a great coat), "Ah! how d'ye do? Cold day!" Pretty consolation, this for your chilly friend!-his teeth chatter out "Y-e-s ;"-and afraid to give egress to another word, lest he should give ingress to a cold breath, he either stands shivering for your next question, or trudges on wishing you an ague for stopping him;-perhaps merely gives you a recog nitory noda demi-cut and forward with his shuffle. Then, again, suppose you meet a friend scampering along, walking as fast as if he feared the pavement would burn his toes, loaded with a carpetbag, hurrying for fear he should be too late for the mail or the steam-boat--and his "too, too solid flesh melting and dissolving into a dew"-anything but a cool refreshing one-his hat shifted to the back of his head, and his vest merely confined with one button he has not a hand to spare to move the perspiration from his face, both being engaged with his luggage, the very sun, blazing above, seems to laugh at his agony, and to throw more piercing rays of heat to annoy him. You stop him with, "Ah! how d'ye do? Hot day this! Eh?" His white inexpressibles look black at you, and his neckcloth wrinkles into a grin. He is too much knocked up to give you a verbal answer-he nods, and, accompanying it with something between a sigh and a groan, hurries on.

Though I have had the temerity thus to find fault with existing customs, I am not in such a presumptuous mood as to hazard any substitute. Perhaps you, Mr Editor, will favour us with your opinion upon the subject, and suggest some mode of salutation more consonant with the high pretensions at present made with regard to advancement in intellect, and disregard to prejudice. No doubt we shall be accused of intrenching upon vested interests, and with a desire to overturn the social customs of the country; but that should not deter us (excuse me if I include you contrary to your opinion, but, judging from your expressed sentiments on similar subjects, 1 take you to be on my side of the question) from doing our duty.

Talking of hot weather, I the other day met with a passage which seems to throw cold water upon another of our social customs-that of wearing lightcoloured, and especially white garments during the hot months of summer; it was to the following effect that the scorching effect on the skin which sometimes takes place by the sun's rays through semi-transparent cloth, as white linen, is prevented by the absorptive power of black cloth; and that the sun strikes through the transparent skin of a white, but is absorbed by that of a negro. If this be the case, why is it that white and light-coloured garments are in summer so much in vogue with the people of England? How is it that our fair country women peril the beauty of their fair necks and bosoms by rendering them liable to be scorched and freckled by the rays of an envious 'sun, through the light gauze with which they are wont to veil their

charms?

One would have thought, too, that the kind of instructive wisdom given by nature to her children, which leads them to adopt the costume most applicable to their native climate, would have held good on this point: but are not all Eastern nations clothed in thin fabrics? We imagine the beauties of the fair Persian glowing through a garment of gauze, which the lightest gale of Zephyr would press to her faultless form, and, for a moment, give an impress of the charms beneath. Moore's Nora

O my Nora's gown for me,

That floats as free as mountain breezes, Leaving every beauty free

To sink or swell as Heaven pleases.

Like

The Europeans in the Indies, too, clothe themselves
in light cotton and nankin; the colonial planter is
always represented in a white striped coat and
trowsers, with broad brimmed white straw or chip
hat, as are also the Americans. The negro is very
fond of light and dazzling colours, such as yellow,
pink, and such like; and especially does he delight
to contrast his ebony skin with a
pure white
garment. This seems running quite foul of nature,

which gave them a black skin to absorb the heat,
instead of scorching and shrivelling it up, as it does
the skin of the white who sojourns in a climate to
which nature has not adapted him. When the sun
is shining brightly on a pure white ground, it must
be very injurious to the eyes; and the dazzling
effect of the sun on the red coats of soldiers in
British troops in hot countries, has often filled the
hospitals with opthalmaic patients.

Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, it would
be but a sorry change to convert the white summer
frocks of our English girls and Scottish lasser, into
sombre black, or sad brown; nor would the beaus
part with their "ducks" without a struggle. It
would take the very cream from the gaiety of a
holiday assemblage, and refiect a darker hue upon a
collection of happy faces. It would, indeed, be a
general mourning, if white garments and white
curtains were expelled from the nation on the plea
of expediency; and last, though not least, but by
way of climax-what would our poor washerwomen
do?

What is your opinion, reader, of a washer-
woman? I do not mean, by washerwoman, such
as keep large establishments-employ a dozen or
twenty under-washers--have a covered waggon to
send home, and call for the clothes, and who
style themselves by the more euphoneous name
of "Laundress." Such an one would be quite of-
fended if called a washerwoman as much as a dust
contractor at being called a dustman. A "Laun-
dress" is
a monopolisera "washerwoman" an
operative. We may suppose the latter to have been
a housemaid who has married a coachman-and
she is now a widow, with a grown-up daughter.
On her widowhood she has obtained the washing of
her late mistress's family, and mayhap of her late
husband's late master-this, with a shirt, a couple
of neckcloths, and some pocket handkerchiefs of a
bachelor or two, gives her pretty good employment.
Her daughter is usually "at place," but when at
home, helps her mother. Stray gownds, neckcloths,
shirts, white inexpressibles, handkerchiefs, &c., are
attracted to her wash-tub by a sign painted on a
piece of wood, eighteen inches by twelve, or on an
old lid of a fish-kittle, minus the rim to the pur-
port either of "WASHING TAKEN IN HERE," or,
"GENTLEMEN DONE FOR." Her temper is proverb-
ially rather sour, but a glass of comfort will soon
mollify her. Her hands are usually clean, but
seamed; and the points of her fingers something like
a parched pea the effects of soap, pearlash, and soda.
Clad in a light figured cotton gown, a white apron,
straw bonnet, with well-washed ribbons, you may
meet her on a Saturday afternoon supporting one
side of a basket, while her daughter, or a charity-boy
to whom she has promised a halfpenny, carries the
other, his end about a foot lower than hers, or else
she has tied a handkerchief to her handle to accom-
modate their different heights.
She is carrying
home "the things." A great part of her earnings
are spent on Sunday for a good dinner, to which she
has always been accustomed. Monday is her holi-
day, on which she indulges with a gossip with her
neighbours, or sisters of the suds.

But I must conclude; yet not without turning
even from a washerwoman to poesy. In an old
song, a mistress gives a lover three tasks, which she
considers impossibilities; he answers her by propos-
ing three in return to make him a shirt without
"stitches or needlework in it," and next-

Love, you must wash it in yonder well,
Lavender green, rosemary, and thyme,
Where never a drop of rain ever fell,

१

And then you will be a true lover of mine. Considering the subjects of this paper, it is not with much propriety that I subscribe myself

[ BOOKWORM.

Exquisite Rhyme.-(Butler, speaking of an apo-
thecary):—

Stored with deletery medicines,
Which whosoever took is dead since.

THE WEEK.

From Wednesday the 10th to Tuesday the 16th December..

A THIRD PORTRAIT OF DECEMBER.

(From the Literary Pocket Book.') Ir is now complete winter. The vapourish and cloudy atmosphere wraps us about with dimness and chilliness; the reptiles, and other creatures that sleep or hide during the cold weather, have all retired to their winter quarters; the farmer does little or nothing out of doors; the fields are too damp and miry to pass, except in sudden frosts, which begin to occur at the end of the month; and the trees look like skeletons of what they were—

"Bare ruined choirs in which the sweet birds sing."

The evergreen trees, with their beautiful cones, such as firs and pines, are now particularly observed and valued. In the warmer countries, where shade is more particularly desirable, their worth and beauty are more regularly appreciated. Virgil talks of the pine as being handsomest in gardens, and it is a great favourite with Theocritus, especially for the fine sound of the air under its kind of vaulted roof.

But we have flowers as well as leaves in winter time; besides a few of last month, there are the aconite and hellebore; two names of very different celebrity; and, in addition to some of the flowering shrubs, there is the Glastonbury thorn, which puts forth its beauty at Christmas. It is so called, we believe, because the Abbots of the famous monastery at that place first had it in their garden from abroad, and turned its seasonable efflorescence into a miracle.

The evergreens and winter flowers are like real friends, who, whatever be their peculiar disposition, Even whether serious or gay, will never forsake us. roses, with which we are so apt to associate summer weather, flourish from May to December inclusive; and during the winter months will live and prosper in apartments. We need never be without them from the first day of the year to the last; and thus, to the numerous comparisons made between roses and the fair sex, may be added this new one, as complimentary to their friendship as it is true.

We have anticipated our general observations upon winter time, and our remarks at the beginning of the year. December is in general too early a month for the fine manly exercise of skaiting, which, indeed, can be taken but rarely, on account of our changeful Like weather and the short continuance of frost. swimming, all the difficulty is in the commencement, at least, for the purposes of enjoyment. The graces of outside strokes and spread eagles are the work of time and ambition.

But December has one exercise in it which turns it into the merriest month of the year-Christmas. This is the holiday, which, for obvious reasons, may be said to have survived all others; but still it is not kept with anything like the vigour, perseverance, and elegance of our ancestors. They not only ran Christmas-day, New-year's-day, and Twelfth-night all into one, but kept the wassail-bowl floating the whole time, and earned their right to enjoy it by all sorts of active pastimes. The wassail-bowl, (as some of our readers may know by experience, for it has been a little revived of late) is a composition of spiced wine or ale, with roasted apples put into it, and sometimes eggs. They also adorned their houses with green boughs, which, it appears from Herrick, was a practice with many throughout the year,-box succeeding at Candlemas to the holly, bay, rosemary, and misletoe of Christmas,-yew at Easter to box,-birch and flowers at Whitsuntide to yew,-and then bents and oaken boughs. The whole nation were in as happy a ferment at Christmas, with the warmth of exercise and their firesides, as they were in May with the new sunshine. The peasants nestled and sported on the town-green, and told tales of an evening; the gentry feasted them, or had music and other elegant pastimes; the court had the poetical and princely entertainment of masques, and all sung, danced, revelled, and enjoyed themselves, and so welcomed the new year like happy and grateful subjects of nature.

This is the way to turn winter to summer, and make the world what Heaven has enabled it to be; but, as people in general manage it, they might as well turn summer itself into winter. Hear what a poet says, who carries his own sunshine about with him :

"As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation, Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare, Did they want a supply of cold hearts for that station,

Heaven knows we have plenty on earth we could

spare.

Oh, think what a world we should have of it here,
If the haters of peace, of affection, and glee,
Were to fly up to Saturn's comfortless sphere,
And leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and
me!"

Nor is it only on holidays that nature tells us to enjoy ourselves. If we were wise we should earn a reasonable portion of pleasure and enjoyment day by day, instead of resolving to do it some day or other, and seldom doing it at all. Company is not necessary

for it, at intervals, except that best and most necessary company of one's family partners in life, or some one or two especial friends, really so called, who are friends for every sort of weather, winter as well as summer. A warm carpet and curtains, a sparkling fire, a book, a little music, a happy sympathy of talk, or a kind discussion, may then call to mind with unenvying placidity the very rarest luxuries of the summer time; and instead of being eternally and foolishly told that pleasures produce pains, by those who really make them do so, with their profligacy or bigotry, we shall learn the finer and manlier knowledge how to turn pain to the production of pleasure.

"Lawrence, of virtuous father, virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
From the hard season gaining? Time will run
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, which neither sowed nor spun.
What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice
Of Attic, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
He who of these delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise."

ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.

had entreated permission to rest for some days at
Martainville. It is right to tell you that she was
recovering from an inflammation on the chest, that
she had 60,000 francs a-year, and that the Martain-
villes were her principal heirs. She was an old-
fashioned woman, very delicate, tiresome, and sus-
ceptible to a degree. She was one of those genuine
intendantes who are used to the adulation of a vil-
lage, and who never take the trouble of taking up
their cards at reverses; from whence the Cardinal
Fleury always said to the young King, who played
without ever thinking of it, "Madame l'Intendante,
it is your turn to take up the cards."

"Ah now," said De Martainville to the harpies then
around him, "do not play tricks during the stay of
our aunt de Séchelles. Be very prudent and very
serious, gentlemen and ladies; do not forget she is
my relation with a succession." They had removed
I do not know what president's lady, that they might
prepare the best apartment for this illustrious invalid.
They had placed in the chamber that they had al-
lotted for her, all the most convenient furniture, as
well as all the china and the rarest Dresden porce-
lain of the house. They had taken care to keep
hot and dressed to a turn, a large boiled chicken,
with pigeons stewed with barley, and quails with
lettuces, without reckoning the fresh eggs in cold
water and the Alicant wine in hot water in short,
the kitchen and the servants had remained under
arms for more than a week, and yet Madame did
not arrive! They began to be uneasy at it in the

XLVIII.—A LESSON TO VULGAR MISTAKE; OR FARCE family, and the rest of the company to be out of

ENDING IN TRAGEDY.

A BOOK has just appeared, intitled Recollections of the Eighteenth Century,' purporting to be written by the Marchioness de Créquy, an old lady of whom the startling fact is told us, that she had her hand kissed, when a child, by Louis the Fourteenth, and the same hand kissed, at the age of eighty-five, by Napoleon, when First Consul! We say that the book "purports" to be written by the Marchioness, because our lively neighbours have established a regular manufactory of pretended Biographies and Recollections, which are got up with such extraordinary tact and research, that it is often impossible to distinguish

We

between a false book of the kind and a true.
must confess, that the present work, though it con-
tains some piquant anecdotes, does not appear to us
one of the best of its sort, whether true or false. The
Marchioness is fairly mad with aristocracy," and,
instead of being the kind, elegant, and judicious per-
sonage described by the editor, and often to be found
in her class of life, seems as if she had written on
purpose to exhibit the class as consisting of little else
but those who disgrace it, or a heap of vulgar spite,
pretension, and absurdity; the book really looks as if
some libellous revolutionist had composed it with
that view. The following story is an exception,
however, to its general character; and whether ge-
nuine as to the alleged parties, is too probable in
other respects to be refused a place in our list. Such
fatal absurdities, in various shapes, have too often
occurred in real life.

There happened not far from Montvilliers (says Madame de Créquy) an event which I do not think useless to relate to you, were it only to warn you against some sorts of pastimes, to which persons of bad taste sometimes give themselves up in the country. I mean to speak of those sort of amusements which consist in playing tricks and in buffoonery.

! Monsieur de Martainville, a young counsellor, at the parliament of Normandy, and newly married, had collected in his castle twenty persons, who were to pass the vacation there, and among the number there were several officers of the neighbouring garrisons. They bored holes in the walls and the ceiling to run through packthreads, which they had fastened to the curtains and coverlids. They dug holes in the ground and hid them with the grass, that they might trip up the horses and their riders, which must have been very agreeable to the horsemen. They put salt into your coffee, pepper into your snuff, colocynth juice at the edge of your tumbler, Burgundy peas into your shirts, and chopped horse-hair into your sheets. You may imagine that there were cray-fish and frogs in all the beds of the castle; for it is a fundamental idea in all provincial fun, and always, I have been told, the first thought which comes into the heads of these charming country wits. Others could never go and see the new married couple without their finding themselves assailed by all this vulgar fun and impertinent brutality, which made their castle a sort of receptacle for all the mischievous people in the neighbourhood. La Martainville expected at their house the widow of the intendant Alençon, who was called Madame Hérault de Séchelles, and who was going to the baths of Barege by very easy day's journies; she

patience. It is to be told also that the master of
the house had never seen this aunt of his wife, and
that she had not seen her old relation since she was
five or six years old, which gave rise to the idea of
playing a trick.

There was among this facetious band, a little
Mons. de Clermont d'Amboise, who wished some
years afterwards to marry me, but the gratitude
I owe him cannot prevent me from telling you he
was a nasty-looking, little, yellow, sneaking wretch.
They thought of disguising him as an old lady;
another officer was to be dressed as a lady's maid;
and, above all things, they had taken care to conceal
the preparations for these disguises, which were only
to be known to three or four people-but which
were divulged by a waiting woman to a spark of the
society. They planned trick upon trick, and they
concluded to mystify the mystifiers. Therefore,
while they were on tenter-hooks to receive them,
and bowing and cringing in the best manner, arrived
the real intendante, on whom they precipitated
themselves like an avalanche; they tore off her fur-
belowed gown, her starched frill, her mob cap, her
wig; in short, they maltreated her so cruelly that it
is horrible to think of! The unfortunate woman was
so mortally terrified, that she could neither cry, nor
utter a single word-but in what she heard there
were perfidious revelations :-

"Greedy ostrich, tiresome intendante-old aunt with a succession. Ah! you wish to go to the baths to tire out your heirs. Here are mineral waters, there are shower baths." And it was blows and buckets of water which came over her whole, body, in the midst of the most frightful noise and confusion.

After a quarter of an hour of such ducking, and of the worst treatment (she had sunk under the blows and lay senseless on the ground), they perceived that she gave no sign of life. They brought a light; they did not know the little de Clermont, and the result of the investigation was, that the poor woman was almost dead. Every one fled from the castle except her relations, who tore their hair, and whom she could not face without a sentiment of terror and profound horror. She died of it the third day; and as she had never made any testamentary bequests, it was found that her property naturally fell to the Martainvilles, which compromised them so much in the public opinion, and before their brethren of the robe, that they made a judicial disposition on this abominable mistake, and that Monsieur de Martainville saw himself obliged to give up his profession. As he was very honourable and his wife was delicacy itself, they would not touch any part of the succession of Madame de Séchelles, which they gave up to their collaterals. They some time after sold their fine manor of Martainville, and they even quitted the name for that of their barony of Francheville, which their family still bears. Madame de Maintenon has said that good taste always supposes good sense, and that is the moral of this anecdote.

A SORROWFUL STORY. [THIS Sorrowful Story,' which is from the New Year's Gift for 1835,' edited by Mrs Alaric Watts, deserves rather to be called a delightful story for the true virtue of its moral.]

Uncles and Aunts are very delightful people, as every child knows, most párticularly on a birth-day, on which occasion they are scarcely to be found empty handed. Little Nina Musgrove, then, was a fortunate child, for she had nine of these relations besides three great aunts, who lived in a fine oldfashioned house up many steps, in a beautiful garden, with a pond full of gold fish, and rose-beds that could be almost smelt a mile off. Nina, too, was an only child-and, what was strange, with so many uncles and aunts, had no cousins; so that when the thirtyfirst of June came round, there was no little girl in England received so many presents as she did: such books from her uncles, William and George, in London-such dainty little work-boxes from her aunts-such toys in boxes that I do not pretend to name--such sumptuous dolls from the three Misses Fortescue, one with a powdered head, like its giver, in a sacque of old-fashioned damask, such as she used to wear. I could fill this sheet, and not tell of half the gifts which came to Nina, so I will pass by all save one, the only gift of her "Uncle Captain," as she used to call him; but then he had brought it from the Brazils on purpose for her-and this was neither more nor less than a grey parrot.

But, then, such a parrot had never been seen in or about Ridsden before. Poll was not one of your sulky birds that prate a word or two, and either deafen you with repeating these again and again, or vex you with being stupid all day. She could talk finely, and said such strange things that it was hard to believe that it was only a bird that was talking. When she heard the baker's knock, she would "Walk in, Mr Toast," without being bidden. She knew the names of every one in the family, and used to bid them good morning as a civil bird should; she could sing "I'd be a Butterfly," though sometimes that long word puzzled her; and she would then cry, " How droll!" and try again; and what Nina like better than all, could cry,

66

cry,

Captain, come home;" and whistle, "Hearts of Oak," and "God save the King," as well as any sailor on board the good ship Amphitrite, in which she came over.

It was no wonder that, with all these accomplishments Polly was a favourite on her own account, as well as for the sake of Nina's kind uncle. She was

lodged in a lordly cage with gilt wires, and her house was duly and carefully cleaned. Her food was the daintiest; and as she could call for most things she liked, her dinner was principally of her own choosing. She was also often indulged in being hung in a corner of a pleasant court-yard, among the branches of an old vine which ran up against the house; and as there was always something going on, carts coming in or setting off, the sound of the flail in the barn, the postman with his horn, the travelling fishmonger with his ass and a bell at its collar, she was never in want of amusement; and, being a bird of observation as well as fond of company, she picked up many odd sayings and strange sounds, which she was heard practising over to herself at duller times of the day. Every one in the house liked Polly; she was cheerful and fearless, and was never guilty of biting anyone, as I have known worse tempered parrots do, and that most severely.

It was on a certain brilliant July day that Polly was taken in her gilt cage, and hung up in the "vine corner," as Nina used to call it; while that little maiden went to pay her great aunts a visit. A merry afternoon she had in their old garden, for they had invited several other children to play with her; and they swung, and told stories, and slid down the side of a hay-stack, and played at hide and seek in the large cool barn, till the little girl was quite tired, and not sorry when old Bartholomew, the butler, made his appearance to bring her home. But tired as she was, she did not forget her feathered favourite ; and no sooner had she delivered her aunt's long message, than she ran hastily into the courtyard, calling out, " My poor Polly, I hope they have not forgotten to give you your dinner ;" but, alas! no chirup came from the cage, no "Walk in, Miss Nina;" she came nearer and nearer, and, oh grief, oh grief!—the door was open, and the bird gone.

Nina was not a weeper on common occasions, but she set up such a shriek when she perceived the loss of her favourite, as reached the ears of a company in the dining-room, who all got up hastily from their dessert and ran out to see what could be the matter.

Poor Nina could not speak; she could only point to the empty cage and weep the more; for if she had loved one plaything above another, if she had valued one treasure above another, it had been poor Polly; and now that she was really gone, and for ever, the family shared her distress. Her mother took her upon her knee and told her she hoped her favourite would be found, her father forgot a fit of rheumatism, and put on his hat to go out and inquire if the

Poor Nina heard no more—this termination to Simon's search she had never expected, even in her moments of most miserable fear and by this time the inhabitants of the house were thronging round old Simon, listening, as well as her sobs would permit, to his tale-how he had found the floor of Abby Rock's cottage all strewn with the feathers, and the head under the dresser; and heard the old woman say to Gilbert (for he listened at the door a moment or two before he went in), "Thou dolt, not to bring her alive -who bade thee twist her neck round, I wonder?"

He had seized the culprit on the spot, and brought
him to Mr Musgrove, who was a magistrate.
Candles were brought, and a full light thrown upon
the group.
The unfortunate little thief was now as
doggedly still as he had struggled all the way, and
the Justice thought he had never beheld a more har-
dened, unchild-like countenance. Heedless of Nina's
cries, "I hope he will be hanged, papa," in which she
seemed to find comfort, he took the culprit by the
shoulder, and led him to his own study and shut the
door. Presently he called for Mrs Musgrove, who
returned in an instant to desire that Miss Nina might
be taken to bed, as it was an hour later than her
usual time, and after giving her a kiss disappeared
again. There was nothing more to be heard that
night it was plain, and Nina, compelled to submit,
eried herself to sleep presently, and, by good luck,
did not dream of her loss.

Breakfast-time came the next morning, and Nina waited eagerly till her father should come down stairs, for, though she had ceased to weep, the thought of her murdered favourite occupied her in tirely; and when Mr Musgrove entered the parlour, she ran into his arms, almost forgetting her morning kiss, crying" Well, Papa, what have you done with the little thief? I hope he will be hanged?"

Wicksted, explain how I had come by it, and ask his pardon."

"Poor papa! and did you do this?"

"Yes; and my father took me himself, and made me carry it in my hand all the way. Oh, I shall never forget that day! A glorious afternoon in August it was; and how I thought every one must know what I had done, and looked at me. I would have given anything I had everything, to have first hot and then cold. Is Mr Wicksted within ? escaped, especially as we drew near the door: I grew said my father in a firm voice; my little boy wants to speak with him.' I thought almost I must die, when-why, Nina, look up; do not cry."

But it was too late to prevent it-the child was already in tears.

"Well, my love, I have done-I only told you this to show you that it is not the poor alone who do wrong, though their temptations to some kinds of sin, the sin of theft in particular, are ten times more than that of the rich. You see I must go and steal merely from a fancy: there is many a little beggar boy and girl that is beaten by harsh parents, if they come home empty-handed, and they know this. Now this poor Gilbert Rock, I have taken means to ascertain was cruelly used by his mother, and as she makes a livelihood partly by supplying featherworkers-I see you guess what I am going to saycompare him with your own papa when he stole the red leather, and then tell me whether you wish him to be hanged."

My young readers need not be told that poor Nina's wrath was fully appeased, and that though she could not help mourning the loss of her bird, she never again breathed a word of reproach to the author of her calamity.

The old woman, Abigail Rock, well knowing that, after this affair should become public, her "occupation would be gone," prepared to decamp to a distant part of the country; and Mr Musgrove, compassionating the condition of the child of such a mother, agreed, on her departure, to place him under the charge of one of his grooms, as stable-boy, and thus give him a chance of redeeming his character. The plan fully answered: under proper training the lad became not only a good, but a faithful servant; and is at the head of the stable department in the Musgrove family at the present day.

with impunity; for that there were such things as ghosts, it would have been impossible to entertain a moment's doubt, having, as we certainly had, the undisputed authority of Susan the housemaid, backed by the matter-of-fact accounts of Jane the cook, and the whole fully authenticated by old nurse, who declared that she had actually seen a spirit; but I suspect it was at a time when spirits were pretty plentiful with her.

My parents were much out in company, and then the evenings were employed in telling the most horrible tales of murders, of sudden deaths, and of those who shortened their brief span of life, on account of disappointments in love. Oh! how often has a cold sick shuddering come upon my young heart at pictures of the diabolical cruelties of human nature, when" man became a wolf to man!" and how has terror shaken every joint in my childish frame, to hear of the restless spirit of the murdered, clothed in corporeal semblance, escaping from its cold prison-house to haunt the guilty slayer! How frequently have the tears trickled down my pale face at the hapless adventures of blighted affections! and many a time did my infantile imagination follow the retributive form that constantly haunted the wretch who had broken the vow of fidelity and truth! Nor was there wanting a good sprinkle of accurate stories about highwaymen and housebreakers, gentlemen thieves for whom young maids wept when they considered them deserving a better fate.

The house we lived in was a very ancient but strong building, and exactly the sort of place to excite superstitious feelings,-in fact, a sort of ghostery. There were some strange tales told about it; and the unaccountable noises in the chimneys which frightened the birds that built their nests there, and the hollow nurmuring sounds that proceeded, particularly in windy weather, from behind the old oak pannels of the rooms, all conspired to do that which my parents had little idea of, namely, to unnerve the system, and weaken the intellect.

Still I was no coward, for I would always defend myself against any boy of my size, and was ready to undertake the usual hazardous enterprizes of children; but a subtle poison was working within which bade fair to render the mind imbecile, and to undermine the constitution. My parents became sensible of our altered condition, and, when it was almost beyond redemption, were made acquainted with the cause. My father, in bis usual blunt manner, made use of a strong argument against ghosts. "Boys," said he, " you are a pack of fools: remember this, that those who are gone to Heaven are too happy to quit; and those who are gone to a place of torment the devil won't part with, even for a moment." Of course, a change took place among the servants, who were blamed for instilling pernicious principles into our minds, but which they could not have done had my parents used a little more watchfulness to guard against it.

I was destined for the sea, and at an early age to sea I went. But though I had risen superior to many apprehensions which once tortured me, yet there were times when I could not intirely conquer former weaknesses; and a few weeks after the frigate to which I belonged had left Plymouth, on a three month's cruise, one of the quarter-masters, of the name of Buckley, died, and, as is the usual custom, the body was sewed up in a hammock preparatory to interment. The poor fellow had expired late in the afternoon, and the committal of the corpse to the deep was to take place the following morning. Now Buckley had shown me a great deal of kindness, and taught me to knot and splice, and other parts of a seaman's duty; besides, he had always slept at no great distance from me, and both of us were in the same watch; yet I could not subdue the horror I felt in my breast, at the thoughts of passing the night near the cockpit where I supposed the dead man to be laid. I dared not mention a word of this to my messmates, lest it should have ruined my character for ever; and as I was to take the morning watch, I went early to my hammock, but not to sleep. The close proximity to the corpse excited the most sickening sensations, which I found it impossible to get rid of; horrible phantoms floated before my imagination; and if weary nature exerted her prerogative and sank into repose for a moment, I started with dread lest the cold hand of the old man should be pressed heavily on my heart. At length my mind was harrowed up beyond human endurance; the watch below had turned in: there was no light except the glimmering in the lantern of the sentry, and he sat dozing at his post. I thought I could see the spot where the corpse was extended, and faintly discern the outline of his form. To remain longer was impossible; the bell struck four,* and slipping on my jacket and trowsers, over which I hastily wrapped my watch-coat, but ashamed to be seen, I crept into the launch, which was between the booms, and finding a hammock, which I supposed to have been negligently left there by one of the seamen, I laid myself down upon it, and pulling over myself an old sail with which it had been covered, I was soon in a deep and refreshing slumber.

• Ten o'clock at night.

how can

The corpse was to be committed to the deep whilst all hands were on deck, during the relief of the watch, at four o'clock in the morning; and exactly at that moment I was awoke by some one shaking me rather roughly by the shoulder. In an instant I sprung up; horrid recollections rushed upon me: it was broad day-light; many eyes were staring at me, some with astonishment, others with mirth; but, oh! I describe the terrible thrill that ran through every vein, when, on looking at the hammock which had served me for a bed, I discovered that I had, through the whole of the night been sleeping with the dead man for my companion, the body having been removed to the launch late in the preceeding evening! I could not speak; I could not shriek; but I burst into an hysterical fit of laughter, and that saved me; for the spectators, not knowing what was passing in my mind, took it for bravado. Many were the jokes respecting my attachment to old Buckley, and thus I was severely punished for my folly.

Two years passed away, during which I had occasional returns of terror and alarm, arising from my dread of non-existents, though I had been in two or three engagements, and gained some applause for my conduct. The frigate I had first joined had been laid up as unserviceable, and I was now in a beautiful eighteen-gun brig-sloop on the South American station. The tale of old Buckley was no longer the subject of amusement to others and torture to me, for the circumstance was unknown to my new messmates; and I entertained hopes, that in the course of time, I should be enabled to overcome the feelings which but too frequently oppressed me.

The sloop was attached to the expedition intended to subjugate (for any other design was futile) the city of Monte Video, in the river Plata; and, with several other vessels, we were employed to capture the island of Goretta, in Meldonado Bay. There were three strong batteries, with long twenty-four and thirty-two pounders mounted; and these batteries were well manned with Spaniards; but they were compelled to yield to the intrepidity of our brave tars after a severe slaughter, considering the comparatively small number of men engaged. After the conflict, small parties were posted in various places round the island, to prevent a surprise, whilst the main body, with the commanding officer, occupied a large building in the centre.

Midnight came, a dark, dreary, cold, starless
midnight; and I was ordered to visit all the out-
posts to see that the sentinels were alert upon their
duty. The dead bodies of those who had fallen in
I had looked upon many
battle remained unburied.

a bleeding and mangled form during the day; I had
seen many a poor wretch writhing in the last pang of
mortal agony; I had gazed with a sort of desperate
wildness on the convulsive contortions which expiring
nature had left upon the countenance; and now, in
the stillness and solitude of night, to traverse the spot
where they lay in promiscuous heaps as they had
fallen, my very soul was harrowed up! I would
not disobey, and I did not dare to ask for assistance,
lest my secret should transpire.

Alone then I departed, every nerve agitated with
the commotion that shook my trembling frame.
Alone I took my way to the nearest out-post, often
starting aside as some stiffened corpse lay stretched
across my path. The hollow moaning of the waves
breaking against the rugged rocks came with a fearful
sound upon the wind, which rushed past in hurried
gusts, and now and then a half-stifled groan burst from
some poor creature who yet survived the carnage,
and was recovering sensibility. I had reached about
half-way to my first place of destination, when my
faculties became in a great measure paralyzed, on
hearing something behind which emitted a strange
and unnatural noise. I determined to face it, and
turned round for that purpose.
The atmosphere
was dense and hazy, enveloping the earth in darkness;
but, amidst the gloom, a most horrible figure kept
rising up to more than mortal height, and then again
sinking to scarcely half the stature of a man; two
immense projections issued from its hideously-formed
head, and a pair of burning eyes glared with vengeful
fierceness upon me. All my old feelings returned;
'dismay crept upon my spirit, and, making one despe-
rate effort, I ran with amazing rapidity from this
terrific object. But, alas! I had not run far when
I stumbled over a dead body, and fell in the midst
of several others. I stretched out my hands to assist
me in rising, and they rested upon the cold clammy
face of a corpse! Once more upon my feet, I looked
round; the monster was close to me, rising and
falling as it had done before, and again I bounded
away without knowing whither.
A building pre-
sented itself, which I hoped was one of the out-posts,
and hastily entering it, I fell about twenty feet into
a space below, but sustained no bodily injury, as the
floor was covered with piles of seal-skins. Here, in
thick darkness and insensibility, I lay for several
hours, when I was accidentally discovered by a party
who had clandestinely left the main body to seek for
plunder, and were attracted to the spot by seeing an
enormous he-goat near the entrance to the building.
By the light of the lantern which they carried I was

readily recognized, and soon rescued from my uncomfortable situation. The fresh air and human voices speedily restored me to animation, and almost the first thing I saw, quietly standing amid the group of seamen, was the innocent cause of my alarm and misfortune, the great he-goat! My fall was attributed to accident; and, attended by the party, I visited the out-posts, and made my report to the commanding officer. The account of my adventure soon spread, but the occurrence was attributed to anything but the real cause, as the different tale-tellers had each a story of his own to magnify my intrepidity; and thus my weakness not only again escaped detection, but I actually obtained approbation of my courage. From that hour my determination became more and more strengthened to resist the pusillanimity which, in spite of every effort, would at times attack me.

I was next employed in the capture of Monte Video, or rather the city of San Philip, which is its proper name-Monte Video being a lofty mountain on one promontory of a deep bay, as the city of San Philip stands on the extreme point of the other promontory. After the city was taken, I was stationed at night on the flat roof of a house which communicated with several others; having received orders to be very vigilant, and in case of anything material occurring to forward immediate information to the officer in command of the party, who was to dispatch the intelligence to head-quarters. The post was one of extreme importance, and had been intrusted to me on account of my apparent fearlessness It overlooked the gates leading to the shores of the bay, which, though in our possession, were frequently visited by guerilla bands, who secretly dealt death to the incautious sentinels. I had been about one hour on the look out, and had suppressed the rising sensations of terror which had more than once attacked me; when, to my great surprise, a large empty earthen-ware crate, that stood in the corner of the next flat, began to move slowly along the roof. I had been leaning over the parapet of the house with my back towards the crate, but the slight rustling made by the movement caused me to glance over my shoulder without appearing to turn my head. The motion ceased; but I could not doubt the fact, for the crate was not in the situation where I had first seen it. I still remained in my position without stirring, but kept my eyes directed by a side-long glance towards the object. Again it moved, but so slowly and noiselessly that, by a person possessing a mind of any other stamp than mine, it would have passed unheard, and consequently unheeded. In vain I struggled to repress my emotion -trembling imbecility was rapidly creeping upon my system-all my former terrors were reviving, when, at that moment, the devices of the guerillas recurred to my recollection, and cocking the lock of a pistol, I stood in perfect readiness. Again the crate moved, so as to get more into my rear; but a picket-guard passing through the street below, I called to the officer, and instantly sprang over the breast-work that divided the two roofs, and ran to that part which was most likely to cut off a retreat, if the crate had been moved by human agency-of which, I confess, I entertained strong doubts. These, however, were soon dispelled, for I had scarcely reached my station, when the crate was thrown up, and the tall gaunt figure of a guerilla was for an instant seen against the dim light of the sky. But it was only for an instant; our pistols seemed to be discharged at the same moment of time. I heard his ball whistle by my ears, and it left a tingling sensation that indicated how very close it had passed to my head; the smoke hindered me from seeing more, but I felt the sharp point of a knife graze down my breast, I heard a heavy fall into the street below, a fire of musketry succeeded;-then followed a wild shriek, and the guerilla was a corpse. His knife had been intended for my heart; but a backward step on my part saved me; the skin was 'slightly scratched, and the instrument remained in my coat without doing further injury.

In what manner the desperado had gained the roof I could not then divine, and I felt certain that he was not under the crate on my first taking the post, as I had carefully examined it. I had afterwards an opportunity of witnessing the mode by which he had accomplished it, and it was simply through the efforts of a number of men, who were raised up sucsessively on each other's shoulders. His design was assassination and plunder. For my share in this transaction, I obtained the approval of Sir Home Popham, and was raised in temporary rank.

The next trial of my nervous system was at Sierra Leone. I was then in a frigate, and as fears were entertained that the French were about to make a descent upon some part of the encampment (a French squadron having been seen hovering off the coast), the free negroes were armed and enrolled as volunteers. To effect this, at a village about six miles from the interior, I was dispatched with proper orders, and the boat landed me at the nearest point to my destination. It was late in the evening before my duty was completed; and as I was particularly desirous to return to the ship, and make my report, an officer of the York Rangers lent me a beautiful

and spirited horse, which I mounted, though not
without a few misgivings, which were much in-.
creased, when I was jocosely requested not to fall in
love with the "ghost" on my road. On the wayside
stood a lone and uninhabited house, where a trafficker
in human flesh had murdered his wife; and, ever
since, the lady, or her apparition, had presented
herself after dark before the gate. Beyond the house
were the remains of a negro village, which previ-
ously to colonization had been attacked by slave
dealers and burned. The aged inhabitants were
massacred, the young were borne to slavery; and
now it was asserted that the former visited their old
habitations, and called aloud for vengeance to redress
their wrongs.
Such tales were not calculated to
inspire composure; but I strove to laugh at the
jokes passed on me, and started off at full speed, de-
claring that "the ghosts should have a long chase if
they felt inclined to sport."

The empty boast still faltered on my heart, and my tremulous hand could scarcely hold the rein, when the house of death, all desolate, appeared in view. Striking the spurs into the sides of the generous animal, he sprang forward on his way, and passed the dreadful spot, without my witnessing anything to excite horror.

Although the moon was up, yet storms were on the wind, and heavy clouds obscured her light. Often in imagination did I hear shrieks of the slaughtered negroes as they came howling on the gale, whilst I rapidly approached the ruined village which had been the terrific scene of blood. A black thick cloud with darkness overshadowed the picture, and spread a gloomy wildness over every object. The horse buried his hoofs deep in the sand, and, like an arrow from a bow, continued his fleet career; when in a moment he stopped, threw out his fore legs and reared upon his haunches, while steaming foam issued from his nostrils. It was with considerable difficulty that I retained my seat; and as the creature refused to proceed, I rode back a short distance, and again made an effort to pursue my direct road, but in vain; the animal stopped at the same spot, and flew from side to side of the highway, nor could the whip and spur urge him to advance.

Several times did I repeat the same attempt; and though a chilling awe crept through my veins and made my blood run cold, yet nothing had presented itself to my sight, though it was evident that the eyes of the horse were fixed upon something supernaturally terrific.

At length the moon shed her dim light through a fleecy cloud, and then with horror and amazement I beheld the cause of terror, for right in the middle of the road appeared a long black coffin, and the pale beams of the moon glanced on the white escutcheon fixed on the top. Every feeling of the soul was racked to the extreme; every fibre of the heart was nerved to desperation: and, mustering all my breath, I uttered the great and awful name to which both quick and dead must pay obedience. The lid of the coffin was thrown up, a figure slowly raised itself and gazed upon me, whilst my whole existence seemed quivering on the verge of eternity. The horse pawed the ground with uncontrolled fury; the howling of the gale seemed more dreadful;-when a hollow voice, with distinct utterance, vociferated, "Don't be alarmed, 'tis only Uncle Joey!-So, so, poor fellow! So, so!"

The horse, hearing a well-known sound, became pacified; and then I ascertained that Uncle Joey, a corporal in the newly-raised volunteers, had been to town to fetch an arm-chest, which had been made by a carpenter to deposit the muskets in. Having, however, drank rather freely, he had found himself drowsy on his way back; so, getting into the chest, (which was painted black with a tin plate on the lid,) and shutting himself in, he had enjoyed a comfortable nap, till the snorting of the animal and my shouting brought about his resurrection.

I hardly need say how much my heart was lightened by this explanation, and that I parted with Uncle Joey and his shell in much better spirits than had attended our meeting. Since that time I have had occasional returns of panic, but they have gradually diminished, and I am now almost as daring as my late excellent father, and, except during fits of nervous relaxation, care neither for ghost nor goblin; nd I trust, that whilst my readers who are parents will keep a watchful eye that servants do not instil pernieious feelings into the breasts of their offspring, my young readers will rest satisfied on the assurance of an old man, that all ghosts are in reality mere Uncle Joeys.

Books the Conferrers of Immortality.-The men by whom literature was chiefly encouraged and protected in the age of Augustus, were all of them rich and powerful consuls, statesmen and warriors, yet now they are only known to us, or at least are only objects of interest, as the persons from whom Virgil obtained the restoration of a few acres of land, of which he had been unjustly deprived, and to whom Horace fled destitute and trembling from the field of Philippi.-Dunlop's History of Roman Literature. :_

FINE ARTS.

[It is our intention, in future, to give regular weekly
notices of the Fine Arts and Music, provided
occasion be furnished us.]

Gallery of Portraits, No. XXX.-Charles Knight.
THE portrait of Murillo (from a picture by himself)
for solidity and painter-like effect, we are inclined to
think, exceeds anthing we have seen of Scriven's,
excellent as he is in these respects. The counte-
nance of the painter is not such as his works would
lead us to expect; there is a weight and melancholy
about it that would seem to belong rather to the
painter of Gaspar Poussin's austere landscapes, or
Caravaggio's gloomy scenes; not to the immor-
talizer of merry flower-girls and laughing beggar
boys. Not that such were his only subjects, but in
them lay the strength and peculiarity of his genius.
His portrait reminds us of Molière, whose face was
perhaps of a still graver cast. The portrait of Cer-
vantes, being copied from an old and quaint engraving,
must not be taken as a faithful image of the Spanish
Shakspeare. Engravings of Cervantes, from dif-
ferent pictures, are not unfrequently to be met with;
but they all belong to the earlier periods of engrav-
ing, while the art was yet imperfect, and its produc-
tions rude and unshapely. Is there no original pic
ture to which the engravers of the day might refer?
We say this out of no spirit of discontent with the
conductors of the Portrait Gallery,' who give us the
best that is to be procured; but as a hint to artists
who visit Spain, and who should keep their eyes
about them, and endeavour to supply the readers of
Don Quixote with a better knowledge of the aspect
of its immortal author. A portrait of Frederick II
completes the number.

Still it is

of April-fools, and April-showers! He had a bette
Jack-in-the-Green in his Political Showman' than
this in May, that was more ungainly, top-heavy-
was endowed with more "serious lightness"-the
recollection of it injures this in our eyes.
full of humour; so is the Exhibition-Vauxhall,
and all the Months, till we come to the crowning
Christmas dinner, warm, jolly, comfortable, with
plenty of wine, joke, beef, and pudding.

6

The en

The Amulet for 1835.-Westley. The illustrations of the Amulet' this year possess a higher interest, we think, than those of any of the preceding volumes. There is more originality, and less of the pseudo-sentimental, a weakness into which the ultra-refinement of these exquisites among books (the Annuals) are apt to fall. The hotpressing, blind-tooling, and gilding seem to suffocate the artist's ancy with petty sweets and prettinesses, and like another Ruggiero, he melts into an effeminate slavery under the meretricious blandishments of the drawingroom enchantress of the day, Fancy Stationery. The Lily,' by Eastlake, and the Proposal,' by Wyatt, are not exempt from the influence of the false Fay. Not so Inskipp's little Lace Maker;' nor with all the buoyancy of youth and health, to make his maid servant Going to Service'-going forth the cheerless experiment of a new service. graver of the Lace Maker' has hardly accomplished the difficult task of rendering Inskipp's free and careless pencilling into the more definite style necessary to a print. The other engraving is a more successful imitation of his manner. The Gipsy Mother' is a striking head, handled in a masterly style, but something opaque in the shadow, and, though probably a veritable gipsy, not very characteristic of the raceit is a Scotch Gipsy. Our favourite in the book is Uwins's Madonna de Fiori,' a group in a procession of young girls carrying flowers to offer before the Virgin. The girl in the middle is fair and and tender. slender as a lily, as graceful, and as simply gentle Round her is a fine glow of youth and colour. These are not all the plates; but we have not room to notice more than such as most call for remark. A neat little cut, however, of the Duckbilled Platypus, inserted in the article on that living

The Comic Almanac; or, Illustrations of the Months, riddle, interested us extremely, being the first picture we had seen of that singular individual, alive, and in his natural sphere.

by George Cruikshank.-Tilt.

A little book inscribed with Cruikshank's well-
known, grotesque, bold autograph, embordured with
phantasies of zodiacal inference, such as would have
killed Phaeton with nothing worse than laughter,
indorsed with an effective allegory of the seasons!
It is put into your hands, and you grin. The text
of the book consists of the usual calender, with a
chronological table, chiefly commemorating modern
events. The illustrations in verse are not quite so
good as those in figures; so let us turn to the
etchings at once. The general spirit of each month
is concentrated in one characteristic scene. January
shows us cart-loads of ice coming to the pastry-
cook's, who now supplies hot soups, but in July
must furnish his languishing customers with cooling
ices. In the middle of the street is a troop of
"frozen-out gardeners;" in the gutter, sliding boys;
beyond them, a motley crowd seeking warmth and
comfort in a "gin palace." How head the
drinkers! how scrambling the sliders, with the
butcher-boy distributing the contents of his tray!
how creeping, shrunken, wretched, bawling, the
gardeners! how hurrying, shovelling, horse-urging
the ice-carters! how muffled up and scornful the
gentleman in the boa! but above all, how unhoused
the pastry-cook. He has just emerged from the warm
shop, sleek, slippered, night-capped, to superintend the
cellaring of the ice. One of the carters is asking him
for directions, touching his hat with a swelled, be-
numbed fist (for his fingers are bound together with
cold); the man of tarts can scarcely attend to him,
so much is he absorbed in impatience to be back to
the fire, so tottering with cold; his hands pocketted,
his knees together, his eye wandering back to the
shop. February is a scene of swampy, melted, re-
frozen, remelted snow, with many a slip and slide.
How true to our every-day experience the woman
reading the direction of the letter she has received,
the postman that of the next he is to deliver, while
the twopence that is to pass between them, for which
the woman is diving in her pocket, is too much a matter
of course to merit] the exercise of attention from
either.
We must cut short our expressions of admi-
ration; Cruikshank is too rich in fun for us to cram it
all, or much of it, into a paragraph full of description.
Think of March winds treated by his etching needle,

[Gray's Elegy Illustrated,' and the Literary Souvenir,' next week.]

VESPUCIUS the first opportunity.

W.'s lines to his Fire are not uncreditable to him; but they are not a "Sonnet," being sixteen lines instead of fourteen. A Sonnet is always confined to fourteen lines, unless it be of the comic order, when it may run to what length it pleases, after discharging its regular duties in that respect.

S. G. is justly grateful to his "Pen," though his acknowledgments are hardly peculiar enough to be made public.

The vindicator of Johnson, in the matter of the "City-Club," shall have insertion as soon as possible. Is his signature W.? It is not so legible as the rest

of his communication.

We cannot, at the moment we are writing this, refer to the past numbers of our Journal; but surely we noticed the communication mentioned by "Un At all events, his messenger Lecteur qui à soif!"

was not in fault; for we received it.
We fear we must have mislaid the papers mentioned
by our very kind friend, J. M. C. They shall be
searched for immediately.

The Northern Herald (Belfast) is requested to accept our most grateful acknowledgments.

We are quite ashamed at having delayed so long with the manuscripts of Mr G. F. His verses, just sent us, shall be considered forthwith. We fear we cut a bad figure altogether with our Correspondents this week; and we must complete it with an awkward confession; which is, that instead of being able to fetch up our arrears to them, as promised last week, the key of the closet which contained their papers has been fairly walked off with, and will not return to us till too late for the press. We make this explanation, because the vague mention of "accident" a second time, might have looked still more awkward; and truth is the best resource under a scrape, if it cannot always help us out of it.

LONDON: Published by H. HOOPER, 13, Pall Mall East. From the Steam-Press of C. & W. REYNELL, Little Pulteney-street.