of their body, to move forward almost invariably in a straight line. We have often admired the simplicity and efficiency of the means that have been resorted to in order to obviate this difficulty. The thorax, or trunk, of the insect is attached to the abdomen, or hinder portion of the body, by a pretty long and narrow cylindrical piece; and on this the thorax moves as on a pivot, its hinder angles being rounded off to admit of its motions being performed with greater facility. Now, all the insects most nearly related to these, but which are not subterranean in their habits, have the thorax broad behind, the hinder angles being rectangular, or even salient, which necessarily almost wholly prevents the sideward motion of a part of the body at once. The genera Clirina and Scarites afford examples of this structure. Their fore-legs are also constructed on the same principle as those of the mole-beetle, although the parts are not so highly developed. They likewise possess another organ, so beautifully adapted to their subterranean mode of life that it should not pass unnoticed. The antennae, which are usually composed of conical joints, and are therefore somewhat rigid and unpliant, are, in this instance, formed of globular joints connected by a slender filament, resembling a series of beads rather loosely strung upon a thread. They can, therefore, be bent in any direction with the utmost ease, and are turned backwards while the insect is moving through the soil, so that they offer no obstacle to its progress. How many beautiful examples of peculiar adaptation are to be observed in the legs of insects, in order to fit them for locomotion in the different places and elements in which they dwell! The crane-flies (Tipulida) frequent grassy meadows; and walking in such places to an insect with a heavy body and short legs, would be almost as difficult as for a man to pass through a thick plantation of young trees. The legs are therefore extended to that extraordinary length which gives these flies such a singular appearance; and they are by that means enabled either to stilt among the grass, or to walk over it, the limbs, from their length, resting on many blades of grass at once, and thus finding a sufficient number of points to support the body. But it must occur to every one that a still more useful and effectual kind of locomotion, among tangled vegetation and places where the wings could not well be used, would be the power of leaping. Multitudes of herbivorous insects we accordingly find to possess that property, and the hind-legs are the instruments by which it is usually effected. The thighs are greatly enlarged to allow the muscles sufficient development for this increase of power, and the other parts of the leg are so modified as not to interfere with the exercise of it. The efficiency of this instrument is best shown by its effects. Insects of very small size (such as the turnip flea-beetle, an object of much dread to farmers) can leap to a distance of several feet with the utmost ease, so that they are at once provided with the means of a rapid change of place, necessary, or at least highly desirable, in their search for food, and a mode of escape from many of their enemies. The structure in question is best exemplified in locusts and grasshoppers. In these the hinder thighs are very much elongated, and thicken gradually as they approach the body; the knee forms a large knob, to afford room for the somewhat complex articulation which unites the thigh to the tibia. The whole apparatus is strictly mechanical; and it would seem impossible that any one could examine it without at once perceiving what purpose it was intended to serve, even although he had never seen it in action. WORLDLY WISDOM; OR THE HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS OF LIFE. "You had better have taken my advice, Henry, and married the heiress three months ago," was the exclamation of Mr Varley to one of the two nephews who, with himself, made up rather a mournful trio, as they sat almost for the last time in his splendid drawing-room. The season was chilly November, the year that terrible one in the mercantile world-1825. Mr Varley had been reputed a very wealthy merchant. He had lived for many years in a most expensive style; and though there were ill-natured persons who hinted that Mr and Mrs Varley snapped and snarled occasionally at each other, in a manner not accordant with a very romantic idea of conjugal felicity, he must certainly have been a generous husband. In fact, he had behaved in a manner that those foolish romantic persons who have no idea of a separate purse or separate interests seldom think of doing. In the height of his prosperity, he had settled twenty thousand pounds on his wife beyond his own reach. It is true this circumstance was not generally known, but we shall see presently how it influenced his future career. Mr Varley had no children; but about five years before his failure, his nephews, Henry Carlingford and Alfred Varley, had entered his counting-house, the former bringing into the concern a small patrimony, the latter very little more than his services. Nevertheless, Alfred had become decidedly the uncle's favourite, for Mr Varley declared that Henry's head was full of "ridiculous notions," and that where any one of them was concerned, "he was as obstinate as a mule." Alfred, on the contrary, he pronounced to be "a shrewd clever fellow, who would make his way in the world;" and Mr Varley had a strong affection for prosperous people. It was a very few days after the house of Varley and Co. had been declared insolvent-a failure, by the by, most unexpected-that our story opens. There are few scenes more painfully touching than the contemplation of a family suddenly reduced from affluence to penury; but certainly of our trio Henry Carlingford appeared the most afflicted. Perhaps Alfred Varley possessed more of the buoyancy of youth, and perhaps his uncle was a bit of a philosopher, or perhaps he considered that he could not be very painfully straitened while his lady possessed the interest of twenty thousand pounds. He had also just heard that the creditors intended behaving very liberally. Thus, though a certain air of gloom pervaded the apartment, he was less depressed than might have been expected, when he addressed Henry, exclaiming, "You had better have married the heiress!" "In the first place, sir," replied Henry, "I am not sure that the lady to whom you allude would have married me; and secondly, I never admired her sufficiently to put the question to her." ing had upon her character. Youth, with its keen feelings and soaring hopes, is the season of all others when afflictions fall most heavily; wisely and mercifully ordained is it, that they should usually leave behind them, when their wounds are healed and their sting departed, lessons of experience which mature the mind and develop the character, more, probably, than the fortunate occurrences of many prosperous years might have done. It seemed very dreadful to Eliza Dalton when first the intelligence of her father's reverses fell upon her ear; it was sad to think she must bid adieu to the home of her childhood, and yield it to the authority of a stranger; it was even a trial (however unromantic it may sound) to relinquish henceforth the luxuries to which she had ever been accustomed, and the control of wealth which her father had more recently permitted; and saddest, most agonising of all, was it to mark his anxious careworn face. Yet amid the deluge of affliction, there seemed one ark of joy and happiness; what, then, must her emotions have been when that was wrecked? She was alone when the letter of Alfred Varley "Nonsense-nonsense! Now, there is no chance of arrived, and she read it twice or thrice without seemyour making a good match; if you had married Missing to gather its meaning. True, they could not be Tarlton, and even half her fortune had been settled married yet; that she had instinctively felt the first upon herself, as of course would have been the case, moment that the knowledge of their mutual reverse how different would your position now have been !" of fortune had reached her; she had already accus"So different that I cannot contemplate it without tomed herself to look through a long vista of exertion horror; for however my own conscience might have on his part, and at the end most probably a mere acquitted me, the world would have considered me as competence-for there was the prospect of a compea scoundrel." tence-instead of the once anticipated affluence. But "Well, well," rejoined the uncle, "some day you to be relinquished-cast off for ever-such a thing will better understand the advantages of a sure in- had never entered her imagination, and her mind was come." slow to comprehend it. After a few minutes, how"I do understand them, I assure you; but I value ever, some scintillation of the truth must have reached one thing yet more highly, and that is an unsullied her, for, pressing her hand to her brow, she sought her character." father's chamber, and placing the open letter in his hand, leaned upon his shoulder, and, while he read, again perused it. Having thus expressed his opinion on Henry's imprudence, Mr Varley turned the conversation more directly to their present circumstances, and this, after a little while, very naturally led to Alfred's more immediate interests. Here, however, there was a marriage to be broken off, instead of reproaches for its non-completion. Alfred had been engaged for nearly six months to the pretty and accomplished daughter of a London banker. But though Eliza Dalton was precisely the same individual with whom he had been all this time "desperately in love," he now congratulated himself most heartily that he had yielded to the delay urged on account of her extreme youth-for she was little more than seventeen-as, to use his own words, he felt there would be "madness" in thinking of her as a wife, now that her father had failed, and she would be portionless. There is a kind of speciousness, a correct reasoning warped to wrong purposes, which, like false coin, may, and does, for a little while pass current. It sounded all very right, and proper, and prudent, and self-sacrificing on his part to release Eliza from her engagement, and, now that their mutual circumstances were so changed, to leave her free again to choose; but it must be confessed these moral attributes are not the ones generally most highly appreciated by a young girl in the character of her lover. It would seem that even Henry Carlingford did not see the affair quite in the exalted manner which was intended, for after listening for some time to the discourse of his companions, the exclamation, "Poor girl!" escaped him, and he walked to another part of the room to conceal his emotion. Both the Varleys had an aversion to "scenes" (though, in dreading one, they calculated far too little on the womanly pride which was inherent in such a nature as that of Eliza Dalton), and so they agreed each to dispatch a letter breaking the determination at which they had arrived-that of the uncle to Mr Dalton; the epistle of the nephew was to be addressed to his affianced. It must not, however, be supposed that the situation of Alfred Varley was utterly deplorable-very far, indeed, from it. From his knowledge of business, he had already engaged himself as head clerk in another establishment, with a very considerable salary, and Mr Varley was to resume the management of his own business for the benefit of his creditors. For Henry Carlingford a very different, and apparently a far more uncertain, career was opening. Sickened of the excitement consequent on speculations, and not having been fortunate in the specimens presented to him of the mercantile class, he had determined to abandon entirely all such pursuits. The study of anatomy and medicine had already been the recreation of many a leisure hour, and a wealthy member of his mother's family had now generously placed within his reach the means of prosecuting these his favourite studies, with the hope of qualifying himself for the medical profession. It does require energy and decision to determine, even at five-and-twenty, on a new path in life, and to turn every hope and aspiration into a different channel than heretofore; but energy and decision were among the peculiar characteristics of Henry's mind, directed as they were by those firm principles which prevented his ever turning out of the straightforward path of honour and propriety into any of the by-lanes of life, which, though they seem to the short-sighted very near cuts to fortune and fame, really only lead out of one crossroad into another. It is scarcely worth while to examine very narrowly the early trials of Eliza Dalton. It will be better to judge of them by the infiuence their school "Sordid wretch!" exclaimed Mr Dalton; "but, darling, I rejoice"- The sentence was not completed, for Eliza would have fallen to the ground had not his open arms received her. Mr Dalton was a strong-minded man, and one of deep feeling. He had been for some years a widower, and his whole affections were centred upon his three children, of whom Eliza was the eldest. The change in his worldly position had, in a few weeks' time, added in appearance the weight of many years to his age, and threaded his dark hair with silver, but it had failed to wring from his heart such tears of agony as those which fell upon the insensible form of his daughter. His first impulse had been to call for assistance, but a second thought restrained him, and placing her upon a sofa, he succeeded in a few minutes in restoring her to consciousness; it was her father's tenderness which touched some chord of feeling, and her heart was relieved by tears. It must not be supposed that Mr Dalton's grief was at breaking off the match. Very far from it; but he knew enough of woman's nature to comprehend the struggle that was going on in the heart of his darling child. Oh! how holy is the bond when a parent is also a friend! They spoke unreservedly, and with her hand clasped in his. In the course of a very few hours Eliza listened, almost with composure, to her father's ejaculations of thankfulness that Alfred's character was unmasked. In a few days she spoke of plans for the future almost with animation; of how much she could improve her younger sisters and herself without the further aid of masters, and how pretty she could make the cottage to which they were about to remove. In a few months, though looking paler, thinner, and much older than before, she had regained, to all appearance at least, a flow of cheerful spirits. She had become, if possible, dearer than ever to her father; she had become his confidential and favourite companion, the undisputed economical mistress of his reduced establishment, and the instructress of her younger sisters. She was also more happy. The truth was, that the proof of Alfred's unworthiness had stripped her idol of its divinity, and discovered to her, what is more often the case with the very young than they are willing to acknowledge, namely, that their love is rather the imagined embodiment of their own ideal, which cannot endure the test of time, the great truth-discoverer, than a real attachment that deserves to be permanent. Leaving Eliza, however, to the intellectual pursuits and domestic duties which opened to her a more extended and purer kind of happiness, we will follow for a little while the fortunes of Henry Carlingford. He had pursued his studies most assiduously for the requisite term, and had commenced what is called "walking the hospitals," when his attention was drawn to an old man whom he observed almost daily among the patients that called for gratuitous advice. He seemed to grow weaker and weaker; and, actuated by a feeling of benevolence, Henry on one occasion fol lowed him to the door, and believing that he saw before him a decayed gentleman, offered, in as delicate a manner as possible, to attend him at his own home. The old man, whom we will call Selby, looked up as if surprised, and exclaimed, almost pettishly : "I can't pay you, sir; I can't pay you." "I do not desire it," returned Henry; "you are not in a fit state of health to brave such weather as this (it was raining at the time); and if my skill and experience, such as they are, can be of any advantage to you, they are quite at your service." Certainly this kind offer was not received and accepted in the most gracious manner; but Henry perceived that he had a character to deal with, and towards noon, on the following day, he wended his way to the street named by his eccentric acquaintance. It is no unusual thing for the attics of houses (the lower parts of which may be occupied as counting houses by the wealthy merchant) to be let out in single rooms at comparatively low rents to some needy persons, who yet have business or occupation which requires their presence in the metropolis. It was in a mean apartment of this description that Henry found the old man; but it seemed to him a singular coincidence that the ground-floor should be tenanted by the firm in whose service his cousin Alfred now was; for though he knew the street and house very well, he had never before observed the number. As Henry was leaving the house after having performed his required duty, he encountered young Varley; and not being very expert at parrying crossquestions, his cousin was soon apprised of the object of his visit. At first Alfred's countenance fell, in a manner that surprised our doctor, but in a few moments recovering, or assuming composure, he burst into a sort of forced laugh, and holding out his hand to Henry, exclaimed, "We must enter into partnership, my straight-laced cousin, or else I see that you, in the most unconscious manner, will out me out with the old miser. Ah! I see you don't know him: he has not chick or child in the world-rich as Croesus-lives here to be near the stock exchange, where he dabbles pretty often-hasn't an idea we know this, though, for he is always talking of dying in the workhouse; if one could but get booked in his will-don't think he's made it yet; do you?-can't live long, I'm sure-how long should you think?” Henry did not give a very satisfactory answer to this question; he had been shocked at the abrupt confession of his cousin's scheming (the upright always detest manoeuvring), and perhaps more grieved than angry at the deception which had been practised on himself. His compassion for the desolate old man-whose life would not in all human probability be prolonged many months-had been strongly excited; and though respect was necessarily gone, pity remained, and he continued to visit him almost daily. Involuntarily, perhaps, his manner grew less cordial, as he perceived, in many trifling circumstances, "confirmation strong" of all Alfred Varley had declared, though, from a feeling of principle, his attentions were still unremitted; while the miser, as if to widen the barrier which was growing up between them, persisted in treating Henry as the party obliged, speaking constantly of the experience he must derive from the treatment of his case. Weeks thus passed away; sometimes, though not often, he met his cousin, who latterly, he fancied, rather shunned him than not. A circumstance, however, was about to occur, which opened a new chapter in the life of Henry Carlingford, and probed his feelings to the quick. He had been in the habit of visiting, on terms of intimacy, at Mr Dalton's "cottage," and in a manner, that would be strange but that it is common, had grown fervently attached to Eliza, without being conscious of the fact. Certainly there could be few characters more suited to each other than their's were, and no circumstances so likely to awaken the purest regard as those under which he had seen Eliza Dalton-the youthful, gentle, yet wise mistress of a home she made dearer to her father than his early abode of affluence. Still, Henry had been so accustomed to consider her as the early betrothed of his cousin, that it was only by the incident to which we allude that he was awakened to the knowledge of his own feelings. On arriving one day at the cottage, he was startled by the agitated manner in which Mr Dalton received him. "Harry," cried the latter, drawing him towards a vacant room, "I want much to speak to you. Pray, tell me, have you suspected any thing of this sort ?" and, while speaking, he placed an open letter before him. It was a letter from Alfred Varley to his some-time affianced, couched in terms of the most passionate regard. He spoke of the "cruel sacrifice he had made, by which his heart had been nearly broken," and to which he had only been actuated by a fervent desire for her happiness; but finding her still unmarried, and his own prospects brightening, he could no longer refrain from once more throwing himself at her feet. The letter was filled up with those fervent expressions of unalterable attachment which, when echoed from one heart to another, seem a natural and proper language, but which, under different circumstances, or to third persons, are apt to appear a very different sort of thing. The perusal of this letter unveiled poor Henry's heart to himself, and it was with a pale cheek and trembling voice that he besought Mr Dalton to tell him in what manner his daughter had received it. "She is in a most agitated state of mind," continued the father," and it is this which grieves me. I did not believe she entertained for him one lingering feeling of regard. I thought she now rejoiced as much at the rupture of their engagement, as I have always done. But I know how delicate a thing is a woman's heart; and though she is willing-I may say desirous-to reply at once, and decline firmly all future overtures, I have determined to wait for a week or two, not only that I may make inquiries as to his conduct since we lost sight of him-and certainly, as Eliza's worldly prospects are no way changed, this letter goes far towards proving that we judged him harshly-but that I may also give time for her own decision. Tell me, have you ever suspected the state of your cousin's feelings?" "No. But we are not intimate, and have seldom or never spoken on this subject." Henry Carlingford left the house without seeing Eliza Dalton, or it is probable that some word or look might have unsealed his lips, and at least all future misunder standings have been avoided. But impressed with the conviction that her heart was still devoted to his rival, he had not the courage to meet her. doctor; and it was evident that he had become aware one, It was on the third morning from that eventful day miser. Within the last week or two, however, a change that Henry, as usual, paid his benevolent visit to the old might have been observed in Mr Selby's deportment. He had grown more deferential and respectful to his young that Henry knew that he was no object of charity, at least in the common acceptation of the term. Growing day by day more feeble, it seemed that as his body decayed his mind became less grovelling and worldly. He seemed conscious that his end was approaching; and as if anxious to exculpate himself in Henry's eyes, he briefly sketched his history. Some minds there are which, tried by adversity, come out like gold from the furnace, but his was not of this order. Jilted by the woman he had loved, and cheated of his fortune by the man he had called his friend, he lost all belief in moral excellence; and where there is not at least faith in virtue, the mind must narrow and wither. Reduced by the fraud which had been practised on him from the possession of a competence to utter dependence, he had still, by a course of persevering industry, acquired a considerable fortune; but with no tie of affection, and no hope of ever forming he seemed not to be linked in the chain of humanity: he made gold his idol, and loved and worshipped it for itself. Still, where there has once been known kindly feelings, it is possible that some chord may be found to reawaken them. The bad leaven was sufficiently powerdivinity" ful to prevent his sacrificing one grain of his " has some consciousness that mammon passes not through while his dying fingers could grasp it; but even a miser the gates of death. It was not the kind and skilful benevolence of his friend which had awakened his better impulses, though something there was in Henry's loftier nature (as, indeed, the choice of him for a confessor proved) which wrung from him the tribute of respect which inferior minds are compelled to pay. Far less did the designing attentions of Alfred Varley meet with any other than their fit and usual reward; but the old man's dormant admiration had been awakened by a sense of JUSTICE. In early life he had known Mr Dalton intimately, and had watched the rise and fall of his fortunes. He knew that the wealthy banker and the poor gentleman had been alike a man entitled to respect, and more than all, he had chanced to receive only a few weeks ago the last dividend due to him as a trifling creditor, knowing that it was by the sacrifice of many thousands which he might have retained, that Mr Dalton had been enabled to discharge every claim upon him. He had heard, too, from an old servant, of the exemplary conduct of Eliza, and, without knowing the name of her early lover, something of her private history. From sympathy, admiration, or perhaps many mingled feelings, he had determined on making her his sole heiress, though, undoubtedly, his attention had been drawn to the family by his thorough appreciation of Mr Dalton's upright character. It was after relating his history to Henry Carlingford far more minutely than we have done, that, softened by his emotions, he took from behind his pillow a paperit was his will. He asked Henry to read it to him, complaining of his feeble sight, but expressing a desire to be once more sure that it was in all respects correct and binding. It was while complying with the miser's wish that a lightning-like flash of thought convinced Henry Carlingford that his cousin Alfred had in some manner become acquainted with the nature of the document. His voice trembled as he concluded, and he left that poor chamber sooner than he had intended; but he spoke kind words to the old man, and pressed his hand more warmly than usual. He had obtained a clue to the discovery he instantly sought to make, for one of the witnesses to the will was a fellow-clerk of Alfred's. It matters little how he assured himself of the truth of his conjecture, or how, from a sense of duty, he disclosed to Mr Dalton the plot which had been laid by his unprincipled cousin. But our story would have been shorter if Eliza Dalton had sent her definite refusal to accept his addresses one day before the discovery of his heartless villany. Then Henry Carlingford would never have suspected in her a lingering regard for her former lover. As it was, he misunderstood the depression of spirits which even the possession of thirty thousand pounds (and of that fortune she became mistress in a very few weeks) failed to banish; and her wealth, to his sensitive mind, raised a barrier between them. Yet he loved on, almost against his will; for in his struggles with himself he separated himself from her society, till by degrees he even ceased to visit her family. Years passed on, working their strange revolutions in the balance of fortune's wheel. Seven years after the miser's death, the Varleys were, what they would have called in others, "all to pieces." Mrs Varley was dead, after having squandered all the property, and her husband had sunk to the condition of a clerk in a third-rate house of business in a country town. The career of his nephew, Alfred, has not been much more prosperous. With a view of making a business for himself, he was guilty of much double-dealing and ingratitude towards his employers; and though he escaped the arm of the law, he was of course dismissed by them, and has now no regular occupation; it is indeed a marvel how he finds the means of subsistence. But let us close this sketch with a brighter picture than the one we have just presented. Those same seven of fame. He had steadily pursued the straight highway years had raised our young physician high on the ladder of life, and yet had made stepping-stones of the favourable "opportunities" which had presented themselves in his path. Although ever a friend to the poor, his chief connexion lay among the noble and the wealthy, at whose houses he was frequently an honoured guest. It was on one of these occasions, and when the conversation was on literature, that it turned to some admirable works which had lately been published, and which had attracted the notice and admiration they deserved. There was some degree of mystery, however, about the author, and Lord F the host, after listening for some time to the discussion, startled them by declaring, "I week be introduced to her." know it is a lady, and more than that, you shall next "The name-the name-who is she? who can she be?" exclaimed two or three voices. "Nay," rejoined Lord F, "if I promise you so great an honour, you must indulge me with the enjoyment of a little mystification. Her name is one you have often heard. All I shall tell you is that she is youngcertainly under thirty-and handsome; and that she is the chosen friend of my daughter, chosen by me as much as by herself; for to a girl of Emily's age, I think the advantages of such a friend, some half-dozen years her Come all of senior, are beyond the highest estimate. you and dine with me next Tuesday, and at all events we will invite the author of and her father to meet you." The authoress was Eliza Dalton! Seven years had taken no beauty from her person, but had added much power to her mind. Her younger sisters were already married; but it was suspected, nay, she had been known to say, that she should never marry. Such resolutions, however, are occasionally broken; and certain it is, that within three months from that memorable dinner party, she made some confessions to Henry Carlingford touching her depression of spirits at the period of receiving her legacy, which quite relieved his mind from any anxiety on that subject; and about the same time she fixed the day to meet him at the altar, to be no more the man of all others he deemed most worthy of her, and divided. Her proud happy father gave her with joy to Lady Emily F― was her bridesmaid. OCCASIONAL NOTES. WE find the following paragraph in the Leeds Mer- closely conducted. The reader ought to be aware that in eighteen years the moon, the sun, and the earth, come into the same relative position towards each other as they were in at the beginning of the period; and the theory is, that the temperature, moisture, winds, &c., on our globe are materially affected by the relative positions of the sun and moon towards her." Efforts to ascertain general principles with regard to the character of the seasons have so invariably ended in disappointment, that Mr Howard must be prepared for some difficulty in convincing the world of the truth of his system. We are struck, however, by the idea of a series of propitious following a series of unpropitious seasons, because it is analogous to some other parts of the great scheme of Providence. We can work by day; but by and by the night cometh when no man may work. The fruits of the earth are produced only at one season; and we must prepare in summer and autumn for the absence of all natural sustenance from the surface of the earth in winter. Man can labour powerfully and successfully for his support till past middle life; but by and by comes a time of old age when he cannot labour, and when he is, or ought to be, supported by the results of the industry of his better days. All these arrangements bear reference to a faculty of foresight in the human mind, which operates to make us provide in the one season for the wants of the other; and society would soon be in a dreadful state indeed, if night, winter, and old age were not regarded by a very considerable portion of the species. This foresight is one of the most remarkable distinctions of man; but it is lamentable to think by what a great number of persons-we may say whole classes-it is scarcely at all exercised. How many, even when their receipts are far above the average, are contented to eat up each week their whole weekly earnings, never once thinking there is such a thing as a savings' bank or a friendly soany provision for the possible death of the head of ciety in the world! How many in the middle ranks go on from year to year living in comfort without the family, though life-assurance supplies all that could be desired in that way from the present possession of a large hoard of savings! [By the way, life-assurance must yet be far from being generally understood: we lately heard with astonishment of a clergyman in Dundee having spoken discountonancingly of it in the pulpit-endeavouring to place religion in opposition to one of the most virtuous acts of a man's life!] However much it may be disregarded partially, labour and self-denial at the favourable season, for the sake of provision against the unfavourable, are distinctions of human kind, and they are proud ones. It would be curious to discover that nature contemplates also, as a regular matter, something like a constant realisation of Joseph's dream, namely, that in one portion of so long a space of time as eighteen years, there should be a provision made for another portion of it-for such must be a natural inference from Mr Howard's theory, if it prove correct. It is a question interesting to the moral as well as to the natural philosopher, and we would hope that due efforts will not be wanting to bring it to a point of certainty. IMPROVEMENTS IN TYPOGRAPHY AND PRINTING. The history of printing presents a remarkable illustration of the active and improving nature of the last half century in comparison with some of the whole ones which went before. Till the French Revolution, the printing press continued to be the same rude and clumsy wooden machine which it had been in the hands of Faust and Guttenberg. A mechanician of the present day laughs at the idea of its homeliness and imperfect adaptation to its work. Its first three centuries and a half passed without its ever being thought improveable. Then came a time when everything was challenged, and the printing-press amongst the rest. Lord Stanhope and others applied their minds to produce better presses, and succeeded. There have been since then certainly not less than six various improved constructions of press, all of them respectable, and some excellent. There has also been the printing machine, that wonderful engine which takes in blank paper at one end and sends it out fully printed at the other, by dint merely of a handful of coal in the furnace of a steam-engine-which has allowed of the serviceable phenomenon of cheap literature-and makes it possible to publish a large impression of a newspaper while the news are still hot. The old cushions for inking have in the same period been dismissed, and replaced by the elegant and handy rollers. Now, if we are to believe a correspondent of the Morning Herald, a machine has been invented and patented for setting up types. This machine, according to the gentleman who has made it known, " has a resemblance to a cottage piano, with the external framework removed. It has 72 channels containing a complete font of type, under which are placed levers in connexion with keys similar to those of the piano, each key having engraved on it its character, which corresponds with the channels above, in which the different letters are placed. As the letters are moved out of the channels by the action of the player, they slide through various curves on an inclined plane at the back of the machine, and fall to one point, where they are received into a spout and beaten forward to a composing stick, or, as it is called by the mechanist, a justifying box, by a very ingenious mechanical movement. This justifying box is at the end of the receiving spout, and the type is drawn into it in lines of the width of the page to be set up; and when the usual number of lines have been justified, the box is emptied into a galley in the way that the compositor empties his composing stick. While this setting up' of the type, as the printers term it, but which here is in reality letting down,' is going on, the channels are being fed by two boys. The rapidity with which this machine gets through its work may be judged of from the fact, that type equal to half a column of this Journal was justified in a few minutes less than an hour; that is, as fast as the reporter usually transcribes his notes. At this machine there are eight persons employed, three intelligent young women and five boys. The first are alternately engaged two hours each in composing, justifying, and correcting. The same system obtains with the boys, one of whom turns the wheel before spoken of, two, as has been stated, fill the channels, and two distribute the type. A clever compositor will set up 2000 letters in an hour, but the average is about 1500 or 1600 letters. The young women whom we saw compose at the machine have, as they stated to us, been learning for about three months, and the average rate at which they justify, for we observed that the composer was sometimes too quick for the justifier, is about 6000 letters per hour." How far the machine will answer the desired end, when employed upon moist and soiled types, such as are found in ordinary use in printing offices, we are presented with no means of judging. In type-founding, there have also been some improvements of late. Some of the larger and more elaborate letter has been reproduced in the most beautiful style by the electrotype. In this art, there has always been a disadvantage felt to attend the want of a fixed standard of size for the bodies of the types, so as to admit of one founder's type ranking with another's; and also for the sake of nice adjustment when types of different sizes have to be amassed in one page. This desideratum has lately been supplied by the laudable enterprise and ingenuity of Messrs Bower, Brothers, of Sheffield. These gentlemen have pitched upon one kind of type (pica) as a standard, making it invariably one-sixth of an inch in depth of body, and making all other kinds of types in certain fixed proportions of that size. Consequently, a page of types of any variety of sizes may now be locked up with a degree of precision and neatness never before attainable. It is TRAITS OF AN ANTIQUARY. memory of his grandfather (who was probably born "In honour of thy mem'ry, blessed shade! It must be explained to such of our readers as are not acquainted with English customs, that there is an MR NICHOLLS, in his Illustrations of Literary History, ancient fashion still in some measure kept up, of holdhas preserved some curious traits and anecdotes of ing merry meetings called wakes at parish churches, on the antiquary, Dr Browne Willis, to whom the public the day of the saint to whom the church is dedicated. was indebted for the first correct and ample accounts Browne Willis one day, riding over Mendip, came to of the great churches of England. Dr Willis was a small church under the hill, and called to a rustic to descended from a family of moderate fortune in ask its name. "Emburrough." "When was it dediBuckinghamshire, and was born in 1682. The pecu-cated?" "Talk English, or don't talk at all." "When liar character of his mind was awakened when he is the revel or wake?" The clown thought, as there was attending Westminster school. He loved to was a match at quarter-staff for a hat in the neighwalk and contemplate in the neighbouring abbey. bourhood, this queer-looking stranger might intend The solemnity of the building, the antique features of to make one, and so he instantly challenged him. the architecture, the old legends of the monuments, Let the reader only imagine for a moment the disgust filled his whole mind. Transferred to Christ Church, of the disconcerted antiquary. This story naturally Oxford, the appetite of his mental nature was fed by leads on to another, of which the humorous point is the similar objects which there met his eye-the grand much the same. Dr Willis one day took a friend of tower of the mighty Tom, the superb hall where nearly the name of Loundes along with him in his oldevery sovereign of England from the eighth Harry fashioned coach to inquire after antiquities at a cerhad been entertained, the adjacent cathedral church, tain old grange on a distant part of his own estate. where the tombs of Saxon saints are still shown, not A coach driving into the farm-yard sufficiently alarmed to speak of the many other ancient buildings and the family, who betook themselves to close quarters; objects of historical interest in Oxford. He grew up when Dr Willis, spying an old woman at a window, an antiquary, as a matter of course; and although he thrust his head out of the coach, and cried, "Woman, not only married, but served for a short time as M.P. I ask if you have got no arms in your house." It for Buckingham, the rust of the profession soon settled being at the time of the rebellion of 1745, when over him, and he became the odd eccentric being searches for arms were talked of, the woman answered which he continued to be till the end of his life. in great dudgeon, little thinking that it was only an Great acuteness in the reading of old papers and antiquary crazed for old dags and hagbuts. It was inscriptions, accurate habits in the ascertainment of not till Mr Loundes took up the task of explanation facts, a memory capacious enough for any amount of that an amicable understanding was effected between lumber, and diligence and perseverance unweariable, the parties. A third story follows as naturally, though were the qualifications of Browne Willis as an anti- not referring to Willis, but to a Dr Newcome, an quary. It is an almost essential peculiarity of the equally devoted antiquary. Passing one day in his antiquarian mind to narrow itself to some special set coach through a village near Cambridge, and seeing of objects, and to have no interest in any other. an old mansion, he called out to an old woman, "WoWillis affected only English ecclesiastical antiquities. man, is this a religious house?" "I don't know what Beyond his own country, and the middle ages of it, he you mean by a religious house," said she," but I believe had no sympathies. He gave up all good opinion of the house is as honest a house as any of yours at Cama young clergyman of his acquaintance who un-bridge." guardedly declared one day that he would not give one page of Sallust or Caesar, Livy or Tacitus, for all the monkish writers, with Bede at the head of them. This reminds us of Scott's turning coldly from the classical antiquities of Rome, and inspecting with enthusiasm a fortress of the fourteenth century. The collections which Willis made in his favourite walk enabled him to publish "The Cathedrals of England," in three volumes quarto, and "The Mitred Abbeys of England," two volumes. His principal other work was one entitled "Notitia Parliamentaria," referring to the parliamentary history of the various counties and boroughs of England. He lost money upon all of these great books except one; and the fifteen pounds which he gained upon that one he very characteristically gave, with a farther sum out of his own pocket, to build the steeple of Buckingham Church. The style of his writings is much more easy and elegant than any one looking at his character as an eccentric student could have expected. His antiquarian pursuits were conducted at an expense which impaired his fortune, for he personally visited most of the places which he described, and he never grudged a good sum for any antique curiosity that was brought to him. But though he began life with a property of L.2000 a-year, and reduced this to one-half, he possessed a benevolence which shrunk from raising the rents of his tenants, even when a rise would have been fair. He also spent much in repairing and beautifying certain of the neighbouring churches in which he took an interest, and supported three charity schools. To enable him to indulge in this liberal disposition, he denied himself and his family many gratifications; would himself wear a suit of clothes two years, and forbid his daughters a visit to London as too expensive, though necessary to complete their education. Utter abandonment to his favourite studies had taken from Dr Willis all sense of decent external appearance. In any dress he would have looked whimsical; but he added to the effect of an extraordinary countenance and figure by wearing only old clothes of the most ridiculous fashion. Two or three ancient coats, confined by a leathern belt round his waist, were surmounted by an old blue cloak, lined with black fustian, which had been made when he entered parliament. The head displayed a tie-wig worn nearly to the stumps, underneath an old slouched hat; at the opposite extremity were a pair of boots fully forty years old, which only came half up his legs, and were full of patches and wrinkles. Old Wrinkle Boots was one of the names by which he was known in his neighbourhood. His chariot, purchased for his marriage at an early period of his life, and never changed, was garnished with brass plates bearing his arms, and looked not unlike a coffin. As might be expected, he was extremely dirty; and it was something of a trial, for a lady at least, to be seated near him. He had at the same time some pride, and was not pleased with any one who did not address him as Squire. While so fond of churches, it is rather odd that he was constantly quarrelling with the clergy. It could scarcely be said that he had a predilection for any thing of a modern description; yet if there was any exception, it was in favour of the town of Buckingham, which he had represented in parliament. He was always scrupulous to speak of it as the county town, and he made great efforts to obtain for it such distinctions as the change of its bailiff into a mayor, and causing the archdeacon and bishop to hold their visit ings at it. Our antiquary had four daughters; and never was a gentleman's family more awkwardly situated in the matter of a father. A lady who knew him well, re-writing to another on this subject, said, after describing him, "You may judge what kind of education such a man is likely to give four girls, who have no female directress to polish their behaviour, or any other habitation than a great rambling mansion-house in a country village." The lady who wrote thus was Miss Talbot, of whom one of her own friends gave this admirable character-"She censures nobody, she despises nobody, and, whilst her own life is a pattern of goodness, she does not exclaim with bitterness against vice." Her letters supply a number of particulars as to the Misses Willis, written in a strain of great humour, but without ill feeling. "Browne," she says, "distinguishes his four daughters into the lions and the lambs. The lambs are very good and very insipid; they were in town about ten days, that ended the beginning of last week; and now the lions have succeeded them, who have a little spirit of rebellion, that makes them infinitely more agreeable than their sober sisters. The lambs went to every church Browne pleased every day; the lions came to St James's church on St George's day, which to Browne was downright heresy. The lambs thought of no higher entertainment than going to see some collections of shells; the lions would see every thing and go everywhere. The lambs dined here one The character of him read after his death to the Society of Antiquaries, described him as "strictly ligious, without any mixture of superstition or enthusiasm, and quite exemplary in this respect." His antiquarian habits appear, nevertheless, to have given a certain strange twist to his religious feelings. He had become so accustomed to attach importance to the fact of what saint a church was dedicated to, and what day, accordingly, was observed at it as most sacred, that saints' days became to him of more account than they are with the most rigid Catholic. He regarded visits to churches as pilgrimages, and would put himself to considerable inconvenience and expense in order to be able to visit any one in particular on the day of the saint to which it was dedicated. When in London, on St George's Day, he would run about the whole forenoon, from one St George's Church to another, in order to be present at the services of as many as possible. He is known on one occasion to have gone from his house of Whaddon Chace, in Buckinghamshire, to Bristol Cathedral, in order to visit it on St Austin's Day, such being the day of its dedication. It is added, that he would lodge in no house there but the abbey-house. Having built a chapel at Fenny Stratford, in his neighbourhood, and placed it under the care of St Martin, he erected in it a tablet to the Of use, no doubt, when high in air, A wandering bird they'll rest, Ye jackdaws, that are used to talk When nigh you see Browne Willis walk, For come, alas! it must, When this good squire must stay at home, The solemn dirge, ye owls, prepare, A SKETCH OF PEKIN. and, in spite day, were thought good awkward girls, and then were laid out of our thoughts for ever. The lions dined with us on Sunday, and were so extremely diverting that we spent all yesterday morning, and are engaged to spend all this, in entertaining them, and going to a comedy-that, I think, has no ill nature in it; for the simplicity of these girls has nothing blameable in it; and the contemplation of such unassisted nature has something infinitely amusing in it. They follow Miss Jenny's rule of never being strange in a strange place; yet in them this is not boldness." Miss Talbot goes on to say "Their remarks on every thing are admirable. The main streets are of a good width, but the side As they sat in the drawing-room before dinner, one of ones are so very narrow that two carriages meeting them called to Mr Secker, I wish you would give me could not possibly pass, so that the coachman must a glass of sack!' The Bishop of Oxford came in, and always call out on entering one to ascertain whether one of them broke out very abruptly-' But we heard any other vehicle is coming in the opposite direction. every word of the sermon where we sat; and a very Every side-street had formerly a gate wherever it good sermon it was,' added she, with a decisive nod. crossed either another cross or a main street, and many The Bishop of Gloucester gave them tickets to go to a of them still remain. These gates were formerly closed play; and one of them took great pains to repeat to him, at night by warders, who lived in the vicinity, and the till he heard it, I would not rob you; but I know you passenger required a particular permission in order to are very rich, and can afford it; for I ben't covetous; pass it by night; now, however, this extreme strictindeed I ain't covetous.' Poor girls; their father will ness has ceased; the warder merely questions the make them go out of town to-morrow, and they begged nightly passenger, and even this occurs rarely. Owing very hard that we would all join in intreating him to to the custom of the Chinese of surrounding themlet them stay a fortnight, as their younger sisters have selves with high walls, the streets of Pekin are most done; but all our intreaties were in vain; and to-morremarkably uniform. On every side rise high enclos row the poor lions return to their den in the stageing walls, built of half-burnt grey bricks; everywhere coach. I have picked out some of the dullest of their peep up from behind these walls pointed sloping roofs, traits to tell you. They pressed us extremely to come which in form and colour are again monotonous. The and breakfast with them at their lodgings, four inches imperial palace alone is covered with glazed green square, in Chapel Street, at eight o'clock in the morntiles, all the other dwelling-houses with the half-burnt ing, and to bring a staymaker and the Bishop of Glougrey-coloured ones. Besides the emperor's, there are cester with us. We put off the engagement till eleven, not more than seven or eight princely palaces. All sent the staymaker to measure them at nine, and Mrs the rest weary the gaze by their dust colour; and the Secker and I went and found the ladies quite uneye can rest on nothing which does not display the dressed; so that, instead of taking them to Kensingmost tedious uniformity, unless it be the shops, which ton Gardens, as we promised, we were forced, for want generally project into the streets. Before the enof time, to content ourselves with carrying them round trance of all these booths hang black polished boards, Grosvenor Square into the ring, where, for want of inscribed with thick golden letters; there is not, better amusement, they were fain to fall upon the however, any difference betwixt them, and only those basket of dirty sweetmeats and cakes that an old wowhere confections are sold are distinguished by their man is always teazing you with there, which they had splendour. The whole of the front wall of these is nearly dispatched in a couple of rounds. It were endgilt, even to the roof, and adorned with dragons and less to tell you all that has diverted me in their conother figures. The magnificence of these shops is versation and behaviour." One other story of these the more striking, as close beside them one may often girls. The father once paid a visit to a gentleman at find a half-destroyed wall or a little tottering dwellinghis chambers in one of the colleges in Oxford, in order The first part of my stay was very tedious; picture house. There are no open places or gardens in Pekin; to look into some old papers. After he had sat a to yourself a man plunged at once into so populous a and the only remarkable buildings are the temples, while, a bed-maker opened the door, and enabled the city, into the midst of a swarm of people, whose man- which are profusely painted with vermilion colour. gentleman to hear something like a rustling of silk inners, customs, and mode of life, were quite strange, It is a great mistake to accuse the Chinese of bigotry. the stair outside. "What noise is that?" he inquired. and whose language was utterly incomprehensible to Their temples are generally quite empty : here and "Oh," said Dr Willis, "it is only one of my daughters him, and you will be able to understand my position. there only, an official who has received a new, and, be that I left on the staircase." We may presume it was Was I thus alone, in the midst of this multitude of it understood, a profitable, appointment, considers it one of the lambs; but it has been already remarked, people, to pass ten of the best years of my life? Our his duty to visit all the temples in the city. On such with justice, that a lion would have been more suitable chief drawback lay in the excessively difficult Chinese an occasion he conducts himself as follows:-On enter for so exposed a situation. pronunciation, where one and the same sound, how-ing, he takes with him a bundle of candles, made from ever simple, has its own peculiar meaning, according the bark of a tree, and of perfumed wood; these he as it is pronounced in a high or low, in an abrupt or lights before the images of the gods, prostrating himprolonged, tone of voice. For the first half year we self several times to the ground, during which time scarcely made any progress whatever; at the end of the priest strikes a metal saucer with a wooden mallet. two years only did we begin to find our way into the Such a pilgrim having concluded his prayer, throws secrets of that labyrinth called the Chinese tongue, down some money, and proceeds into the second and fully four had elapsed before we were able to con- temple, thence into the third, and so on. Even the verse freely with the natives. common people go only on particular occasions to the temple; when, for instance, a time of great drought arrives, troops of peasants assemble in the temple, in order to pray to their god for rain; and not only light candles and make prostrations, but bring also offerings with them, consisting of different sorts of bread, &c. Of a sincere disinterested prayer, offered from the heart of the suppliant, the Chinese worshipper has no conception. There are, to be sure, certain days every month when the temple is visited by the people, but then it is not with the intention of prayer but of business. Goods, such as millinery, for instance, are spread out in the courts of the temple; and the visiters promenade from noon till evening amongst rows of sellers, who at these fairs generally demand the most unreasonable prices. For a nephrit, for instance, a stone of a grass-green colour, which is particularly, esteemed by the Chinese, and which is used for rings, snuff-boxes, armlets, and such like, a salesman demanded 250 lan, and he gave it me for 26! (A lan is about four florins, or 6s. 8d. English.) Jugglers, also, display their tricks here; one will go on his hands, another throw knives; and so forth, The great ecclesiastical antiquary of England died in 1760; and we conclude all this gossip about him with a set of verses written upon him by Dr Darrell of Lellington Darrell, to the tune of Chery Chase :"Whilom there dwelt near Buckingham, That famous county town, At a known place, hight Whaddon Chace, A 'squire of odd renown. A Druid's sacred form he bore, His robes a girdle bound; Deep versed he was in ancient lore, In customs old, profound. A stick, torn from that hallow'd tree Where Chaucer used to sit High on a hill his mansion stood, Crude, undigested, half-devour'd, On groaning shelves they're thrown; His boots were made of that cow's hide Who first received the precious boon, Spires Gothic of more use he proved As soon as we were clothed in complete Chinese costume, being very desirous to see Pekin, we hired cabriolets and drove through the streets of the capital. First we drove to the imperial palace, where the emperor passes the winter months; during the whole of the rest of the year he resides in a palace about nine miles distant from the city. The palace occupies an immense space, consisting of a multitude of onestorey houses built of bricks, each of which has its appointed use. The emperor resides in one of them, in another he conducts the affairs of state, and in a third is the empress. The others are appropriated for his children, the widowed empress, the ladies of the court, &c. Each division is surrounded by a tolerably high wall, which none may pass except those persons belonging to it. All these buildings are again surrounded with a general wall, the threshold of whose gate may only be passed by the courtiers. An enclosure surrounds this outer wall, where there are many private shops, and where every body is allowed to walk or drive. The palaces themselves we could not see, and only the yellow roofs of glazed tiles showed themselves above the wall. Neither those streets in the vicinity of the palace, nor any throughout the city of Pekin, are paved. Without having in the least satisfied our curiosity, we drove from the palace through the street Sy-oi-lou, which, like all the other principal streets, is distin guished for breadth and regularity. The middle of each chief street of Pekin consists of an embankment of earth raised about three feet above the rest of the street, for the use of light carriages and foot passengers. Heavy loads, or carriages drawn by five and seven mules, must drive along the narrow avenues on each side of the embankment, which is a good width, and would be very convenient for driving upon, were it not that there are tents and booths erected at each side, which confine it so much that two carriages can scarcely drive abreast. In consequence of the excessive population of Pekin, the streets are filled throughout the whole day with a double row of carriages, slowly progressing in opposite directions. It is a terrible annoyance when a foot passenger happens to meet a friend who is driving. The latter, according to the strict etiquette of Chinese politeness, must stop, alight, Towards evening the court of the temple becomes empty, and all is again silent until the following fair, with the exception of the priests going thrice a-day to burn a small candle before each of the great images of the gods, and prostrating themselves each time to the earth. When the priest does not feel inclined to fulfil this heavy duty himself (and he rarely feels such a desire), he sends his pupil to light the candles and make prostrations; but if he does not just happen to be at hand, a common servant does it. As for the rest, the candles are lighted at the proper times, the prostrations are made as low as possible, and what more can one require? If the temples, however, are almost always empty, the houses of public entertainment, on the contrary, are filled with people from morning till night. In the best inns, one pays a high price for every trifle; so that when two or three of the rich young Chinese meet there, they easily spend in an evening 50 lan. The high price is not, however, a consequence of the extreme dearness of the articles required, but of the vanity of the consumer. In general, money is here lightly regarded; every darling son of the heaven-protected city of Pekin throws down his purse almost uncounted. They eat all manner of expensive things, such as roasted ice, for instance, for a little plate of which one pays 6 lan; it is prepared as follows:-The cook puts a small bit of ice on a sieve made of little wands or sticks, into a rather liquid batter of sugar, eggs, and spices, and then plunges it quickly into a pan of boiling swine's fat. The skill of the cook is shown by his bringing the dish upon the table before the ice be melted in the batter. A particularly good morsel cannot be expected, for when put into the mouth it burns, and when bitten into it is very cold. The high price of this dish arises from so few cooks being able to make it exactly as it ought to be. Taken in general, the Chinese dishes are very disagreeable to Europeans; for they prepare every thing without salt, and, in addition, float it in a superfluity of swine fat; and few dishes are made without ginger and garlic. Their roasts only are well flavoured, and might receive the highest approbation from a European gastronome. The reason of there being such an extraordinary number of eating-houses in Pekin, is the custom the Chinese have of entertaining one another, not in their own homes, but in these establishments; relations only and the most intimate acquaintances being ever invited to dinner or supper into their houses. The youth also assemble in the eating-houses, and the seniors dine there after the theatre, for the theatre and dinner at a restaurant are amusements which are inseparably connected with each other. Theatrical representations commence at eleven in the forenoon, and continue till six in the evening. In the course of the play, beautiful boys, who play the women's parts, come into the boxes of the rich members of the audience, and appoint an eating-house, where they promise to come and sup with them. During supper, these boys choose the dishes, and usually ask for the most expensive, having previously agreed with the master of the house upon a reward for so doing. All these boys are richly and tastefully dressed, skilled in conversation, lively, and witty. Neither in the theatres, the eating-houses, nor in the temple at fair times, are women to be seen, but on the streets one meets with plenty. Women of the lower rank go on foot, but those who are at all well off drive in cabriolets. The wives and daughters of princes, on the other hand, are carried in sedans. Married as well as unmarried women appear in the street with unveiled faces, and simply arranged hair, which they adorn with beautiful artificial flowers. Even the most ragged, dirty, old cook, if she is only going to the door to buy a little garlic or cabbage, has always a flower, usually red, stuck amongst her grey locks. The dress of the ladies is chiefly distinguished by bright colours: that of the Mandschurin ladies consists chiefly in a long upper robe with immense sleeves. This dress quite conceals the shape; but the Chinese do not distress themselves on account of this disadvantage, as they seek for feminine slenderness in narrow shoulders and a flattened chest, on which account their women all bind a broad girdle over the bosom, which supplies the place of the European corsets. The dress of the true Chinese women consists of red or green trousers, which are embroidered with many-coloured silks-of jackets, also embroidered-with a very richly embroidered upper garment. of day-that is, in summer at four, and in winter at six | THE BABES IN THE WOODS. [WE copy the following from a late number of the Nova Scotian, MOST children who can read, have read the touching The town of Dartmouth lies on the eastern side of On Monday morning, the 10th day of April, Meagher, his wife, and two of the children, being sick with the measles, the two eldest girls strolled into the woods to search for lashong, the gum of the black spruce tree, or tea berries. Their names were Jane Elizabeth and Margaret, the first being six years and ten months old, and the latter only five years. The day was fine, and the girls being in the habit of roaming about the lot, were not missed till late in the day. A man-servant was sent in search of them, and thought he heard their voices, but returned without them, probably thinking there was no great occasion for alarm, and that they would by and by return of their own accord. Towards evening the family became seriously alarmed, and the sick father roused himself to search for his children, and gave the alarm to some of his nearest neighbours. The rest of the night was spent in beating about the woods in rear of the clearing, but to no purpose, nobody supThe Chinese women are chiefly distinguished from posing that girls so small could have strayed more than a mile or two from the house. On Tuesday morning, the Mandschurins by their feet; these do not spoil tidings having reached Dartmouth, Halifax, and the their feet by tight bandages, and wear slippers like neighbouring settlements, several hundreds of persons the men, only their stockings are made of gay-coloured promptly repaired to the vicinity of Meagher's house, stuffs, with foot soles not less than four inches thick. and, dividing into different parties, commenced a formal The Chinese women, on the contrary, bind their feet and active examination of the woods. In the course of from five years of age with broad bandages, in such a the day, the tracks of little feet were discovered in seveway that four toes are bent under, and the great toe ral places on patches of snow, but were again lost; the laid over them; the nails press into the flesh, causing spot at which the children crossed a rivulet which conalmost always wounds, and the unfortunate females nects Lake Loon with Lake Charles was also remarked. A coloured boy, named Brown, whose dwelling lay about suffer during their whole lives from this barbarous custom. Not one of them can stand on the whole that he had heard a noise as of children crying the three miles to the north-west of Meagher's, also reported foot, and they all walk on their heels, on which acevening before, while cutting wood, but that, on advanccount their walk is most unsightly, and they tottering towards it and calling out, the sound ceased, and he from side to side. Considerable ostentation prevails returned home, thinking it was perhaps a bird or some when a Chinese or Mandschurin lady goes abroad: an out-rider first appears, behind him comes a two-wheeled carriage drawn by a mule, the head and sides of which are hung with green or blue cloth, into the sides of which are set in pieces of black velvet and glass; on the right and left walk two men, holding the carriage with their hands, in order to prevent its falling over at any of the inequalities of the road, and behind the carriage comes another rider. As one must step into and out of the carriage in front, the coachman has to unharness his mule every time; the men who walk outside the carriage then turn it close up to the stairs, let the shafts down on the steps, and immediately turn their backs to the equipage, for, according to Chinese etiquette, they may not look their mistress in the face. The waiting-maid, who generally sits in front, first steps out, adjusts a little footstool, and helps her lady to alight. On departing, the ceremony is repeated that is, the lady and her maid first resume their seats, then the coachman harnesses his mule, and the cortège proceeds in its former order. The men display magnificence, when they drive abroad, by the numbers of their followers, who often amount to twenty or more. But what followers! two or three are well dressed, but the rest are ragged and mounted on lame and worn-out mules. Pride, however, never allows a Chinaman to lessen the number of his attendants, As the week closed, all hopes of finding the children although the keeping of these idle bands must be very alive were of course abandoned, and yet nobody thought expensive. The stir in the streets commences at break | of discontinuing the search. An air of mystery began to wild animal. gather about the affair. The accounts of the man-servant and of the coloured lad were eagerly canvassed. What meant the blood upon the scrap of the apron? Had there been crime? Had wild animals destroyed them? How could hundreds of persons have traversed the woods for five days without finding them? All these were questions which every body put to his neighbour, and which none could answer. On Sunday morning it was quite evident that the interest had rather deepened than declined. A load seemed to hang upon the mind, which was excessively painful. Many who had been confined all the week, unable to join in the good work, determined to spend the Sabbath in searching for the children, in imitation of Him who went about doing good, and who gave examples of active benevolence even on the day set apart for rest and devotion. Many others thought to throw off by locomotion, and a sight of the localities, the load of doubt, and mystery, and apprehension, which oppressed them. From early morning till eleven o'clock, groups might be seen entering the steamboat, with hunting coats and strong buskins, evidently bound for the woods. The Preston road was covered with the ardent and eager, of all ranks and all ages, pressing onward with a zeal and determination worthy of any good cause. not." We strolled into Meagher's early in the forenoon. The sick husband was in the woods. The bereaved mother, whose agony must have been intense throughout the week, while there was a chance of her little ones being restored to her alive, seemed to have settled into the sobriety of grief which generally follows the stroke of death, and when hope has been entirely extinguished. One sick child rested on her lap. Friendly neighbours were sitting around, vainly essaying to comfort her who could not be comforted," because her children "were All they could do was to show, by kind looks and little household attentions, how anxious they were to prove that they felt her bereavement keenly. We plunged into the woods, and at once saw how easy it might be for children to lose themselves in the dense thickets and broken ground immediately in the rear of the house, and how exceedingly difficult it might be to find their bodies, had they crept for shelter into any of the fir or alder clumps, through hundreds of which they must have passed, or laid down beneath the spreading roots of any of the numerous windfalls which lay scattered on either hand. We wandered on and on, occasionally exchanging greetings or inquiries with parties crossing or recrossing our line of march. As we proceeded, clambering over windfalls, bruising our feet against granite rocks, or plunging into mud holes, the sufferings of these poor babes were brought fearfully home to us, as they must have been to hundreds on that day. If we, who had slept soundly the night before-were well clad, and had had a comfortable breakfast, were weary with a few hours' tramp-if we chafed when we stumbled, when the green boughs dashed in our faces, or when we slumped through the half-frozen morass-what must have been the sufferings of these poor girls, so young, so helpless, with broken shoes, no coverings to their heads or hands, and no thicker garments to shield them from the blast, or keep out the frost and snow, than the ordinary dress with which they sat by the fire or strolled abroad in the sunshine? Our hearts sunk at the very idea of what must have been their sufferings. We were pushing on, peering about, and dwelling on every probability of the case, when, just as we struck a wood-path, we met a lad coming out, who told us that the children were found, and that they were to be left on the spot until parties could be gathered in, that those who had spent the forenoon in search should have the melancholy gratification of beholding them as they sunk into their final rest on the bleak mountain side. the woods, with the painful and yet satisfactory intelliIn a few moments after, we met others rushing from gence, hurrying to spread it far and wide. We soon after hove in sight of Mount Major, a huge granite hill, about six miles from Meagher's house, and caught a sight of a group of persons standing upon its topmost ridge, firing guns, and waving a white flag as a signal of success. The melancholy interest and keen excitement of the next half hour we shall never forget. As we pressed up the hill side, dozens of our friends and acquaintance were their curiosity, were returning, with sad faces, and not a ascending from different points-some, having satisfied few with tears in their eyes. As we mastered the acclivity, we saw a group gathered round in a circle, about half way down on the other side. This seemed to be the The tracks, the coloured boy's report, and the subse-point of attraction. New comers were momently pressing into the ring, and others rushing out of it, overpowered quent discovery of a piece of one of the children's aprons by strong emotion. When we pressed into the circle, stained with blood, at the distance of three miles from the two little girls were lying just as they were when their home, gave a wider range to the searches of the be- first discovered by Mr Currie's dog. The father had nevolent, who began to muster in the neighbourhood of lifted the bodies, to press them, cold and lifeless, to his the place in which the piece of apron was picked up, and bosom; but they had been again stretched on the heath, to deploy in all directions, embracing a circle of several and their limbs disposed so as to show the manner of miles beyond and in rear of it. Monday night was mild, their death. A more piteous sight we never beheld. day night was colder; and about two inches of snow and it was pretty evident the children survived it. Tues- Jane Elizabeth and Margaret Meagher were the children having fallen, the general conviction appeared to be, that, class, and scanty enough it seemed for the perils they of poor parents, and they wore the common dress of their worn out with fatigue and hunger, and having no outer clothing, they must have perished. Still, there was no had passed through. The youngest child had evidently relaxation of the exertions of the enterprising and bene- though the wing of the angel of death had seemed but died in sleep, or her spirit had passed as gently as volent. Fresh parties poured into the woods each day; the ordinary clouds of night overpowering the senses. and many persons, overpowered by the strength of their Her little cheek rested upon that of her sister-her little feelings, and gathering fresh energy from the pursuit, hand was clasped in hers-her fair, almost white hair, devoted the entire week to the generous purpose of res- unkemped and dishevelled, strewed the wild heath upon cuing the dead bodies, if not the lives of the innocents, which they lay. The elder girl appeared to have suffered and Saturday, passed away, and no farther trace was dis- till the last; her features were pinched and anxious, as if from the wilderness. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, more. Her eyes were open, as though she had watched covered of the babes in the woods; every newspaper that years of care and anguish had been crowded into those appeared was eagerly searched for some tidings; every two days. If life is to be measured by what we bear, inquiring faces; Dartmouth was the centre of excite- poor girl must have lived more in two days than some boat that crossed the harbour was met by anxious and and do, and suffer, and not by moments and hours, that ment, and the Preston road was constantly occupied people do in twenty years. with vehicles and pedestrians moving to and fro. We pity the man who could have stood over them for for their sufferings. There were few who did. We looked an instant without shedding a tear for their fate and round us as we broke from the circle: there were men |