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Column for Little Girls.

THE TWO SISTERS.

Abridged from a volume for the young, called "The Hartopp Jubilee, or Profit from Play," by Mrs S. C. Hall. London: Darton and Clark. 1840.]

"THERE are many clever women (said aunt Dacre to Ellen) who are not good, and many good women who are not clever. I will tell you a story; it is some years since I first knew the parties; I have, therefore, had an opportunity of ascertaining the termination as well as the commencement of their career. My dear mother had been ill for some time, and change of air being recommended for her, we went to Ramsgate, at that period a place of very fashionable

resort.

We took a letter of introduction from our own physician to a medical gentleman there; and that gentleman had two daughters, Sarah and Olivia LamSarah at that time was about eighteen; her sister a year younger. I was the junior of both.

bert.

Olivia Lambert was one of the most brilliant and showy girls I ever met; their mother died when they were in early childhood; it is more than probable, if she had lived, the good doctor's family would have been much better regulated. Olivia's beauty, for she was really handsome, was of a striking nature; the moment she entered our drawing-room, we all thought how beautiful she is!' and when Doctor Lambert went to our mother's chamber, we gathered round the young lady, anxious to ascertain if her mind had been as much cared for as her person, for she was expensively dressed, and appeared to have bestowed considerable labour on self-decoration."

"But clever women are never well-dressed, are they, aunt ?" asked Ellen.

comingly dressed according to her station in life," replied "It is part of a woman's duty to be neatly and beLady Dacre; " and a clever woman who neglects this, proves that her mind has been imperfectly cultivated. Olivia Lambert's mind had been also adorned to a certain extent. The seed of many things had been sown therein: but the seed was not of the best quality, it had got sadly mingled with that of weeds. And the weeds had almost choked the fair and beautiful flowers, which otherwise might have flourished luxuriantly, and brought forth good fruit.

We saw in a few minutes that she possessed a ready wit; she never seemed at a loss for an observation or a reply: but ready wit is apt to intrude itself unnecessarily, and is sadly fond of display.

Your mamma, who had less courage than myself, shrunk from her when she made this discovery, for she feared her powers of ridicule, and knew that she never could enter into a war of words with a clever young lady. Miss Lambert quickly informed us of the sums of money her papa had lavished on her education; and said that she was resolved to do something great before she died, for that she could not bear to live unknown, or die unremembered. Such a declaration made to those she had never seen before, betrayed great presumption, and want of knowledge of the customs of society; but she looked so handsome, and withal, had something so frank and friendly about her, that we continued to listen, and she continued to talk about herself.

She told us she wrote poetry, and offered to sing us one of her own songs; her voice was very pleasing, and the words of the song evinced a good deal of talent." "She was really clever, then ?" said Ellen. "She was, as I have said, to a certain extent; there could be no second opinion about the matter. She was, poor thing, very clever; but unfortunately every body told her so, and she was so perfectly aware of the fact, that, satisfied with the possession of what she so constantly heard extolled, she did not use any exertions to acquire those virtues and amiabilities which are the only real foundation of female excellence. It was certainly rare to meet so young and so beautiful a creature gifted with so much ability in so many ways: but it was painful to see the petty arts she used to attract admiration, and the craving she felt at all times for praise.

We promised to call on her the next day, for we had not many acquaintances, and Doctor Lambert's extreme attention to our dear mother made us anxious to show any kindness in our power to his children.

Oh! I shall be so glad to see you,' she exclaimed; 'I will show you my themes---and my lecture--my own invented patterns---and my ring, that was given me by papa for my arrangement of one of Rossini's airs. I will also introduce you to my sister Sarah; I am sure you will love her; every one loves Sarah; but I may tell you that you must not expect any thing extraordinary from her---nothing but extraordinary goodness. Papa calls her his right hand; and me his right head. Dear, kind Sarah---she sings very well indeed, and speaks one or two languages; but, being the eldest, she has not had time to cultivate her talents. One must be housekeeper; and she is so fond of being useful. I am sadly useless; Sarah even superintends my dress; tells me what I am to wear; and takes care of me. She is not a clever girl; and consequently can attend to every domestic thing.' "Sarah was quite as handsome as her sister; but the expression of her countenance was different; it was modest and subdued; she had also a care-taking look, as if she did and thought a great deal; perceiving that Olivia had shown us some of her drawings, she expressed her sorrow that she had not leisure to cultivate an art she dearly loved; but added, that her sister possessed so much more talent, that she was glad her own attention to their domestic duties enabled her to pursue those occupations in which she was so eminently qualified to excel. Presently her father entered, and then the same flattery was repeated as before. It was evident that, though Doctor Lambert loved his eldest daughter, he regarded her as a sort of domnestic drudge, with no more

intellect than was necessary to keep the house-books, and economise; while Olivia was regarded as something wonderful; something so wonderful, that the study of his life seemed to be how to add to her accomplishments, and increase the admiration which her beauty excited, by accounts of her wit and talent. Olivia said so; Olivia did so; Olivia thought so; in short, I never saw a man, sensible upon all other subjects, so completely astray in the management of his children. If the young ladies had divided the house duties between them, each would have had sufficient time for amusement and study; but one had so much to do, that she really led a life of slavery; the other so little, that, despite all she learned and all she read, and all she displayed, time hung heavily on her hands. Now, my dear Ellen, though Olivia was at first a generous, open-hearted girl, finding persons, particularly in her own family, always ready to bow down to her, made learnt, her fine abilities enabled her to learn with so much her, in time, both arrogant and capricious. What she ease and rapidity, that she neglected every thing to the last moment; and when her masters ventured to complain, she managed, with a sad and dangerous dexterity, to turn the tables on them. So that her habits became careless; and as a young and beautiful tree of rapid growth is bent by every passing wind unless properly supported, so Olivia's plans and intentions were constantly overthrown, because she had no prop, no stay; she fancied she had sufficient strength of herself to help herself; and, poor girl, she was so much admired, that no one sought to undeceive her.

As for Sarah, it was difficult to know what points in her well-proportioned nature deserved the warmest praise; tion, or her self-denying and uniform attention to her her gentleness, her modesty, her freedom from affectasister, whom she evidently considered as a gifted and superior being; this last was the only weakness I ever perceived in a character which otherwise I should have considered faultless.

Her devotion to her was quite extraordinary, for her own mind, though less brilliant, was more solid; and her all admired Olivia, but we loved Sarah. Doctor Lambert acquirements, though less showy, more substantial. We found it necessary to receive a great deal of company; and it was wonderful to observe the excellence and good order of his daughter's arrangements, although her pale cheek often assured me she was over-fatigued; for, where there is not a large establishment, it is necessary for the lady of the house to take a very active part in household arrangements. The indifference with which Olivia witnessed her exertions often astonished me, for she would talk of tenderness and sisterly affection by the hour, though still her poor sister toiled on.

Our beloved mother became convalescent, and we quitted Ramsgate. I was never hasty in forming friendships; but I was honoured by the regard of Sarah Lambert, and we felt an attachment for each other which nothing but death could destroy. I was a gainer by this fortunate circumstance, for she had sufficient power over me to make me both read and think; and I am greatly indebted to her for having used that power to my advantage.

We heard constantly of Olivia's beauty, Olivia's wit, Olivia's talent; and the production of a small volume of poems, printed only for private circulation, swelled her triumph to the utmost. This was the brilliant side of the question. Others spoke of Olivia's conceit, Olivia's temper, Olivia's habit of undervaluing others; and said that her father had acted foolishly in giving even a restrained publicity to the unripe fruits of a brilliant but thoughtless mind; that what was pretty and interesting to a home circle, was neither one nor other to a more public one; and that there was much fear of Olivia increasing in conceit more rapidly than in learning. Beauty has its admirers, but it also has its enviers; and the young lady's conduct was such as to invite criticism, rather than disarm censure. Her father's house became the rendezvous of all such persons as either possessed, or desired to be considered as possessing, talent; and of all the lounging gentlemen who liked to see something strange, and admire beauty. Sarah maintained the even tenor of her way, seeking, for her father's dear sake, to eke out an income by no means as large as it was represented to be, and only anxious that the doctor should be prosperous, and her sister admired. I was greatly pained at receiving a letter from her one morning, saying that her father had been very ill for some time, and that she wished I was near her, adding, she knew how vain the desire was, for the town was full, and I could not be spared in the merry month of May: it was, I well remember, just this time twenty-five years; but gaiety never yet destroyed my sympathy, and though I was engaged at the time to be married to Lord Dacre, I obtained my father and mother's permission to fly to my friend.

I found the good old doctor even worse than Sarah's letter had led me to expect, and understood from himself, that if he died, his children would be left almost without provision. For dear Olivia,' he said, 'I have no fear; her talents, if she should be obliged to exert them, will win her both fame and fortune; but my poor Sarah! my good, pious, useful Sarah!' and he extended his hand to the really useful girl, who pressed it to her lips, while she turned away to hide her tears, and replied, Do not fear for me, dear father, be your days few or many, God will provide for me, by enabling me to work for myself.'

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'She is an angel,' he said when she left the room. 'It would have been too much to expect that God should have given me two children endowed with Olivia's talent, but for all that Sarah is indeed an angel!'" "And while Sarah was attending her father, aunt," inquired Ellen," where was Olivia ?"

66

My dear, Olivia had never been taught to command her feelings; consequently, even if she had been inclined, her sphere of usefulness must be very contracted. I believe she loved her father; she wrote a great many beautiful poems on his death (for he did die); but, during his illness, particularly after his case became hopeless, she used to go into hysterics whenever she witnessed his sufferings, and consequently was unable to alleviate them. To the very last Doctor Lambert consoled himself with

the belief that Olivia would meet troops of friends, and establish for herself fame, and gain for herself riches. He knew that for her sake he had lived beyond his means; that he had entered into expensive society that she might shine; and he trusted that her talents had been properly cultivated.

I never loved Sarah so much as I did when I was ac

quainted with her virtuous exertions to obtain independence; I was proud of her friendship---I studied to deserve it; I hope I did deserve it. I was often angry with Olivia, for she would not draw, because she could not obtain the price she thought her pictures deserved. She would not go out to teach, and she did not understand music as a profession sufficiently to receive pupils at home. She was frequently invited out; but because she could not dress as gaily as she had ever done, she refused to go at all into society. But the cup of her humbled; Sarah had stood between her and her griefs, sorrow was not yet filled; she was not yet sufficiently whether real or imaginary; but it pleased God that this excellent girl should be afflicted with a heavy and sudden illness; this awoke Olivia to a sense of her duties; she saw, as if a film had been removed from her eyes, that her sister had been taxed beyond her strength, and that, too, by her indolence and her vanity; the knowledge was painful, but it was true."

"Well, dear aunt," inquired Ellen anxiously, "but it did her good; it changed her, did it not? and she rewarded this dear sister, and became a useful member of society ?"

"My dear Ellen," replied Lady Dacre, "it requires the exercise of a strong and vigorous mind to change suddenly industry. I hear of such changes; but I have seldom and completely from pride and indolence to humility and seen them. Olivia certainly did change; but as regarded her dear sister, it came too late."

66

"Oh, aunt! Sarah did not die ?"

"She did, my dear. She died with her head resting on my shoulder; her hand clasped in that of her sister. stitution, never strong, by unmitigated labour; and she While she lived, even I did not know all her worth; she had laboured night and day; she had undermined a consank into her grave at the age of six and twenty, just as her prospects were brightening; for if she had lived, she would have been married to a near relative of mine, who appreciated her virtues, and longed to see them rewarded. But she had her reward, Ellen; she enjoyed the consciousness of having done her duty in that state of life in which it had pleased God to place her. She had learned to and her death-bed was one of peace and joy." trust in the mercy and loving kindness of the Almighty;

"And her sister ?"

"Alas! my dear, Olivia tried-I believe sincerely-to be useful. Those who had given Sarah an opportunity of exerting her talents, and to whom she had become endeared, encouraged her good intentions; but bad habits, acquired early, are hard to overcome. She could not bring down her spirit to the level of her circumstances, and was perpetually reverting to what she had been, instead of making the best of what she was. She missed the luxuries which custom had rendered necessaries; and her friends, or rather those who transferred to her a portion of the friendship they had bestowed upon her sister, grew gradually tired of giving to a discontented person.

We went abroad for some time; and on our return, I inquired for the once beautiful Olivia, whom we thought we had not left without the means of respectable subsistence. Alas! we found her ill, and without friends-her loveliness had been rubbed out by fretfulness-its charm was gone--her accomplishments, always showy and imperfect, had ceased to yield enjoyment; for she only prized them as a means to obtain the admiration she no longer excited: poor and neglected, this once brilliant creature inhabited a wretched garret--and”

"But you did not leave her there, aunt? Neither you nor mamma, nor grand-mamma, nor any of those of Hartopp Hall, would leave her there," interrupted Ellen, struggling with her tears. "If she had been properly brought up, she would have been very different, and would have known how to use, and when to use, her talents. And besides, she was Sarah's sister; and grand-mamma might easily have put her into one of those dear nice cottages that grand-papa won't allow to be called alms-houses, because they are inhabited by those who never asked an alms. Oh! aunt; I see by your face that this was done. And, I am sure I know who she is---the tall, pale, lady-like woman, who told grand-mamma one day that the roses did not grow fast enough to shade her window, and who has a little village maid to wait on her. Well! I am glad she is not dead. I wonder does she often remember her gay days. I remember one day last summer, she kissed Rose, and said she was very pretty; but not to be vain of it, for it would fade--and not to be conceited. It is a great change, though, for her---is it not ?"

"It is, my dear: but it is our duty to be thankful for the blessings we enjoy, and not to regret those we have lost. When I look at her poor hand, deformed by that cruel rheumatism, and remember how beautiful it looked upon the harp, I am tempted to repine with her; but when I also remember how necessary it was that her conceit and pride should be subdued, I think of the mercy of God, who, while he taught her humility, did not desert her utterly.

and I hope it has given you a lesson as to the folly of Such, my love, is the history of THE TWO SISTERS,' setting so much value on cleverness, unassisted by more feminine qualities."

LONDON: Published, with permission of the proprietors, by W.S. ORR, Paternoster Row; and sold by all booksellers and newsmen.-Printed by Bradbury and Evans, Whitefriars. Complete sets of the Journal are always to be had from the publishers or their agents; also, any odd numbers to complete

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DINBURGE

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE," "CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c.

NUMBER 444.

ROOM AND RATIONS. TILL about forty years ago, there was a comfortable doctrine in the world, that children were a good thing, and that it was desirable to encourage population. Louis XIV. actually went so far as to give pensions to men who had more than ten children; and there were few European states in which he who had three or four did not get a discount from his taxes. But since then, a most melancholy notion has taken possession of the brains of politicians, namely, that population requires rather to be checked than encouraged, seeing that, if allowed full head-way, it is apt greatly to outstrip the increase of the means of subsistence. It is not very likely that many marriages and births have been prevented in our islands by this doctrine. Somehow, people fall in love and marry without much regard to theory, and children come into existence in loud defiance of all that can be said to the contrary. Every day that rises on our islands sees a thousand more human beings squalling upon them than what were squalling the day before; and it is rather remarkable that our total numbers have increased more since this damping doctrine came out, than they did for perhaps a century and a half before. Nevertheless, the doctrine is certainly an oppressive kind of thing, particularly to old bachelor gentlemen who would not marry at any rate, and it would be quite as well that people with large families were relieved in the eye of the public from all charge of contributing to some future famine.

The doctrine appears to be a very sound doctrine when taken by itself. It seems undeniable that, if ten pairs were planted on a small island, which could only produce sufficient aliment for them and forty other persons, that is, four children to each pair, or fifty in all, there would only be occasion for as many marriages as might keep up the population at fifty, and that, if all the forty children were to marry, and have for each pair four children, that is, eighty in addition to the first number, a famine would ensue. But such circumstances as these do not exist in the world. As things are constituted, the new population could either remove to some neighbouring island and plant new settlements, or they could exert manufacturing industry in their original home, and, with the goods they produced, purchase food from some neighbours who chanced to have a wider range of cultivable ground. There might even be a third alternative, for, under the pressing anxiety to provide for the new mouths, they might exercise so much ingenuity and activity in increasing the productiveness of their own soil, that it would support the increased population. These expedients are not adopted to the extent they might be: there is a disposition to prefer the natal soil to every other; political regulations in some cases prevent food from being bought in from a distance; and men are often found very sluggish in adopting means for increasing the produce of their own soil. But where such is the case, the necessary consequence is that marriages are fewer, and the progress of the population is restrained-unless, indeed, where, from some unlucky combination of circumstances, so low a point in the scale of poverty has been reached, that people become reckless of consequences. Certainly, it may generally be affirmed that, where all social regulations are on a right footing, and no marring accident takes place, population may be safely allowed to go on at its natural rate of increase, if men will only hold themselves prepared to go to new ground, or to make the old more productive, or to labour for the means of purchasing food from remote fields of production.

Allowing these to be sound principles, it may be worth while to make a little inquiry into the means

SATURDAY, AUGUST 1, 1840.

which nature has yet in reserve for supporting an increased population, both with respect to room and to capabilities of increased production. Most people are of course aware of there being vast unoccupied countries in the world, and that scarcely any districts now under cultivation might not produce much more than they do; but probably few have distinct ideas on either subject.

No result of geographical science is, in our opinion, more remarkable than the different amounts of population in comparison with space, which are found in various countries. The British islands, with 91,000 square miles and an estimated population of 23,400,000, support 257 on every square mile. Some of the other enlightened countries of Europe exhibit a rate somewhat similar. In France, it is 208; in Holland, 262; in Germany, 193. Belgium, with its numerous busy towns within a narrow space, rises considerably higher; the rate is there 453. Switzerland, containing much mountainous ground, but a very industrious people, gives 177. Italy, with a fruitful soil, and many populous cities, supports 249 per square mile. On the other hand, Spain, with its numerous sierras and its little industry, gives only 101; Portugal, 121; Sweden and Norway, with vast alpine wildernesses, have only 17. Russia, full of desolate plains, and with an enslaved populace, gives 35. Turkey, where there is equally little or less freedom, but more fertility, exhibits 63. Prussia and Austria, again, are at such a medium as might be expected from their soil and climate and their political institutions, being in the one case 155, and in the other 165.

Europe contains in all 2,812,532 square miles, and 230,672,000 people, which gives an average of 82 to the square mile. Now, when we consider that some parts, in no way specially favoured by nature, and where agriculture chiefly is depended on, contain so many as 208 to the square mile (France is in this case), we cannot well doubt that there would be room for many more people in Europe, supposing it were all brought up to the very moderate point in agriculture and manufacturing and commercial activity, which France has already attained. If we go on to suppose a general improvement in agriculture, such as has taken place in Great Britain, a still farther increase to an almost incalculable amount might be admitted of. For four millions of quarters of wheat grown at the beginning of the reign of George III., England now raises twelve millions, or thrice the former quantity. By a single improvement, the introduction of bone manure, some lands have of late years been producing five times their former crops of turnips. Tile draining is making one piece of land worth what two once were, all over the island. Of course, there is nothing to prevent other countries from following similar plans in tillage and husbandry, and thus becoming capable of supporting an immensely larger number of people, or of exporting food to other countries in exchange for useful articles.+ But even Britain is by

*We take our computations of superficies and population chiefly from the "Abrégé de Geographie, par Adrien Balbi. A Paris: 1838."

On this point we have some serviceable illustration in a passage of Mr Paget's recent work on Hungary*-a work, by the way, which we would earnestly recommend to the attention of our readers. The passage in question describes the estate of a Hungarian baron as extending to about fourteen thousand acres, but as being extremely unproductive, on account of the low state of rural economy in all its branches in that country. This estate, indeed, appears generally to be in the same condition as most estates were in Scotland about a hundred years ago. Our baron's oak-woods were, he confessed, useless in point of revenue, though

*Hungary and Transylvania, with Remarks on their Condition, Social, Political, and Economical. By John Paget, Esq.

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

no means come to an ultimatum in agricultural improvement. In England there are eight millions of acres of waste land; in Ireland there are five millions; all of which might be improved and made productive, if the right methods were taken. Here there is evidently room for a vast increase. The late Sir John Sinclair was of opinion that Great Britain and Ireland could of themselves produce food for a hundred millions of people, or four times the present number, if the soil were turned to such advantage as even the present state of science admits of. We have not the least doubt, when we contrast the bulk of the country with such pattern spots as Haddingtonshire, and consider the land which is entirely waste, that Sir John's calculation is not beyond the mark, laying aside all consideration of what further capabilities may be discovered hereafter by science, and realised by enterprise, skill, and capital. This would give us a population of one thousand to the square mile. Now, the one-half of Europe, being equally or more favoured by nature than Britain, must be capable of supporting a population of that amount also, or, in all, rather more than 1,400,000,000. Take the remainder at only one-third of the same rate, and we have as many more as makes up the full amount to 1,868,755,000, or upwards of seven times more than the present amount. No doubt, many favourable circumstances must be supposed before we can expect such a result. War must cease; the minds of the nations must be enlightened, and, as a consequence of the latter circumstance, political regulations must be based, not upon narrow and false views of the interests of nations or of sections, but on principles of universal justice, and with a regard to the good of the whole. These are results which cannot be expected soon, but which must in time be realised, for, notwithstanding occasional oscillations, there is a tendency, and a constantly increasing tendency, towards them.

Asia is four times the size of Europe; but one-third part of it, Asiatic Russia, is an arctic wilderness which does not support one human being per square mile, and the Chinese empire, another third, includes the equally desolate and very large tracts of Mongol, or Chinese Tartary, so that probably a half of this great division of the world may be considered as scarcely tenanted at all. In the remaining half, several countries are nearly as well peopled as some of our European states in the second-best condition. Thus Japan, where agriculture is encouraged by the state in a very extraordinary manner, is so well cultivated, and, upon the whole, regulated with so much regard to the good of the great body of the people, that the population is 25,000,000, or 139 to the square mile. China Proper, where there is also a very active landculture, is well peopled. The most moderate computation gives nearly 170,000,000. The population of the territories of the East India Company is also good in proportion to space, being 231 to the square mile.

he obtained firing and some gall-nuts from them. He had hitherto had scarcely any stock upon his grounds, because in winter the animals die for lack of provisions-exactly the case of our farmers before the introduction of turnip-husbandry. He had recently, however, got a Scotch steward or bailiff to introduce some improvements. This person, though beset with great difficulties from the untractableness and laziness of the peasantry, had brought a farm of three hundred acres into a high state of cultivation. He had barns and stacks to show, and fat oxen, and huge potatoes. The baron confessed that, though the outlay had been great, the produce was enormous: he had now as much corn and hay from this little farm as from the whole estate formerly.

It seems probable, from what Mr Paget states, that for every hundred persons whom Hungary and Transylvania now support in a very poor way and in a state of gross ignorance and rudeness, they might support a thousand at least, in comparative comfort and with the benefits of knowledge and refinement, if the productive resources of the country were fully developed.

exercise all other useful arts from the first with the leaning upon the arm of another lady. One look was all
that I had time for, when she recognised me.
greatest activity.

But all the rest of Asia, under the influence of wretched
governments and bad moral systems, is but thinly in-
habited. The "territories under British influence" are
The sum of all these calculations is, that the earth
best-135 to the mile. In Siam and Birmah it is only billions of people, or about eighteen times more than at
is capable of supporting between sixteen and seventeen
24; in Persia, 26; in Asiatic Turkey, 23. Taking present reside upon it, even supposing that the whole
the whole space at 12,385,430 square miles, and the were cultivated only as well as the present state of agri-
entire population at 525,204,000, the population of cultural science admits of, and allowing scarcely any
Asia is only 42 to the square mile. Now, we assume the thing for vast tracts, at present sterile, but which men
may hereafter find the means of turning to account.
northern half of Asia to support at present not more It will of course occur to every mind that, considering
than 10,000,000 of people, or not two to the square mile. the inferior natures of many races, a long time would
Inhospitable as the country is, this must be much be required to bring cultivation to such a pitch: no
beneath its capabilities, and we cannot consider our doubt; but so would it also require to people up the
selves extravagant in supposing that it may yet be world to so vast an amount. In all the time that has
yet elapsed since the creation of man, the population
found supporting ten where it now supports scarcely of the earth has only risen to about nine hundred and
two. This would give 60,000,000 as a proper popula- fifty millions. Probably it is not now a third more
tion for Northern Asia. Of the remaining half of populous than in the days when Rome was its mis-
Asia, we would set aside a third for the deserts of tress. In fact, it is only within the last hundred years
Arabia, Turkey, and Persia, leaving about four millions that population has been any where observed to in-
crease considerably, and that only in a few countries
of square miles, to which no less capabilities can be where the peaceful arts had begun to be cultivated with
assigned than those which have already been assigned earnestness, and in circumstances favourable to their
to England: probably, considering the superior ferti- progress. There is, then, little danger that the pro-
lity of southern climes, we might be justified in strik-gress of population will exceed that of the means of
ing a higher pitch. Even at this, which is obviously to stand simply thus:-Here is a vast space for new
supporting the increased numbers. The case seems
moderate, we find that Southern Asia, after all deduc- tenants; here are wondrous and apparently indefinite
tions for waste ground, is capable of supporting no less powers in nature which may be turned to account by
than four thousand millions of people, or more than four human ingenuity and industry, for the support of
times the amount of the present entire population of greater numbers on the same space; here is a moral
law held forth, at the same time, that, if nations will
the globe!
live in amity, and deal justly towards each other, the
reciprocation of their services will enable far more to
live in the whole of the countries put together, than
could subsist in those countries, supposing them all to
be shut up from each other. Take advantage of these
PROPOSALS OF PROVIDENCE, and you may increase;
but, if you do not choose to do so, Providence offers no
alternative but a restriction upon numbers, a rule of
which the breach is unavoidably attended with misery.
In past ages, while these laws were not understood, and
a low intelligence and low morality alike prevailed, the
check; but it is precisely one of the benefits which may
tendency to increase must have been much under this
be hoped for from increased and diffused knowledge,
that hereafter the opposite course will be taken, and
that moral, industrious, and enlightened nations will
less thousands of years, Nature may have been said to
rapidly spread along the vast tracts, where, for count-
be waiting for Man.

Africa is a difficult subject, so much of the interior being unknown, and the present population being so ill ascertained. Yet there can be no doubt, either of the great populousness of Africa, or of its ability to support many more than it does. A country which for ages has given about half a million of victims annually to the slave-trade, without any where showing the slightest symptoms of depopulation, must contain no mean number of human beings. The Barbary states on the coast of the Mediterranean once contained a happy and thriving population of fifty millions; but now, under the selfish, merciless, and unenlightened rule of Turkish adventurers, the number is sunk to ten millions. This is in itself a striking proof of the high capabilities of at least some districts of Africa. Probably, then, we make no extravagant supposition when we assign to Africa two hundred millions, instead of the one hundred now usually placed to its account by geographers.

The spare room in America is enormous. This mighty continent, six times the size of Europe, or containing a superficies of 17,223,545 square miles, is believed to be inhabited as yet by only about forty-two millions of people, or at an average 24 persons to the square mile. Yet, excepting the Russian and British territories in the north, and the southern parts of Patagonia, it is generally of such a nature, in soil and climate, as to appear capable of supporting a dense population. Even the parts under the equator, which

in some other divisions of the world are hot and unhealthy, happen in America to be for the most part as temperate as the medium latitudes, in consequence of their being composed of table land at a considerable height above the level of the sea. We in this country have no adequate idea of the immense extent of fertile and most inviting soil which America exhibits in a state almost tenantless. Brazil, which is nearly as large as all Europe, is composed of rich land throughout, yet contains only about five millions of inhabitants, little more than the population of Portugal or of Belgium, the smallest of independent European states. The population of the splendid countries lately constituting Spanish America, and now formed into independent republics, has heretofore been kept low by a grinding and blindly selfish tyranny; but the prime evil is now removed, and though the political condition of these states is not yet so settled as might be wished, there can be no doubt that they are fairly in the way of improvement, and must advance in the career of industry and prosperity, and consequently become the seats of vast nations. All things considered, we believe we are speaking quite in moderation, when we express our belief that there is room in America for ten thousand millions of people -that is, ten times the present supposed amount of the human family.

The islands between the continents of Asia and America are computed at 1,838,100 square miles, with a population of fourteen and a half millions, or nearly eight to the square mile. Considering the ill-watered condition of Australia, we take this district of the world at a considerably lower rate than the better parts of the rest, namely, 250 to the square mile; the result of which is, that there is room in these islands for about four hundred and sixty millions. Here there is a better chance of a quick progress to population than even in South America, for the greater part of these countries will in a few years be colonised by British people, who will immediately begin to cultivate, and

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The hero, young Mr O'Malley, previous to receiving his appointment as a dragoon officer, is invited to a ball at Sir George Dashwood's in Dublin -an amusing college companion, Webber, requests to accompany him, to which receiving a nay-say, he declares to a companion, Power, that he will not only attend without an invitation, but also salute Miss Dashwood without being kicked down stairs for his impertinence-Power wagers a couple of ponies he don't. Having narrated this piece of negotiation, O'Malley proceeds to describe his preparations for the

ball.

"I have often dressed for a storming party with less of trepidation than I felt on the evening of Sir George Dashwood's ball. Since the eventful day of the election, I had never seen Miss Dashwood; therefore, as to what precise position I might occupy in her favour, was a matter of great doubt in my mind, and great import to my happiness. That I myself loved her, was a matter of which all the badinage of my friends regarding her made me painfully conscious; but that, in our relative positions, such an attachment was all but hopeless, I could not disguise from myself. What then is to be done? thought I. If my own feelings be all that I have to depend upon to extort a reciprocal affection, then shall I take my last look of her, and with it the first and brightest dream of happiness my life has hitherto presented.

It need not be wondered at if the brilliant coup d'œil of the ball-room, as I entered, struck me with astonishment, accustomed as I had been hitherto to nothing more magnificent than an evening party of squires and their squiresses, or to the annual garrison ball at the barracks. The glare of wax-lights, the well-furnished saloons, the glitter of uniforms, and the blaze of jewelled and satin dames, with the clang of military music, was a species of enchanted atmosphere which, breathing for the first time, rarely fails to intoxicate. As yet I had neither seen Sir George nor his daughter, and, while I looked on every side for Lucy Dashwood, it was with a beating and anxious heart I longed to see how she would bear comparison with the blaze of beauty

around.

Just at this moment a very gorgeously-dressed hussar stepped from a door-way beside me, as if to make a passage for some one, and the next moment she appeared,

* Publishing in parts by Curry, Dublin.

Ah, Mr O'Malley-how happy-has Sir George-has my father seen you?'

I have only arrived this moment; I trust he is quite well'

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The gentleman to whose guidance I was intrusted, was one of the aid-de-camps, and was not long in finding Sir George. No sooner had the good old general heard my name, than he held out both his hands, and shook mine most heartily.

the greatest service ever man rendered me. He saved 'At last, O'Malley, at last I am able to thank you for Lucy, my lord; rescued her under circumstances where any thing short of his courage and determination must have cost her her life.'

Ah! very pretty, indeed,' said a stiff old gentleman addressed, as he bowed a most superbly-powdered scalp before me; most happy to make your acquaintance." Who is he?' added he, in nearly as loud a tone to Sir George.

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'Ha ha! thought he was.'

rather be over there than hearing all my protestations of 'You dance, O'Malley, I suppose. I'm sure you'd gratitude, sincere and heartfelt as they really are. Lech

mere, introduce my friend Mr O'Malley: get him a partner."

I had not followed my new acquaintance many steps, when Power came up to me. I say, Charlie, cried he, I have been tormented to death by half the ladies in the room, to present you to them, and have been in quest of you this half hour. Your brilliant exploit in savage land has made you a regular preux chevalier; and if you don't trade on that adventure to your most lasting profit, you deserve to be a lawyer. Come along here; Lady you in all form to the dean of some thing's niece; she is Muckleman, the adjutant-general's lady, has four Scotch daughters you are to dance with; then I am to introduce Then there's the town-major's wife, and, in fact, I have a good-looking girl, and has two livings in a safe county. several engagements from this to supper time.'

but I think, perhaps, it were right I should ask Miss

"A thousand thanks for all your kindness in prospective, Dashwood to dance, if only as matter of form-you understand.'

And if Miss Dashwood should say, "With pleasure, sir," only as matter of form-you understand,' said a silvery voice behind me. I turned, and saw Lucy Dashwood, who, having overheard my very free and easy suggestion, replied to me in this manner.

I

I here blundered out my excuses. What I said, and what

did not say, I cannot now remember; but certainly it mine as I led her to the top of the room. In the little op portunity which our quadrille presented for conversation, I could not help remarking that, after the surprise of her first meeting with me, Miss Dashwood's manner becaine gradually more and more reserved, and that there was an evident struggle between her wish to appear grateful for what had occurred, with a sense of the necessity of not incurring a greater degree of intimacy. Such was my impression, at least, and such the conclusion I drew from a certain quiet tone in her manner, that went farther to wound my feelings, and mar my happiness, than any other line of conduct towards me could possibly have

was her turn now to blush, and her arm trembled within

effected.

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Nonsense, child; there's nothing in this world I have such a dread of as that confounded woman-and to come at such a time.'

"When does she speak of paying her visit ?' 'I knew you had not read the note,' said Sir George, hastily; 'she's coming here to-night, is on her way this instant, perhaps. What is to be done? If she forces her way in here, I shall go deranged outright. O'Malley, my boy, read this note, and you will not feel surprised if I appear in the humour you see me.' I took the billet from the hand of Miss Dashwood, and read as follows:

DEAR BROTHER-When this reaches your hand, I'll not be far off-I'm on my way up to town, to be under Dr Dease for the ould complaint. Cowley mistakes my case entirely; he says it's nothing but religion and wind. Father Magrath, who understands a good deal about females, thinks otherwise---but God knows who's right Expect me to tea, and, with love to Lucy, believe me yours, in haste, JUDITH MACAN.

CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.

Let the sheets be well aired in my room; and, if you have a spare bed, perhaps we could prevail upon Father Magrath to stop too.'

I scarcely could contain my laughter till I got to the end of this very free and easy epistle; when at last I burst forth in a hearty fit, in which I was joined by Miss Dashwood.

From the account Power had given me in the morning, I had no difficulty in guessing that the writer was the maiden sister of the late Lady Dashwood, and for whose relationship Sir George had ever testified the greatest dread, even at the distance of two hundred miles; and for whom, in any nearer intimacy, he was in nowise prepared. I say, Lucy,' said he, there's only one thing to be done; if this horrid woman does arrive, let her be shown to her room, and for the few days of her stay in town, we'll neither see nor be seen by any one.'

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Without waiting for a reply, Sir George was turning away to give the necessary directions, when the door of the drawing-room was flung open, and the servant announced, in his loudest voice, Miss Macan. Never shall I forget the poor general's look of horror as the words reached him; for, as yet, he was too far to catch even a As for me, I was already so glimpse of its fair owner. much interested in seeing what she was like, that I made my way through the crowd towards the door. It is no common occurrence that can distract the various occupations of a crowded ball-room, where, amid the crash of music and the din of conversation, goes on the soft low voice of insinuating flattery, or the light flirtation of a first acquaintance; every clique, every coterie, every little group of three or four, has its own separate and private interests, forming a little world of its own, and caring and heeding nothing that goes on around; and even when some striking character or illustrious personage makes his entrée, the attention he attracts is so momentary, that

the buzz of conversation is scarcely, if at all, interrupted, and the business of pleasure continues to flow on. Not so now, however. No sooner had the servant pronounced

the magical name of Miss Macan, than all seemed to stand still. The spell thus exercised over the luckless general, seemed to have extended to his company, for it was with difficulty that any one could continue his train of conversation, while every eye was directed towards the door. About two steps in advance of the servant, who still stood door in hand, was a tall elderly lady, dressed in an antique brocade silk, with enormous flowers gaudily embroidered upon it. Her hair was powdered, and turned back, in the fashion of fifty years before; while her high pointed and heeled shoes completed a costume that had not been seen for nearly a century. Her short skinny arms were bare, and partly covered by a falling flower of old point lace, while on her hands she wore black silk mittens; a pair of green spectacles scarcely dimmed the lustre of a most peering pair of eyes, to whose effect a very palpable touch of rouge certainly added brilliancy. There stood this most singular apparition, holding before her a fan about the size of a modern tea-tray, while at each repetition of her name by the servant, she curtsied deeply, returning the while upon the gay crowd before her a very curious look of maidenly modesty at her solitary and unprotected position.

As no one had ever heard of the fair Judith, save one or two of Sir George's most intimate friends, the greater part of the company were disposed to regard Miss Macan as some one who had mistaken the character of the invitation, and had come in a fancy dress. But this delusion was but momentary, as Sir George, armed with the courage of despair, forced his way through the crowd, and taking her hand affectionately, bid her welcome to Dublin. The fair Judy, at this threw her arms about his neck, and saluted him with a hearty smack, that was heard all over the room.

'Where's Lucy, brother? let me embrace my little darling,' said the lady, in an accent that told more of Miss Macan than a three-volume biography could have done; there she is, I'm sure; kiss me, my honey.'

This office Miss Dashwood performed with an effort at courtesy really admirable, while, taking her aunt's arm, she led her to a sofa.

It needed all the poor general's tact to get over the sensation of this most ill-timed addition to his party; but by degrees the various groups renewed their occupations, although many a smile, and more than one sarcastic glance at the sofa, betrayed that the maiden aunt had not escaped criticism.

Power, whose propensity for fun very considerably outstripped his sense of decorum to his commanding officer, had already made his way towards Miss Dashwood, and succeeded in obtaining a formal introduction to Miss Macan.

I hope you will do me the favour to dance next set with me, Miss Macan ?'

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Really, captain, it's very polite of you; but you must excuse me, I was never any thing great in quadrilles; but if a reel or a jig'

· Oh, dear aunt, don't think of it, I beg of you.' Or even Sir Roger de Coverley,' resumed Miss Macan. I assure you, quite equally impossible.' Then I'm certain you waltz,' said Power. What do you take me for, young man? I hope I know better; I wish Father Magrath heard you ask me that question, and for all your lace jacket'

Dearest aunt, Captain Power didn't mean to offend you; I'm certain he'

Well, why did he dare to--(sob, sob)---did he see any thing light about me, that he (sob, sob, sob)---oh dear! oh dear! is it for this I came up from my little peaceful place in the west ?---(sob, sob, sob)---general, George, dear; Lucy, my love, I'm taken bad. Oh dear, oh dear !---is there any whisky negus?'

Whatever sympathy Miss Macan's sufferings might have excited in the crowd about her before, this last question totally routed them, and a most hearty fit of laughter broke forth from more than one of the bystanders.

At length, however, she was comforted, and her pacifi

cation completely effected by Sir George setting her down
to a whist-table. From this moment, I lost sight of her
for above two hours. Meanwhile I had little opportunity
of following up my intimacy with Miss Dashwood, and as
I rather suspected that, on more than one occasion, she
seemed to avoid our meeting, I took especial care, on my
part, to spare her the annoyance.

For one instant only had I an opportunity of address-
ing her, and then there was such an evident embarrass
ment in her manner, that I readily perceived how she
felt circumstanced, and that the sense of gratitude to one
whose farther advances she might have feared, rendered
her constrained and awkward. Too true, said I, she
avoids me; my being here is only a source of discomfort
and pain to her; therefore I'll take my leave, and resolve,
whatever it may cost me, never to return. With this in-
tention, resolving to wish Sir George very good night, I
sought him out for some minutes. At length I saw him
he had presented me early in the evening.
in a corner, conversing with the old nobleman to whom
"True, upon my honour, Sir George,' said he; I saw
blackleg in Paris.'
it myself, and she did it just as dexterously as the oldest

Never did song create such a sensation as Miss Macan's; and certainly her desires as to the chorus were followed to the letter; for the Widow Malone, ohone!' resounded from one end of the table to the other, amid one universal shout of laughter. None could resist the ludisinking under the disgrace of his relationship, which she crous effect of her melody; and even poor Sir George, had contrived to make public by frequent allusions to her dear brother the general,' yielded at last, and joined in the mirth around him.

I insist upon a copy of the "Widow," Miss Macan,' To be sure; give me a call to-morrow; let me see, said Power. 'Where, pray, may I pay my respects?' about two,' said she, with a coquettish look. 'No. 22 South Anne-Street; very respectable lodgings. Power produced a card and pencil, while Miss Macan I'll write the address in your pocket-book." "There, now, don't read it here before the people; they'll wrote a few lines, saying, as she handed it, think it mighty indelicate in me to make an appointment.'

Power pocketed the card, and the next minute Miss Macan's carriage was announced.

"Why, you don't mean to say that she cheated ?'
Sir George Dashwood, who little flattered himself that
"Yes, but I do though---turned the ace every time.
Lady Herbert said to me, "Very extraordinary it is-four his fair guest had any intention of departure, became now
by honours again." So I looked, and then I perceived most considerately attentive-reminded her of the neces
it--a very old trick it is; but she did it beautifully.sity of muffling against the night air---hoped she should
escape cold, and wished a most cordial good night, with
What's her name?'
a promise of seeing her early the following day.
Notwithstanding Power's ambition to engross the at-
tention of the lady, Sir George himself saw her to her
carriage, and only returned to the room as a group was
collected around the gallant captain, to whom he was re-
lating some capital traits of his late conquest, for such
he dreamed she was.

'Some western name; I forget it,' said the poor gene-
ral, ready to die with shame.

Clever old woman, very,' said the old lord, taking a
Supper was announced at this critical moment, and
pinch of snuff; but revokes too often.'
before I had farther thought of my determination to
the staircase. The party immediately in front of me
escape, I felt myself hurried along in the crowd towards
were Power and Miss Macan, who now appeared recon-
ciled, and certainly testified most openly their mutual
feelings of good-will.

'I say, Charley,' whispered Power, as I came along, 'it
is capital fun--never met any thing equal to her; but the
of ten days' arrest for this night's proceeding.'
poor general will never live through it, and I'm certain
Any news of Webber?' I inquired.

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Oh yes,

fancy I can tell something of him; for I
heard of some one presenting himself, and being refused
the entrée, so that Master Frank has lost his money. Sit
near us, I pray you, at supper; we must take care of the
dear aunt for the niece's sake---eh ?'

Not seeing the force of this reasoning, I soon separated
myself from them, and secured a corner at a side-table.
Every supper on such an occasion as this, is the same
scene of soiled white muslin, faded flowers, flushed faces,
torn gloves, blushes, blanc-mange, cold chicken, jelly,
sponge cakes, spooney young gentlemen doing the at-
tentive, and watchful mammas calculating what precise
degree of propinquity in the crush is safe or seasonable
for their daughters, to the moustached and unmarrying
lovers beside them. There are always the same set of
gratified elders, like the benchers in King's Inns, marched
up to the head of the table, to eat, drink, and be happy
---removed from the more profane looks and soft speeches
of the younger part of the creation. Then there are the
'oi polloi' of outcasts, younger sons of younger brothers,
tutors, governesses, portionless cousins, and curates, all
formed in a phalanx round the side-tables, whose primi-
tive habits and simple tastes are evinced by their all
eating off the same plate and drinking from nearly the
same wine-glass-too happy if some better-off acquain-
tance at the long table invites them to wine,' though
the ceremony on their part is limited to the pantomime
of drinking. To this miserable tiers état I belonged, and
bore my fate with unconcern; for, alas! my spirits were
depressed, and my heart heavy. Lucy's treatment of me
was every moment before me, contrasted with her gay
and courteous demeanour to all, save myself; and I longed
for the moment to get away.

Never had I seen her looking so beautiful: her bril-
liant eyes were lit with pleasure, and her smile was en-
chantment itself. What would I not have given for one
moment's explanation, as I took my leave for ever!---one
brief avowal of my love, my unalterable devoted love;
for which I sought not nor expected return, but merely
asked that I might not be forgotten.

Such were my thoughts, when a dialogue quite near
me aroused me from my reverie. I was not long in de-
tecting the speakers, who, with their backs turned to us,
were seated at the great table, discussing a very liberal
allowance of pigeon-pie, a flask of champagne standing
between them.
Don't now! I'd have you to remember it ain't a
Widow Malone you have beside you.'

·

'Never heard of the lady,' said Power.
'Sure it's a song--poor creature--it's a song they made
about her in the North Cork, when they were quartered
down in our country.'

'I wish you'd sing it.'

Well, mind you get up a good chorus, for the song has one, and here it is.'

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Miss Macan's song!' said Power, tapping the table
with his knife. Miss Macan's song!' was re-echoed on
all sides; and before the luckless general could interfere,
she had begun. How to explain the air I know not, for
I never heard its name; but at the end of each verse, a
species of echo followed the last word, that rendered it
irresistibly ridiculous.

Did you hear of the Widow Malone,
Who lives in the town of Athlone

Oh! she melted the hearts
Of the swains in them parts,
So lovely the Widow Malone,

Ohone!
Alone i

Ohone!

So lovely the Widow Malone.

6

'Doubt it who will,' said he, she has invited me to call on her to-morrow---written her address on my card. handed it to Lechmere. Scarcely were the eyes of the See here.' At these words he pulled forth the card, and other thrown upon the writing, when he said,So, this isn't it, Power?t

To be sure it is, man,' said Power; 'Anne-Street is devilish seedy; but that's the quarter.'

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'Why, man,' said the other, there's not a word of that here.' 'Read it out,' said Power; 'proclaim aloud my victory." Thus urged, Lechmere read:--

'Dear P.---Please pay to my credit, and soon, mark ye, the two ponies lost this evening. I have done myself the pleasure of enjoying your ball, kissed the lady,quizzed Yours, FRANK WEBBER. The Widow Malone, ohone, is at your service.' the papa, and walked into the cunning Fred. Power. Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, astonishment could not have equalled the result of this revelation. He stamped, swore, raved, laughed, and almost went deranged. The joke was soon spread through the room, and from Sir George to poor Lucy, now covered with blushes at her part in the transaction, all was laughter and astonishment.

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Who is he? that is the question,' said Sir George, who, with all the ridicule of the affair hanging over him, felt no common relief at the discovery of the imposition. 'A friend of O'Malley's,' said Power, delighted, in his defeat, to involve another with himself.

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Indeed!' said the general, regarding me with a look "Quite true sir,' said I, replying to the accusation that of very mingled cast. his manner implied; but equally so, that I neither knew of his plot, nor recognised him when here.'

"I am perfectly sure of it, my boy,' said the general; and, after all, it was an excellent joke, carried a little far it's true-eh, Lucy ?'"

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ON Sunday evening, 6th January 1839, I started for Liverpool in H. M. mail packet "Avon" (Captain Townley) from Kingstown pier. There were sixteen men and four ladies), also a little daughter of Mapassengers besides myself on board (twelve gentledame Dulcken [a musician who had been performing publicly in Dublin]. When we had cleared the Dublin Lights, the evening set in rough, with an uneasy swell; but the sky was still serene, some heavy masses of black clouds, edged with copper, lying to the southward.

Being used to rough nights at sea, I did not anticipate any thing unusual, but retired tranquilly to bed at ten o'clock. My berth was so situated in the state cabin as to enable me to see every person in it, and what was going forward there. Several of the gentlemen remained at the cabin table long after I retired, some talking politics, some drinking brandy and water, and others playing backgammon. I had been asleep about two hours, when my head was dashed suddenly against the side of my berth, which awoke me in alarm. Upon looking out, I was surprised to see all my fellow-passengers standing in the cabin, partly Some had undressed, and in great consternation. left their berths in terror, and those who were lying upon sofas had been pitched off about the cabin floor. The hurricane had begun in reality, and with such sudden violence as nearly to deprive us of expression.

The vessel was now rolling and pitching at a very furious rate, but we only gazed at each other in silence, with pale faces, in which fear was strongly depicted. Three hours more wore on, during which the hurricane had been momentarily increasing, so that at about four o'clock on the following (Monday) morning, the storm was raging at its highest pitch of fury.

was that she had struck, and was filling fast. Mr Lucas exclaimed loudly, "We are gone at last! Lord, ladies into our cabin from their own, disturbed our receive our souls." A wild rush of the terror-stricken devotions; the prospect of death banished all nice distinctions, for they clung franticly to whoever they could grasp, and cried aloud to those undressed and miserable "lords of the creation" to save them.

As I was the only passenger that remained in berth as real actors in a real tragedy. Poor Madame Dulcat this period, I looked out upon the unhappy group pitated head foremost against the rail of my berth; she fell backwards on the cabin floor, and lay there senseless and unassisted. Her husband (Monsieur little daughter crouching in his lap; but so powerless Dulcken), sat near the spot where she fell, with his was this poor German that he did not move; he sat shivering in his scanty dress, and looking unutterable anguish.

I did not get up with the rest, but lay still in my berth, looking out upon my frightened fellow-passen-ken, in attempting to reach her husband, was precigers, and listening fearfully to the wild roaring of the elements. At times, the mad whistling of the winds through the masts and rigging was like the unearthly shrieking of demons in the air; these dreadful sounds appalled me more than the constant pitching of the vessel and creaking of her timbers. About five o'clock this morning, we were aroused from our stupor of fear by a loud crash; it was one of the masts which had given way, and fallen upon the poop. A deathlike silence ensued, and the vessel began to labour in the trough of the sea, as if tired out by straining and unnatural exertion. Before the "dreadful morrow" broke, the men who were lashed to the helm cried out, "Captain overboard!" This news was indeed a severe blow to us, as we were depending entirely on the captain's skill to save us. Hope was for a while completely extinguished. This, however, proved to be a false report: the captain was not swept overboard; he was only carried off the quarter-deck by a dreadful sea, and pitched forward amongst the anchor chains, where he lay for a while insensible, until one of the seamen stumbled over him. They wanted to carry him to his cabin, but the brave little commander would not allow it; and, although much injured, he insisted upon a rope being fastened across the quarterdeck, in the middle of which was a noose, that (whilst it held him securely) allowed him to move about the

deck.

I had so much confidence in our captain's experience, as to feel assured he would be able to make his way gallantly if the darkness of night were once past. Filled with this hope, I got out of my berth, and waited anxiously for daylight; with great difficulty I made my way to the top of the cabin stairs, where I stood a while looking out upon the most awfully grand sight my eyes ever beheld. The fury of the winds had slightly abated, but the agitation of the sea had increased to a fearful height. At the moment I looked out, the vessel had just descended the sloping side of a mountain wave, and was labouring darkly in the trough of the sea; two enormous walls of green transparent water reared themselves far, far above the vessel!

"the mountain wave

Recumbent, with its weight of bursting waters!"

I rushed down to the cabin again, under the impression that these immense masses of water would inevitably fall in upon us, and strike her to the bottom! But I was wrong, for the next minute she emerged from that fearful gulf, and was ascending another mountain of water, only to be again plunged into a similar abyss.

The hope I encouraged during the night began to vanish; the long and anxiously wished-for daylight was there indeed, but the sea-drift prevented the crew from seeing five yards beyond the vessel. Night or day were now all the same to us, for she became completely unmanageable. The men at the wheel declared their labours to be useless, as she continued drifting rapidly (in despite of all their efforts) towards those shelving sands on the Welsh coast where the Rothesay Castle" was lost.

66

This melancholy day, up to five o'clock in the afternoon, was spent in vainly endeavouring to turn her head out to open sea, from the certain destruction towards which she was rapidly drifting. As the cabin door had been made fast early in the day by the captain's orders, and no passenger allowed on deck, we were informed through the broken poop that the captain had determined upon making a final experiment in order to effect what he had been all day trying at in vain. This "dernier resort" was to put on all her canvass, place four men at the helm, and force her head round out to open sea. Such a proceeding in such a gale, we were told, might be fatal, and were desired to be prepared for the worst consequences.

The uproar upon deck was now heard above the storm; the hoarse voice of the captain's speakingtrumpet was answered by shrill whistles and loud "ay, ay's," when suddenly we spun round with a report like a volley of musketry. It was the noise of the mainsail, which was blown into pieces! The success of this skilful manœuvre gave us a little hope; we were now at open sea again, but without coal, and, consequently, without steam, and our captain confessed himself to be ignorant of his exact situation. The second night now came on, more terrible than night ever appeared to me before.

About seven o'clock, a dreadful sea struck our bows, which made us recoil a great distance, and settle heavily in the trough of the sea. The general feeling

hammered open, and in rolled three drenched and Things were in this state when the cabin door was black-looking engine-men. The foremost laid down his lantern, and after wringing the sea water out of his woollen cap, he raised a circular piece out of the cabin floor, and handed up some reserve lumps of resin addressed these men, and begged to know if there was and coal to his companion. Some of the passengers any hope, but their answers were brutal and reckless. One of the gentlemen (Captain O'Grady) had a favourite mare on deck; I heard him often during this day regret his inability to go out and give her some assistance; but now that the cabin door was opened, he seized a large case-bottle of brandy, and made his way to her crib. When he reached her, she was little better than alive; the bulwarks, which formed part of her shelter, had been all carried away, consequently, every sea washed over the prostrate and stiffened form of poor Bess. This fine-hearted young fellow knelt down beside his favourite, and rubbed her with the brandy, and poured some down her throat, until he restored animation: during this operation, the sea was washing returned to the cabin quite drenched, but seemingly over both horse and master. In some time after, he much happier. I am glad to say that the mare lived. When these savage engine-men left the cabin, we were again fastened down, and left to bitter reflection. We really felt the sickness of heart which is caused by "hope deferred;" despair was in every countenance. The strong and proud men I saw so happy at the cabin table only the night before, were now weeping and praying audibly, and pressing their foreheads in an agony of grief.

I lay still in my berth, and felt that my hour was surely come. During thirty hours I had not even tasted water. I felt exhausted, and longed to wet my lips; but I saw it was useless to ask for any thing, as the steward lay upon his face on the floor, in a state of stupefaction.

I tried to collect my thoughts, and prayed in simple yet fervent terms to God, to avert the death which momentarily threatened me, and to prolong my life for the sake of my wife and child.

After this I felt more calm and resigned to my fate, and scenes and incidents in my life, from my boyhood to the present, rose vividly to my mind. I wondered whether my body would be washed ashore or not; and if so, whether kind hands would bury me. Extreme exhaustion was succeeded by a slight delirium. I fancied that F- was there dressed in mourning, holding our baby with a tiny black bough in her cap, and both so near me in the berth, that I often stretched forth my hand to touch them. After lying some time in this state, I sank into insensibility. It is said, when. things come to the worst point, they change; for, on the next (Tuesday) morning, we were aroused by the voice of the captain, who had burst in the cabin-door, and shouted out, "Thank God! I have you anchored in Beaumauris at last!" This was like an electric spark to us. We started, but could not speak. "Three cheers for our brave little captain," cried O'Grady. The attempt to do so was made, but such a faint sound issued from our parched lips, that it could be only called the ghost of a cheer.

When had recovered sufficiently to remark the objects around me, I was struck with the appearance of our captain. His face (after the last forty hours' exposure to the hurricane) was a mixture of colours, in which red and blue were predominant, and his eyes bloodshot. He was encased in oiled linen, with a " sou-wester" tied firmly under his chin. Yet he appeared to me more lovely than Adonis; I grasped his hand, and thanked him from my heart. About ten o'clock on Tuesday morning (8th January), I came upon deck, having at last left the berth I thought I should have died in.

Madame Dulcken was already there before me, inspecting the amount of injury done by the sea to her splendid piano. Captain O'Grady was also on deck, looking after the recovery of his mare. This gentleman had also two beautiful small dogs on board; they were coupled with a small chain, and placed in the "cabouse" for warmth; notwithstanding this precaution, the sea had reached them, and the smaller one perished. I was much struck with the mute sorrow of the surviving deg, as he sat shivering and looking down upon his dead companion.

Before leaving the vessel, I sat down and wrote an address to Captain Townley, which, having been unanimously approved of, I had the pleasure of read

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A SUMMER IN BRITTANY.*

A NEW work in two volumes, entitled a "Summer in Brittany," and the production of T. A. Trollope, Esq., B. A., presents us with much pleasant and amusing that has been little visited, comparatively speaking, by reading. Brittany, or Bretagne, is a portion of France travellers, and this remark applies particularly to the interior of the province. The Breton district forms prises the five modern departments of Ille et Vilaine, the northern boundary of the Bay of Biscay, and comLoire Inferieure, Côtes du Nord, Morbihan, and Finistere.

Brittany was formerly known by the name of stituted an independent principality under its present Armorique or Armorica, and, at a later period, condesignation. The Bretons, and more especially those called the Low-Bretons, occupying Finistere and Morbihan, are a race of pure Celts, and have preserved numberless peculiarities, indicative of their origin, and distinguishing them from their neighbours of Normandy. They retain their old language, one perfectly different from any of the provincial French dialects, and are, in dress and habits, strikingly and obstinately primitive, resembling very much, in these respects, the Welsh, with whom, both in name and descent, they have an unquestionable affinity. Instead of the tall race, the Bretons are marked by black eyes, short persons, oval features, and blue eyes of the Norman stature, and rounded faces, with strongly formed jawbones. They wear calf-skin or sheep-skin coats, with the hair or wool outside, and large loose breeches, tied at the knee, and leaving the stocking visible below. In their habits they are generally very filthy, and their houses are so much characterised by the same features, that one may readily break a leg in the mudholes of the floors, as we are told by a French writer, quoted in the volumes before us. In their agricultural practices, and in short in every imaginable point, the Breton peasants adhere to the imperfect civilisation left to them by their ancestors.

"I spoke in a former chapter (says our author), of the Low-Breton tailor as being a personage of much importance in the social life of the peasants. He it is who conducts the delicate negotiations which precede a marriage. When a young peasant has fixed his affections upon a girl, he seeks the tailor, and confides his passion to him. This plenipotentiary then proceeds to the lady's dwelling, and hangs about till he can find an opportunity of talking with her alone. Having found this, he commences the conversation with some rustic commonplace topics, but soon adroitly turns it to the object of his embassy. His business is then to represent his employer as the most eligible parti' in the commune, and ply her with all the arguments and eloquence which his long experience has taught him are most powerful in such cases.

If this negotiation is successful, the matter is then laid before the parents of either party; and if no opposition is made by them to the projected match, a day is appointed for a meeting.

On the day fixed, the tailor, with a white rod in his hand, and grotesquely clad with one red stocking, and one purple one, brings the young man with his father, or some other relative, to the house of his mistress. There, while the old folks talk over the matter, the young people retire to the farther part of the house, and enjoy a long and uninterrupted conversation. This tête-à-tête is considered inviolable. No one will venture to interrupt the lovers. And, when at length they themselves bring their billing and cooing to an end, they return to the table hand in hand. Some white bread, wine, and brandy, are then produced, and the affianced pair eat with the same knife, and drink from the same glass.

Before they part, another day of meeting, also at the bride's house, is appointed. This is termed 'velladen,' or the view. Upon the occasion all parties appear in their holiday dresses; and great attention is paid to arrange every thing in the house, and about the farm, to the best advantage. Every sort of device is resorted to, to give an air of opulence to the family; and many of the various articles carefully disposed so as to be seen by the visiters, are borrowed for the occasion. When the bridegroom's party arrives, a great deal of bargaining takes place, and the conditions of the marriage contract are then fixed. When this is done, the fathers strike their hands in token that it is a bargain, and a day is appointed for the marriage.

A week before the day, each separately goes round and invites all his friends to the wedding feast. The invitation is generally in verse, and is delivered by the

*London: Henry Colburn. 1840.

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