinCromwell, and aunt to Oliver, afterwards Protector of guished and wealthy a family as that of Hampden England. In 1609, John Hampden entered Magdalen should never have possessed a private vault for the College, Oxford, and there distinguished himself highly interment of the respective branches of the family; in his studies. Ten years afterwards, he was married | such, however, is the case; they have, from a very to Elizabeth Simeon, heiress of Pyrton in Oxfordshire, early period, been buried in the chancel of the church, and spent some time afterwards in the placid enjoy- about four feet deep. On the morning of the 21st ment of a country life, and of the society of a wife July, we all assembled in the church, and commenced whom he dearly loved. His rank and importance, the operation of opening the ground. After examinhowever, rendered it incumbent upon him to entering the initials and dates on several leaden coffins, we parliament in the beginning of 1621. In this new came to the one in question, the plate of which was situation, he immediately attached himself to the anti- so corroded, that it crumbled and broke into small royalist or popular party; and though he never attained pieces on touching it. It was therefore impossible to to the very highest eminence as a speaker, his strong ascertain the name of the individual it contained. good sense, cultivated mind, and resolute spirit, to- The coffin had originally been inclosed in wood, covered gether with the natural influence attaching to him with velvet, a small portion only of which was appaas one of the wealthiest commoners of the country, rent near the bottom at the left side, which was not gave him a degree of prominence in the public eye the case with those of a later date, where the initials alike honourable and perilous. In the second parlia- were very distinct, and the lead more perfect and ment of Charles I., when the king resorted to new fresher in appearance. The register stated that Hamp. modes of raising supplies, Hampden suffered a tem- den was interred on the 25th June 1643; an old doporary imprisonment, along with others, for refusing cument, still in existence, gives a curious and full his share of the subsidy. Getting more and more account of the grand procession on the occasion; deeply embroiled, as time ran on, with his parliaments we were, therefore, pretty certain that this must and people, the king at length attempted to revive an be the one in question, having carefully examined obsolete tax, known by the name of ship-money. On all others in succession. It was lying under the this occasion," John Hampden (says Hume) acquired western window, near the tablet erected by him, by his spirit and courage universal popularity through- when living, to the memory of his beloved wife, whose out the nation, and has merited great renown with virtues he extols in the most affectionate language. posterity, for the bold stand which he made in de- Without positive proof, it was reasonable to suppose fence of the laws and liberties of his country." He that he would be interred near his adored partner; resisted, in his own case, the payment of the tax. It and this being found at her feet, it was unanimously was not the extent of the imposition, for the sum agreed that the lid should be cut open to ascertain the amounted to no more than a few shillings, which made fact, which proved afterwards that we were not misthis resistance memorable, but the principle which taken. The parish plumber descended, and comdictated it, and the fact that the nation at large viewed menced cutting across the coffin, then longitudinally, Hampden as a champion who had put himself forward until the whole was sufficiently loosened to roll back, to defend their common rights. The king nominally in order to lift off the wooden lid beneath, which was gained the victory in the legal struggle which followed; found in such good preservation, that it came off but the conviction of his arbitrary purposes was nearly entire. Beneath this was another lid of the strengthened in the minds of the people to his ultimate same material, which was raised without materially ruin. giving way. The coffin had originally been filled up with sawdust, which was found undisturbed, except in the centre, where the abdomen had fallen in. The sawdust was then removed, and the process of examination commenced. Silence reigned. Not a whisper or breath was heard. Each stood on the tiptoe of expectation, awaiting the result as to what appearance the face would present when divested of its covering. Lord Nugent descended into the grave, and first removed the outer cloth, which was firmly wrapped round the body-then a second, and a third-such care having been taken to preserve the body from the worm of corruption. Here a very singular scene presented itself. No regular features were apparent, although the face retained a death-like whiteness, and showed the various windings of the blood-vessels beneath the skin. The upper row of teeth was perfect, and those that remained in the under jaw, on being taken out and examined, were quite sound. A little beard remained on the lower part of the chin, and the whiskers were strong, and somewhat lighter than his hair, which was a full auburn brown. The upper part of the bridge of the nose was still elevated; the remainder had given way to the pressure of the cloths, which had been firmly bound round the head. The eyes were but slightly sunk in, and were covered with the same white film which characterised the general appearance of the face. Finding that a difference of opinion existed as to the indentation in the left shoulder, where it was supposed he had been wounded, it was unanimously agreed to raise up the coffin altogether, and place it in the centre of the church, where a more accurate examination might take place. The coffin was extremely heavy, but by elevating one end with a crowbar, two strong ropes were adjusted under each end, and it was thus drawn up by twelve men in the most careful manner possible. Being placed on a trestle, the first operation was to examine the arms, which nearly retained their original size. On lifting up the right arm, we found it was dispossessed of its hand. We might, therefore, naturally conjecture that it had been amputated, as the bone presented a perfectly flat appearance, as if sawn off by some sharp instrument. On searching under the cloths, to our no small astonishment, we found the hand, or rather a number of small bones, enclosed in a separate cloth. For about six inches up the arm the flesh had wasted away, being evidently smaller than the lower part of the left arm, to which the hand was firmly united, and which presented no symptoms of decay, farther than the two bones of the forefinger loose. Even the nails remained entire, of which we saw no appearance in the cloth containing the bones of the right hand. At this process of the investigation, we were perfectly satisfied that, independently of the result of any farther examination, such a striking coincidence as the loss of the right hand would justify our belief in Sir R. Pye's statement to the Harleys, that his presentation pistol was the innocent cause of a wound which afterwards proved mortal. It was, however, possible that at the same moment, in the heat of the action of Chalgrave, when Colonel Hampden discharged his

Hampden's first wife died, leaving nine children, and he married a second time. But he tasted few of the comforts of home and domestic society in his latter days, being constantly engaged in the still darkening affairs of the state. Finally, the king and his parliament came to an open rupture, and mutually took up arms. Hampden, of course, continued to side with the popular party, and in the outset of the civil war, displayed as much courage in the field as he had shown in the senate. But he did not live to see much of this great contest. On the 18th of June 1643, a battle took place between the royalists under Prince Rupert, and the army of the parliament under Essex, at Chalgrave Field, and John Hampden there received a mortal wound. The circumstances attending the receipt of this injury have long been a source of doubt and dispute, and have given origin to an inquiry of a strange and peculiar kind, even in our own day.

66

Lord Clarendon and the majority of historians, relate that the patriot was "shot into the shoulder with a brace of bullets, which broke the bone," and caused his death "three weeks" afterwards. Hume, following Sir Philip Warwick, narrates that a prisoner taken by the royalists in the action at Chalgrave, "said that he was confident Mr Hampden was hurt, for he saw him, contrary to his usual custom, ride off the field before the action was finished; his head hanging down, and his hands leaning on his horse's neck." Hume also states that he died "some days" after the event. But another account of the fatal injury differs materially from these. It is presented in the following terms in the Earl of Oxford's papers: “ Two of the Harleys, and one of the Foleys, being at supper with Sir Robert Pye at Faringdon House, Berks, in their way to Herefordshire, Sir Robert Pye related the account of Hampden's death as follows:That, at the action of Chalgrave Field, his pistol burst, and shattered his hand in a terrible manner. He, however, rode off, and got to his quarters; but finding the wound mortal, he sent for Sir Robert Pye, then a colonel in the parliament army, and who had married his eldest daughter, and told him that he looked on him in some degree accessory to his death, as the pistols were a present from him. Sir Robert assured him that he bought them in Paris of an eminent maker, and had proved them himself. It appeared, on examining the other pistol, that it was foaded to the muzzle with several supernumerary charges, owing to the carelessness of a servant who was ordered to see that the pistols were loaded every morning, which he did without drawing the former charge.'

In the year 1828, Lord Nugent, being then engaged in writing a memoir of Hampden, and therefore desirous of ascertaining the real cause of the patriot's death, bethought himself of having his grave opened, in the hope that his remains might yet be in a condition to throw some light upon the question. He therefore made application to the Earl of Buckinghamshire (to whom the family estates had descended) for permission to make search for the grave in Hamp

pistol at his adversary, that his adversary's ball might wound him in the shoulder; for he was soon after observed, as stated by Sir Philip Warwick, with his head hanging down, and his hands leaning upon his horse's neck.'

In order to corroborate or disprove the different statements relative to his having been wounded in the shoulder, a close examination of the parts took place. The clavicle of the right shoulder was firmly united to the scapula, nor did there appear any contusion or indentation that evinced symptoms of any wound ever having been inflicted. The left shoulder, on the contrary, was smaller and sunken in, as if the clavicle had been displaced. To remove all doubts, it was adjudged necessary to remove the arms, which were amputated with a penknife. The socket of the right arm was perfectly white and healthy, and the clavicle firmly united to the scapula, nor was there the least appearance of contusion or wound. The socket on the left shoulder, on the contrary, was of a brownish coat, and the cavicle being found quite loose and disunited from the scapula, proved that dislocation had taken place. The bones, however, were quite perfect. Such dislocation, however, must have arisen either from the force of a ball, or from Colonel Hampden having fallen from his horse when he lost the power of holding the reins, by reason of his hand having been so dreadfully shattered. The latter, in all probability, was the case, as it would be barely possible for a ball to pass through the shoulder without some fracture either of the clavicle or scapula. In order to examine the head and hair, the body was raised up and supported with a shovel; on removing the cloths, which adhered firmly to the back of the head, we found the hair in a complete state of preservation. It was of a dark auburn colour, and, according to the custom of the times, was very long, from five to six inches. It was drawn up and tied at the top of the head with black thread or silk. The ends had the appearance of being cut off. On taking hold of the top knot, it soon gave way, and came off like a wig. This was the only

*

spot where any putrescence was apparent.
He was five feet nine inches in height, apparently of
great muscular strength, of a vigorous and robust
frame; forehead broad and high, and the skull alto-
gether well-formed-such a one as the imagination
would conceive capable of great exploits.

Here I close the narrative-one of singular interest to those who were eye-witnesses of the examination, which presented a scene so novel, so ghastly, but at the same time so full of moment, that it will ever prove a memorable event in the short era of our lives. We recalled to mind the virtuous actions of the deceased, his manly defence against the tyranny of the Star-Chamber, his abandonment of every social and domestic tie for the glorious cause of freedom; and whilst we gazed on his remains, remembered that that voice which was once raised on behalf of his country, had contributed in no small measure to prepare the way for the blessings of liberty, which, but for his warning, might to this day have been withheld from an enlightened people."

MAY MORN.
A VISION.

[BY SWYNFEN JERVIS.]
Shame be to him who sits at home and thinks,
While all the busy world is out a-Maying;
Better by far, upon the flowery brinks

Of streams, that babble as they run, be straying.
It is but one brief hour agone,

Since, with her cloudy inantle on,

And deck'd with brighter jewels than e'er shone
Amid the tresses of an earthly bride,
The fair Aurora I descried,

As up the mountain's steepy side

She flew, as though her soul were in her feet,
High on the topmost verge her lingering lord to meet.
Had you but seen the glow of lovely red,
As o'er her cheek the bright suffusion spread,
And marked her look of innocent delight,
When first his radiant forehead met her sight,
You would have deem'd your happiness complete,
And all the pageantry and state
That on anointed monarchs wait,
Thenceforth a shallow mockery and a cheat.
From his imperial car the god descended,
And with surpassing dignity and grace.
Like some tall statue stooping from its base,
Advanced with eager step to her embrace.
One moment more, and side by side
They sat-the monarch and his bride.
The heavenly car moved on, not unattended,
For smiling Plenty hover'd nigh,

And Joy and Love were there, and Mirth, with half-closed
eye.

I saw no more: for 'mid the blaze,

The gathering splendour of encircling rays,
As toward the zenith the bright god of day
Pursued his glittering way,

The glorious vision ended.
And I return'd, to tell in verse
Of scenes which, fitly to rehearse,
Might task the loftiest powers of him
Who sang of heaven's proud cherubim,
And first to our astonish'd eyes,
In strains which for their purpose high
Men "will not willingly let die,"
Unveil'd the charms of Paradise.
-Spectator, May 2.

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ORR, Paternoster Row; and sold by all booksellers and news-
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Complete sets of the Journal are always to be had from the

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bookseller, with orders to that effect.

EDINBURGH

Comforts in food or other articles of consumpt, are not alone to be regarded here. There are solacements for the mind which are not less necessary for a healthy existence. Amongst these may be reckoned occasional recreations and sports, indulgence in cheerful society, reading, and an exercise of the feelings which have a regard to the world beyond the present. Many a person would suppose that he did enough for a being dependent on his generosity, if he provided a sufficiency of animal comforts alone; but this is a great mistake. There is as great a certainty of derangement and discomfort, if a cheering intercourse with the world be withheld, as if we denied some immediately requisite article of food: it only takes a longer time to realise the result in the one case than the other. And similar effects follow from deprivation of the other elements of comfort. We shall see these matters in a clearer light, if we once reflect what a complex being man is, how many sentiments, affections, and powers, exist in his frame, all calling for exercise on the various things in the world and out of the world, which they have a respect to. How preposterous to suppose that this strange bundle of clamorous appetites and faculties is to be kept sweet by the mere administration of a certain amount of food, or even by the addition of a few luxuries! The whole being must be kept in a condition appropriate to its character in all its various parts, before there can be any approach to contentment of an unaffected kind, and before we consequently can expect such moral results as may be regarded with satisfaction.

Tchetchenges, and bribe the master with promises; if he betray us, we shall have nothing to reproach ourselves with. Try to drag yourself so far; or," said he, seeing his master's exhaustion, "I shall go alone, and try to gain over a Tchetchenge; if things turn out well, I shall come back with him, and carry you away. If they go wrong, if I perish and cannot return, there, take the pistol." Kascambo stretched out his hand, and took the pistol.

Ivan covered him up with herbs and brushwood, for fear he should be seen during his absence. He was about to depart, when his master called him back. "Ivan," said he, "listen again to my last request. If you ever succeed in passing the Tereek, and see my mother again without me".

"Master," interrupted Ivan, "farewell for a few hours. We shall meet again in the course of this day. But, if you die, neither your mother nor mine shall ever see me again !"

roubles on the footpath, at a hundred yards from the
house, and be off.

As soon as he had secured them, he returned to the
roof, and, throwing himself at the major's feet, begged
his pardon, and entreated him to forget the bad usage
he had been forced to make him endure for his own
safety. "I shall only remember," said Kascambo,
"that I have been your guest, and that you have kept
your word faithfully; but instead of begging my
pardon, I should rather prefer you to take off these
ropes."

Without answering, the Tchetchenge, seeing Ivan
return, bounded from the roof, and disappeared like
lightning.
In the course of the same day, the brave Ivan had
the satisfaction and glory of restoring his master to
his dear friends, who had lost all hopes of ever seeing
him more.

The author of this narrative, happening to pass Iego-
riensky some months after, arrived during the night
before a small house, of very elegant appearance, and
particularly well lighted up. He jumped from his
kibick, and approached a window to enjoy the sight
of a most lively and animated ball which was taking
place on the ground-floor. A young officer was also
looking on, and appeared particularly taken up with
the gay scene in the interior of the apartment.
"Who gives this ball?" inquired the traveller.
"It is our major, who was married to-day."
"And what may be his name, pray?"
"His name is Kascambo."

After an hour's walk, he perceived, from a small rising ground, two or three villages, at about four miles' distance: it was not what he wanted; he wished to find a solitary house, which he might enter without being observed, and secretly gain over the master. The distant smoke of an isolated chimney discovered to him what he wished for. The master of the house was seated on the floor, busily repairing one of his boots. "I come here," said Ivan, "to offer you an opportunity of winning two hundred roubles, and to ask of you a service. You have, no doubt, heard of Major Kascambo, a prisoner among the mountaineers. Well, I have carried him off-he is here close by-sick, exhausted, and in your power. If you deliver him up The traveller, who was acquainted with the singular to his enemies, they will praise you certainly, but, you history of this gentleman, congratulated himself on know it well enough, they will not reward you. If, having yielded to his curiosity, and admired the brideon the contrary, you consent to save him, by keeping groom, who, glowing with pleasure, had completely im only three days in your house, I shall go to Mos-forgot for the moment the Tchetchenges and their ok, and bring back two hundred roubles in fine cruelty. founding silver for his ransom. But if you dare stir one inch from your place," added he, drawing his dagger, "and give the alarm to get me arrested, I murder you this instant. Give me your word this moment, or you are a dead man."

The determined tone of Ivan convinced the Tehetchenge without intimidating him. "Young man," said he, pulling quietly on his boot, "I have also got a dagger in my belt, and yours does not frighten me. Had you entered here as a friend, I should never have betrayed a man who had crossed the threshold of my door; now, I promise nothing. Sit down there, and explain your wish." Ivan, seeing at once who he had to do with, sheathed his dagger, sat down, and repeated his proposal. "And what security do you offer me," asked the Tchetchenge, "for the execution of your promise?" "I shall leave you the major himself," replied Ivan. "Do you think I would have suffered for fifteen months, and brought my master to your house, to desert him there?" "Well, I believe you; but two hundred roubles are too little-I must have four hundred." "Why not ask four thousand it's just as easy; only, as I intend to keep my word, I offer you the two hundred, because I know where to get them, and not another kopeck. Would you place me under the necessity of deceiving you?"

"Well, let it be done for the two hundred roubles; and you come back in three days, and alone?" "Yes, alone, and in three days; I give you my word for it; but have you given me your own word?-is the major your guest?" "He is, and so are you from this moment; you have my solemn word for it."

They took each other's hand, and ran for the major, whom they brought back half dead with cold and hunger.

necessary sum.

Instead of going to Mosdok, Ivan hearing that he was nearer to Tehervelianskaya-Staniza, where there was a considerable post of Cossacks, hastened directly thither. He had no great trouble in making up the The brave Cossacks, several of whom had been present at the unfortunate engagement which had cost Kascambo his liberty, were happy to put their purses together to complete his ransom. On the appointed day, Ivan departed to go and deliver at last his master; but the colonel who commanded the post, fearing some new treason, would not allow him to return alone; and, in spite of the convention and agreement made with the Tchetchenge, he sent a

detachment of Cossacks with him.

to Kaseambo. His host no sooner perceived the lances This ill-judged precaution was very near being fatal of the Cossacks in the distance, than he thought himself betrayed; and displaying at once the ferocious courage of his nation, he conducted the major, still weak and sick, to the roof of the house, tied him to a pillar, and placed himself before him, with his rifle in

his hand."

"If you advance," cried he, as soon as Ivan was within hearing distance; "if you make another step, I blow the major's brains out; and I have fifty cartridges left for my enemies, and for the traitor who has brought them."

"You are not betrayed " exclaimed the faithful denchick, trembling for his master's life; "I have been forced to come back accompanied; but I have brought the two hundred roubles, and keep my word." "Let the Cossacks retire," added the Tchetchenge, "or I fire." Kascambo himself begged of the officer to retire. Ivan followed the detachment for some distance, and came back alone. But the suspicious brigand would Lot allow him to approach. He bade him count the

"Have the kindness to show me also the brave den-
chick who delivered him." The young officer, after
some hesitation, answered, "I am the man."
Doubly surprised at this extraordinary coincidence,
and still more at the youth of the speaker, the traveller
asked him what his age was. He had not completed
his twentieth year, and had just received a sum of
money and the rank of officer as a reward for his
courage and fidelity.

This brave young man, after having voluntarily
shared his master's misfortunes, and restored him to
life and liberty, was now enjoying his happiness on
his marriage-day, gazing at the feast through the
window. But the stranger happening to express his
astonishment that he should not be in the ball-room,
and appearing also to imply some suspicion of ingra-
titude in his old master, Ivan glanced towards him
a fierce and angry look, and walked into the house
whistling the tune "Hai luli, hai luli!" He very
soon appeared in the ball-room, and the inquisitive
traveller jumped into his kibick, quite thankful not
to have received the fatal axe over his skull.

SKETCHES IN NATURAL HISTORY.

THE CLOTHES' MOTH.

had been deposited, dividing them close by the skin or thread of the cloth, by means of a pair of teeth with which it is provided for that end, and which act precisely like scissors. The same filaments are then cut by the insect into convenient lengths, and applied one by one, with the most surprising dexterity, to the outside of its silken ease, to which it fastens them by the agency of the additional silk which it emits at will, applying always new layers in succession, and fastening them in the same manner, until it has thus brought the whole case to a convenient thickness. No product of human art could be more regularly woven than this vestment, the mechanical process being precisely the same in both instances. When completed, the case is in the shape of a hollow tube, of the length of the body of the insect, which makes its abode in the interior, nor ever quits it except in case of urgent necessity. When it wants to feed, it puts out its head and helps itself with its cutters; and when it is desirous to shift its position, it pushes out its six anterior limbs, having first fixed the posterior ones to the case, so as to drag it along when the fore legs move.

Being thus within a warm and compact tenement, lined with the most delicate silk, the insect feels as comfortable as may be, until its bulk, increasing with its age, renders some alteration of the original structure necessary. In fact, this necessity occurs several times successively. The consequent mutations of the case" are accomplished by the little occupant (to use the words of Kirby and Spence) as dexterously as by any tailor. If the case merely requires lengthening, the task is easy. All that is necessary, is to add a new ring of hair or wool and silk to each end. But to enlarge it in width is not so simple an affair. Yet it sets to work precisely as we should, slitting the case on the two opposite sides, and then adroitly inserting between them two pieces of the requisite size. It does not, however, cut open the case from one end to the other at once; the sides would separate too far asunder, and the insect be left naked. It therefore first cuts each side about half way down, and then, after having filled up the fissure, proceeds to cut the remaining half: so that, in fact, four enlargements are made, and four separate pieces inserted." These additional rings and longitudinal stripes are always lined with silk, and are as perfect in disposition as the original case. The additions are well marked, and may be observed under ordinary circumstances. But there is one way by which they may be made still more distinct to the view. The colour of the habit, or any part of the habit, always corresponds with the hue of the cloth from which the materials may be taken. Accordingly, the progress of the creature's various operations is made beautifully manifest, when it is transferred from cloth of one tint to a differently coloured article. Thus, if the original case has been formed from white cloth, and the insect be then placed upon a scarlet article, the first rings at the ends, which usually constitute the first enlargement, will be of scarlet. Let the creature then be shifted to a black cloth, and new rings of black will appear. The side stripes may in like manner be rendered blue or green, so that, upon the whole, the case will present a partiharlequin.

In such a manner does the insect proceed, always enlarging its case with undeviating regularity in proportion to its growth, and consuming in the process a very considerable amount of the stuffs upon which it chances to be at the time. Another portion of the same material, whether wool, hair, or fur, is required for its food, and this portion, also, is no inconsiderable

one.

But besides the consumption occasioned by clothing and feeding, the creature is compelled to extend its ravages still farther. In moving from place to place, it seems to be as much incommoded by the long hairs surrounding it as we are when walking among long grass; and accordingly, it projects its scissors in front of the case, and mows down, as with

THE moth commonly found among clothes is the coloured appearance, making the Tinea into a little
Phalana Tinea Pellionella of naturalists. It is a
creature of some interest, both on account of the pecu-
liar features which mark its history, and the annoy-
ance which it gives to man in an important point of
his domestic economy. The Tinea Pellionella finds its
food and habitation chiefly among woollen stuffs and
animal furs, and haunts alike the coarsest and finest
substances of that description. The ermined robes of
kings and judges are held not one whit more sacred
by it than the habiliments of the poor and humble.
Its proper food is said to be hair, however; and when
a skin covered with that material comes in its way, it
shaves off the capillary covering as cleanly and cleverly
as a razor could do. But it also feeds liberally on wool
and furs, and as these substances form our common
clothing, it is in connexion with them that the Tinea
Pellionella comes chiefly under our eye. Another
wool, and commits great ravages among clothing of
species of moth, likewise, the Tinea Sarcitella, feeds on
that material. Generally speaking, the following
remarks will apply to it, as well as to the preceding
species.

In its moth state, the Tinea Pellionella is of small size, and of a leaden colour. It is, like its congeners, originally produced from an egg, and is then perfectly naked-which circumstance overturns Paley's assertion that man is the only member of the animal world that is born naked. The further statement of the same writer, that the human animal can alone clothe itself, is likewise disproved by the history of this insect. As soon as the little creature quits the egg, being not, as man is, in a state of helplessness at that period, it begins to form a suit of clothes for itself. For this purpose, it spins, in the first place, a thin and very fine tissue of silk around its body, in the same manner as other insects spin their silk-cases. It then cuts the filaments of the wool or fur on which its egg

a

scythe, all that stands in its way. Its track is thus still more distinctly marked on the stuffs which it is placed upon. When it pauses in its course, a silken cable is thrown out and fixed, securing in this way a safe anchorage in case of any movements taking place in the main body of the substance to which it is attached.

is called its larva state, and attains the length of about half an inch. The period then arrives, when, in con sonance with the modes of its tribe, it prepares for its change into the pupa or chrysalis condition. This change is begun by abstinence from food, and the creature subsequently weaves around it a cocoon of silk, spun for the purpose. From this it issues forth, in the space of about three weeks, in the shape of a small nocturnal moth, of a leaden or silver-grey hue, and with a black point in the middle of each wing. This evolution takes place usually in the month of August, and the insect, now completely formed, exists afterwards but a week or two, during the whole of which time it appears to be incessantly engaged in searching for a fit place in which to lay the eggs which are ta continue its race. Having fulfilled this end, its short career comes to a close. Out of the whole period of its life, which extends to about a year, ten months are spent in the larva or caterpillar condition.

When enclosed in this case, the creature is in what

The eggs of the clothes' moth are an alarming sight to the careful housewife, and they are brushed off and destroyed by her without compunction, whenever they