Ah! ye may talk," replied Larry, “about hearin' the bow, bud 'tisn't to say that I heerd it, bud I seen it wid my two eyes!"

"Ye seen it, Larry!" they all inquired; "do tell uz what kind of a thing is it, or where was it?" "Yes, seen it," he began, "an' a quare thing it was, shure enough; an' if yez have a little patience I'll tell yez all about it as soon as I draw my breath awhile an' the fright I got I'll never recover the longest day I live. Well, whin I left this, I run around down the lane thro' the pluddough in such haste, as the sayin' is, that if I fell I wouldn't wait to get up. So whin I came to Brien's door, I demanded the churn-dash in a great hurry-an', as I said the milk was coolin', yez may be sartin they didn't delay me long. After I came out, wid the dash on my shoulder, I begun to think of what yez tould me an' I goin' out of this about the evil sperits that's in the lane. Bedad, ses I to myself, I'll not go through any more an' the night so dark, so I mounted the style to go the short cut, whistlin' The bouchal a grogha dhouna' to keep every bad thought out of my head. So I was about three perches from t'other style in the field, when I heerd a tremindous scrame down below at Phil Byrne's in Coolalaw, as if some poor crathur was stuck to the heart an' that it was the last dyin' shout she gave. I turned round to listen, whin I could hear three or four more easier ones comin' nearer to me, quite pitiful like, an' after them another awful screech like the first arose by my very lug. O! such a shout as it gave-I thought it reached the very skies; it pierced my very brain in horror; my teeth knocked together; a could chill run through my whole body, an' I felt my knees were failin' me, as I stood like a lump of a stone in the middle of the path. Wid fear an' dread I was unable to rise my hand to my forehead to bless myself, or even to say one word, as the sight so terrible just by me frightened the very wits out of me. On lookin' down the path I was after comin' up, I saw an ould woman wid a red thing like a bed-gownd about her, stannin' a few yards from me: the top of the gownd was pulled half way over her face, blowin' to an' fro in the win'. Her face bore evident marks of internal sorrow; 'twas long, pale, an' a little wrinkled, for all the world the dead pictur' of ould gran'mother Poll afore she died. She also wore a short linsey petticoat, which reached only to her knees, lavin' the legs an' feet quite nakid, which seemed to be of great beauty intirely, which I suppose accounts for her nimbleness on foot, to say that she came from Coolalaw to there, a long mile, in the space of a minnet."

"Tut, man," observed his father, "'tisn't on her feet she travels at all; doesn't she ride on the win'?" "An' what if she does?" he continued; "shure she should walk some time; bud, anyhow, she was walkin' whin I seen her first, altho' she stood before she came up to me plump, while the blast that came from the nor-est nearly swep' her an' I away wid it. At length, bein' tired lookin' at her, tho' she held down her head from my gaze an' wep' to herself, I collected all my courage, an' faced about an' purshued my way home, closely followed by the weepin' woman, sobbin' an' sighin' as if her heart would burst into pieces. At last I came to the style, an' just as I was a' top of it she gave another screech that wint through me. O! my jewels, 'twas too much for me to bear; down I fell at t'other side as dead as a door nail, an' lay there 'ithout a dhuigh in me, I don't know how long; but it must be a good while, for I was stone could whin I got up. Whin I recollected myself, I arose an' rubbed my eyes, an' looked round me, an' what should be sittin' over me bud the woman still,

cryin' away 'ithout cessation, tho' not near so loud as at first. It was on the path I fell before her, an' that, I suppose, is what previnted her from goin' along wherever she wanted. O! goodness, ses I to myself, I'm gone for ever! my ind is come, an' the bow is cryin' for me; I aint long for this world-the Lord be marciful to me; so sayin', I got up, an' resolved to face home, as I didn't much care what ind came first, detarmined not to die in the ditch like a baste anyhow. So whin I came to where the path divides, an' turned toast my own house, the cryin' woman swep' by me like a blast of lightnin', screechin' an' scramin' as loud as ever till she wint up to Tom Byrne's, an' yez all know the way I came in here; in fact, such a start I never experienced since a yard made me a coat."

"An', Larry, what way did it cry?" they demanded.

66

Why its loud shout seemed to be Ullagone,' an' thin it used to sob Ochone' three or four times, an' thin renew the loud shout agin. I never heard anything so truly sorrowful or mournful afore; every sob see ed to come from the very heart, as if she intended to pour her whole sowl out in grief before me.'

Next day the report was circulated that the bow had been heard all that night at the holly-hedge just by the said Tom Byrne's house, in the greatest grief imaginable. Tom himself heard it also, and, turning in his bed, remarked to the persons in the room with him that he had not long to live, as the bow was crying for him-an omen which appeared at the demise of every member of his family from time immemorial; and he departed about seven o'clock the next evening, and was laid in the picturesque chapelyard of Clonmore by his father's side, and along with amongst the peasantry that, though many persons in the rest of his ancestors; and to this day it is known his immediate vicinity heard his death warning the night before his departure, none were favoured with a sight of the dire apparition but the said Larry Doyle.

OF THE CAPTIVE CHIEF THE EVENING BEFORE HIS DEATH.
My home is o'er the green sea wave,
The wide, the far, the free,
And dearer far its darkest cave

Than fetter'd pomp to me.
My heart, my hope was ever there,
Within that rugged dell,
That saw my struggle of despair,
That heard my last farewell.
Fetters that, ere they stamp'd me slave,
Were dappled in my gore,

Now clank the dirge of many a brave
Free heart that throbs no more.
And here am I a lonely thing,
The only joy I know,
Amid my torturing to sing
Defiance to the foe.
To-morrow's dawn decides my fate,
And ends this slavish spell;

To all on earth I love or hate

A long, a last farewell.

W. HN.

PAINTINGS IN HERCULANEUM AMD POMPEII.There is nothing like Herculaneum and Pompeii in all the world! If nothing but one street of an ancient city had been excavated, the interest would be immense; but all the objects of daily use in the domestic life of the Romans were found in these streets, and every year is adding more! For ourselves, we found incessant interest in the paintings of the museum, taken from these walls-more, indeed, than elsewhere, besides the progress of that first of arts, so exactly ascertained, and the branches in which it was originally defective are excellently exposed. The figure drawing is sometimes admirable-wonderful! in other pieces it is false and faulty. The expression is often marvellous-the grouping not seldom well conceived, aud the story, of course, well told. One has only to study the Eschylus, and a female figure sacrificing to Melpomene; either of the Medeas; the Perseus liberating Andromeda; the discovery of Orestes by Electra; to be satisfied on this head. The attitude of the Medea, in fuli front of the spectator, with the two children in the background, is i.comparable, and fit for the study of a Siddons. The sacrifice of Iphigenia is finely conceived. Then there are some pretty fancies: Cupid fixing an earring into a lady's ear; or putting his head into the helmet of Mars-who has removed it, as an embarrassing article of dress, during a little colloquy with Venus. The sale of Loves, of which there is a cageful, was an early discovery in Herculaneum. A female seller of that mischievous sort of poultry is taking one out by the wings, for the choice or approval of a lady purchaser. The representation of common objects identifies them as our own. The napkin-press; the hooped frame for airing clothes over charcoal; the caraffes for water; the inkstand; the trussed fowls; the fish of to-day's market; the triglia or red mullet, in all its flesh pink colour: the hedge-birds; the Etruscan vases, painted into ornaments. There is no end to these things! A concert, in which one party plays the harp, another blows the double-flute, and a third signs from musical notation on a sheet held in the hand. How well they painted water! There is the head of Medusa, of which the reflection is seen in the sea below-Blackwood.

WEDDING RINGS.-The custom of wearing the wedding ring on the fourth finger of the left hand arose from a belief, which anciently prevailed, (though the opinion has been justly exploded by the anatomists of modern times,) that a small artery ran from this finger to the heart.

GINGER BEER.-This, when well made, is an agreeable as well as a wholesome beverage. The subjoined receipt for producing it in high perfection may may be found useful:-Take 1 07. of ginger, well bruised, one ounce of cream of tartar and one pound of white sugar; put these ingredients into an earthen vessel, and pour upon them a gallon of boiling water; when cold, add a table-spoonful of yeast, and let the whole stand till next morning; then skin it, bottle it, and keep it three days in a cool place before you drink it. Be sure to use good sound corks, and secure them with twine or wire.

TO PREPARE A LUMINOUS BOTTLE.-A vial of clear white glass of long form should be chosen, and some fine olive-oil heated to ebullition in another vessel. A bit of phosphorus, the size of a pea, should be thrown in when the vial is one third filled. The vial must now be carefully corked, and when it is to be used must be unstopped, to admit the external air, and closed again. The empty space of the vial will then appear luminous, and give as much light as a dull ordinary lamp. In cold weather the bottle should be warmed in the hands before the stopper is emoved. A vial thus prepared may be used every ight for several months,

ago,

me.

THE SHULER'S TALE.

Taking my customary evening walk, about a month into the country, I strolled far beyond my usual bounds, captivated by the aspect of all around The evening was clear and mild, and the glorious announcer of day, sinking into the bosom of the west, shed a soft ruddy light on the scene before me. Suddenly a huge black cloud covered the face of the sky; a flash of lightning darted across my eyes, and I was stunned by a terrific peal of thunder. Immediately, torrents of rain burst from the clouds, deluging the ground in every direction. Confused and blinded by the thunder and lightning, and drenched with rain, I found a welcome shelter in a public-house by the road-side. On entering I saw, seated on a bench by the fire, an old-looking personage, whom I at once recognised as one of those characters too often seen in Ireland, denominated "Shulers." He was a tall heavy-looking old man, apparently about sixty, with a large swollen face, that bore evident marks of close acquaintanceship with the bottle-heavy grey eyes, which, though their only expression seemed to be vulgar humour, nevertheless, sometimes shone with something like intellect. His nose was large and hooked, and his mouth was fenced with a set of firm regular teeth. He, certainly, must have been once good-looking, but dissipation had gone far to mar nature's work. He was dressed in an old pair of trowsers, which might have been grey at one time, but now bore a very close resemblance to an antiquated pair of harlequin's pantaloons, so spangled were they with patches of all colours in the rainbow; a faded blue waistcoat, and an old soldier's watchcoat, bound firmly

round the waist.

"Ha! young sir, the storm has caught you!" said he, as I entered; "you've got a sound drenching." "Yes, my good friend," answered I; "I'm wet to the skin."

"Ah! you'll find the fire more pleasant on that account; I never like it so well as when I'm half dead with the cold. Oh! there's lightning!" he continued, as a flash illumined the room, followed by a peal of thunder that seemed to shake the house to its foundation. "How the thunder roars!-'twas just such another night as this-just such another night-" "What was such another night?" I asked, surprised at the sudden change in his manner. do you mean ?”

"Oh! nothing, nothing," he answered; merely thinking of old times."

"What

"I was

Ay, but something particular must have been brought to your recollection by to-night's storm."

Well, then, to-night's storm does recall sad events to my memory; and, as it appears the storm won't abate for some time, and, as your curiosity is excited, I'll relate them to you; but I'm-I'm rather thirsty."

Taking the hint, I ordered in some drink, and he thus began

66

it.

After his death, I gathered together what little means he had left me: being master of as many pounds as years, I soon fell into bad company. In a short time I found myself eased of my money, and no other resource being left, I listed. After being six months a soldier, it was thought fit for my good conductthat I should depart from my regiment, with all due ceremony, to the tune of a certain well-known march. In fine, I was drummed out.' Being now quite an outcast, avoiding, aud avoided by, all my former acquaintances, I determined to live by my wits. I soon became a well-known character in nearly all the villages and farmers' houses in Ireland. I became Fairy-man, Prophesy-man, and Shanahie; cured cattle, drove off bad spirits, related prophecies, and was accounted an excellent chronicler of ancient events. The village of I visited more frequently than any other. Here, at farmer M'Daniel's, I spent whole nights relating old prophecies and legends, to all the young men and women of the village. Amongst those who usually assembled to hear me, was Mark Mahon, a young farmer. He was a fine manly fellow, of about twenty-three years of age; owner of a small farm, the support of himself and mother; and, being a steady, sober young man, was courted by many a father for miles around; but Mark was affianced to the widow Kavanagh's handsome daughter, Mary. Now my story comes to a point: A little before the time I speak of, a person of the name of Dalton had settled near the village, having purchased some land and a handsome country house. He was rich, and made proposals to Mary Kavanagh, but was rejected. He swore that she should be his by fair means or foul. Mahon and Mary were to be married in a fortnight's time, and I was forced, by Mark, to remain in the village till the wedding-day. Walking about the country one evening, I lay down by the side of a hedge to rest myself. Suddenly I heard a slight rustling at the other side of the hedge, and two persons began to converse eagarly; I recognised the voices-they were those of Dalton and his servant.

66 6

made.'

Well,' said the former, every preparation is

“Yes, sir,' answered the servant, I've done all you told me; but really I'd advise you to think twice on't that Mark Mahon is a dangerous fellow, and-'

"Rascal!' cried Dalton, do you mean to dictate to me?'

"At the name of Mahon, I drew near to hear them more distinctly.

"Very well, sir,' answered the servant, I've done all as you directed. I've sent her a letter, signed A Friend,' asking a few minutes' interview in the garden behind her own house, between nine and ten o'clock. And now, sir, the rest is left to your

• Not so fast, my good friend,' said I, and rose to return to the village. I had scarcely proceeded halfway, when the rain began to fall in torrents, obliging me to turn into a house on the roadside. It was one of those denominated sheebeen-houses.' Being hailed by name from within, I entered, and was immediately pressed on all sides to drink; I sat down, and soon began to mingle in the mirth, the fiery liquor washing away all recollection of what had passed. It was about half-past nine when I reeled out perfectly intoxicated. Oh! when I recollect that night, and the evils which my accursed folly had caused, it distracts me! The thunder rolled fiercely, and the lightning, in frequent flashes, darted across me, as I staggered along, singing some ribald song in drunken humour. As I turned an angle of the road, I received a smart tap on the shoulder, and looking

666

Quick, what of

Oh! run, run! Mary! Mary!' "Ha! what of her?' he asked. her? What mean your frighted looks?' "As you love her, ask no more, but follow me.' "We ran, with the speed of lightning, towards the garden behind Mary's house. Just as we arrived within a yard of the fence, our ears were assailed by a loud shriek, and breaking through the hedge, we heard a man exclaim, "gag her!" In an instant he was stretched by a blow from the blackthorn of Mark, who immediately attacked the second, Dal. ton. I was rushing towards Mary, who had fainted, when I was stopped by a report of a pistol. I looked! I saw Mahon leap into the air with a convulsive hiccup, and fall dead at my feet! How can I describe the rest? Dalton fled the country, and was never seen after Mary died of a broken heart-her poor mother didn't long survive her; and Mark's mother when she heard of her son's murder, she fainted, became delirious, and died next day. And I I was the cause of all this! You wonder," continued he, "why, after this, I still drink? I do it to drown me in oblivion-to keep me from going mad! But see! the weather has cleared up, I suppose you'll return. Well, God bless you!"

"INTEMPERANCE!" sighed I, as I turned away, "thou art, indeed, a curse !"

was

D. H.

NATURE AND ART.--Cecco maintained that nature more potent than art. Dante asserted the contrary. To prove this principle, the great Italian bard referred to his cat, which, by repeated practice, he had taught to hold a candle in its paw while he supped or read. Cecco desired to witness the experiment, and came not unprepared for his purpose. When Dante's cat was performing its part, Cecco, lifting up the lid of a pot which he filled with mice, the creature of art instantly shewed the weakness of a talent merely acquired, and dropping the candle, flew on the mice with all its instinctive propensity. Dante was himself disconcerted, and it was adjudged that the advocate for the occult principle of native faculties had gained his case!

UNCERTAINTY OF THE SEASONS.-The seasons are a mixture of regularity and chance. They are regular enough to authorise expectation, whilst their being in a considerable degree irregular, induces, on the part of the culitvators of the soil, a necessity for personal attendance, for activity, vigilance, precaution. It is this necessity which creates farmers; which divides the profit of the soil between the owner and occupier; which, by requiring expedients, by increasing employment, and by rewarding expenditure, promotes agricultural arts and agricultural life, of all modes of life the best, being the most conducive to health, to virtue, to enjoyment. I believe it to be founded in fact, (observes Paley,) that where the soil is the most fruitful, and the seasons the most constant, there the condition of the cultivators of the earth is the most depressed. Uncertainty, therefore, has its use, even to those who complain of it the most Seasons of scarcity themselves are not without their advantages. They call forth new exertions; they set contrivance and ingenuity at work; they give birth to improvements in agriculture and economy; they promote the investigation and management of public resources.

TELEGRAPHS.

For some time past the Lords of the Admiralty have had the project in contemplation of establishing semaphores from Portsmouth to Plymouth, Falmouth, and the Land's end, as it very often happens that ships cannot make the British channel, and are obliged to run up the Bristol or the St. George's channel for safety, and their arrival off the coast is not known to the merchants until they have put into port. A government survey is now being made under the direction of experienced engineers to carry the line on to the Land's-end, and to fix the points most eligible for the erection of telegraphs, a report of which will be laid before parliament when it assembles in February next. At present the deficiency is felt daily by the Admiralty Board, as there is but one line, and that only to Portsmouth; the stations of which are as follows:-Ist, the Admiralty, Whitehall; 2nd, Chelsea Hospital; 3rd, Putney; 4th, Kingston-upon-Thames; 5th, Esher; 6th, Cobham; 7th, Guildford; 8th, Godalming; 9th, Haslemere; 10th, Medhurst; 11th, Beacon-hill; 12th, Compton-downs; 13th, Portsdownhill; and 14th, Portsmouth; the whole of which are under the command of lieutenants of the Royal Navy. Intelligence and orders for the sailing of ships of war from Portsmouth can be thus communicated by the Admiralty, and vice versa, in three minutes and a half, from one end of the line to the other, should the weather be clear. As soon as the signal is made, it is instantly answered by the next one, and so on until it has gone the whole line, when another is made, till the whole communication is despatched from the chief office to the officer in command, who communicates it to the admiral on the station. The contemplated line to the Land's-end will pass through Truro, Falmouth, and Plymouth, Gosport and Portsmouth, thereby embracing the whole of the English channel. A despatch from one end to the other is expected to be made in nine or ten minutes, the distance being rather better than 290 miles. It is also in contemplation to establish a line from Holyhead, to Pembroke, Bristol, and Liverpool. The only line at present to Dover and the Downs is by Watson's telegraph at Londonbridge but not through the Admiralty, who are indebted to this for their intelligence of arrivals of ships of war in the Downs. A line to Hull and Harwich is much wanted. On the continent telegraphs have been established for the last eighty years, but particularly in France, to whom we are indebted for invention. The French government have lines of communication from every port and large town throughout the kingdom. From Calais, Dunkirk, Boulogne, Dieppe, Havre, Caen, Brest, Nantes, Rochefort, La Rochelle, l'Orient, Bordeaux, Bayonne, in the north and west; Perpignan, Marseilles, Toulon, Antibes, &c., in the Mediterranean, Montpelier, Aix, Grenoble, Avignon, Lyons, Dijon, on to Paris, Metz, and all the fortified towns on the borders of Germany; Lille, Valenciennes, Douai, Cambrai, and the frontiers of Belgium; so that in case of émeutes, or the advance of any foreign power, the arrival of vessels, &c., is immediately communicated to the Admiralty at Paris, who is daily made acquainted with whatever is stirring from one end of the country to the other. In Algeria the French have also established a regular line of telegraphs from Algiers to Bona all along the coast to Constan'ine, and through the interior, in case of a sudden attack by the Arabs under Abd-el-Kader. In Spain there is a line of telegraphs from Cadiz, Puerata Santa Maria, Seville, to Madrid; from Algesiras, opposite Gibraltar, Malaga, Carthagena, Barcelona, in the Mediterranean, Corunna, Vigo, Bilboa, &c., in the north-west of Biscay, along the frontiers of France, to Catalonia, and the principal towns of the capital. The same in Portugal, Belgium, Holland, Prussia, Russia, and

Austria, there are lines from one end to the other, from Trieste and Venice in the Adriatic to Vienna and the Baltic. England is the only country where telegraphs are scarcely used, although so surrounded by her commerce. Should this plan of the Board of Admiralty be carried into affect, it will prove highly beneficial to the merchants for early intelligence and to the shipping for assistance.

THE DEAD BELL.

In the gloom of the night to the waking ear
How sad is the toll of the bell-

It creeps to the heart with a sick'ning fear,
It whispers of something so dismally drear,
Of joy crushed by sorrow, the earth and the bier,
In its creak and its mourning swell:
'Mid the wind and the silence it seems to groan
Ding-dong; dead and gone!

And the moon peeps in, with a sickly leer,
Like a lamp in a lonely tomb-
And the dull cold things in the chamber wear
A frigid and death-like nightly gear,
And the weary hours tenfold appear
In their crawling on in the gloom;
While the bill sings sullenly, dully on,

Ding-dong; dead and gone!

Oh! that midnight hour, and that waking time!
How they busy themselves with fate--
And bear in the heart every lurking crime,
From the far-far depths of long past time ;
Then deeper, and gloomier still, is the chime
Of the bell, in that waking state;

And there's horror of death in its wailing tone,
Ding-dong; dead and gone!

'Tis an awesome sound to the guilty soul,

For it howls like a voice from the graveAnd the reeking blade and the poisoned bowl, And the traitor-plot, and the perjured scroll, Like bidden things, appear at the toll,

To torture the passive slave;

For there's warning and gloom in that worldless moan,
Ding-dong; dead and gone!

And the mother hears with a boding start,
And she mutters an anxious pray'r-
As she strains her babe to her beating heart,
And weeps, with a mother's dread to part;
Oh, God! avert the death-winged dart;
Fool!-'tis punishment to spare-

For the time must come, and the chant go on,
Ding-dong; dead and gone!

And the doomed one hears it within his cell,
And he sickens with gasping dread;

He cannot pray with that hideous bell,

It strikes down his thoughts with an icy spell,
And it roars out a doom, and a death, and a hell!
Ho!-tug not the rope 'til he's dead;

Let it sing forth its dirge when the deed is done,
Ding-dong; dead and gone!

Aad the miser, upon his flock-bed cold,
Hears the dull, unearthly knell -
And he rises to gloat o'er his horded gold,
Grown in his avarice wildly bold,

For often he thinks he had heard it told,

MAXIMS.

They who employ their time the worst, are generally the first to complain of its brevity. As they consume so much in dressing, in eating and drinking, in sleeping, in foolish chit-chat with their companions, in resolving what they will do, although too often they neglect these praise-worthy resolutions, it is no wonder that when the hours of business or amusement are at hand, they should not have time to attend to either.

Incivility is not so much one vice as the effect of many; it proceeds from stupid vanity, from ignorance of real duties, from contempt, and from jealousy.

Men are more anxious to secure pleasure than happiness; and in the search, the latter is generally

sacrificed to the former.

Pernicious sayings which have passed current as being excellent, are worse even than bad actions. Unbridled passions give rise to wicked deeds; but evil sayings corrupt reason itself, and leave no hope of amendment.

In early life the foolish man is apt to wish that his ancestors had been wiser than they were. At thirty years of age he begins to suspect he is not overstocked with knowledge; at forty he knows it, and resolves upon obtaining information, that he may pass respectably through the thorny path of life; at fifty he reproaches himself with delay, and determines that he really will execute his good designs; at sixty his resolutions are shaken, and he dies, wishing that his children may be wiser than himself.

That man who will commit an act of injustice for another in order to obtain his protection, makes him

self a slave. As soon as he has suffered himself to be made a tool to accomplish a criminal action, he shuts the door to every honourable employment. You cannot stop after having once allowed yourself to be degradingly instrumental in another's service. By a steady refusal to act unjustly when first solicited, you may obtain even the esteem of the man who asks your assistance; but should you consent to commit the first wicked action, you must be at his beck to do a second and a third, and, in short, you become his slave. Every body ridicules the scruples of a rogue. Calumny is a monster born without eyes and without ears, but it has a hundred tongues, and bawls forth what it neither sees nor understands.

Do not confound true courage with that ferocious conduct which is always ready to pick a quarrel and to fight. In what does this mistaken view of the rules of good society consist? In the most extravagant and barbarous opinion which ever entered into the human mind-viz., that all the duties of life are supplied by what is called in fashionable cant, bravery. That a man is neither a rogue, wretch, nor calumniator, but that he is polite and of gentlemanly habits when he is ready to defend himself, and, in short, is never to be condemned, provided he can kill his man in a duel, is a most extraordinary opinion!

The most disagreeable man in company, and the most tedious reciter of stories, believe themselves very amusing companions.

Every thing which elevates man in the world, as riches, power, or authoaity, is apt to make him more attached to his own sentiments. As he is seldom told of his errors, he is accustomed to believe that he does not possess any and should any person presume to acquaint him with the truth, he is both surprised and offended at what he considers liberty, and he goes on wilfully blindfold in his obstinacy.

CURE FOR STINGS.-Take a leaf or two of the broad leaved plantain (plantago major) and bruise it, by rubbing it on the part stung, and in ten minutes' rubbing, or less, all the pain and inflammation will cease.

THE CLOSE OF DAY. How tedious seems the approach of the close of day with himself, is glad to see the termination of the day to the empty being, who, knowing not what to do which has appeared so long, and already tormeuts himself with thinking how he shall employ the succeeding one. It is sweet to the industrious artisan, who, after employing the entire day in labour, joyfully hails the moment when he can return to his home. There he meets the tender objects of his love; sups with appetite, and sleeps in peace, without caring for the morrow; whose occupations will be those of to-day, and which, after toil, will also bring to him the same enjoyments. How sad is the close of day to that pale and wasted being, who moves along unconscious where he goes, casting around him gloomy and ferocious looks. Whence does he come? From a gaming-house, where he lost the little he possessed-where he has seen swallowed up in five minutes the fruits of many days' labour. The day closes in a thousand different ways to a man according

to the uses he has made of it.

HATCHING FISH.-The Chinese have a method of hatching the spawn of fish, and thus protecting it from those accidents which ordinarily destroy so large a portion of it. The fishermen collect with care on the margin and surface of waters all those gelatinous masses which contain the spawn of fish. After they have found a sufficient quantity, they fill with it the shell of a fresh hen-egg, which they have previously emptied, stop up the hole, and put it under a sitting fowl. At the expiration of a certain number of days they break the shell in water warmed by the sun. The young fry are presently hatched, and are kept in pure fresh water till they are large enough to be thrown into the pond with the old fish. The sale of spawn for this purpose forms an important branch of the trade in China. In this, as in some other matters, we may prehaps take some useful lessons from the Chinese.

While so much care is

The destruction of the spawn of fish by troll nets threatens the existence of the fishery on many parts of our coasts. taken for the preservation of game, some care ought to be bestowed on the preservation of fish.

CURIOUS PROPERTIES OF FLOWERS.-The seed vessel of the Impatiens, or touch-me-not, consists of five divisions; each of these, when the seed is ripe, on being touched, suddenly folds itself into a spiral form, leaps from the stalk, and disperses the seed to a great distance by its elasticity. The capsule of the geranium, and the beard of wild oats, are twisted for a similar purpose, and dislodge their seeds on wet days when the ground is best fitted to receive them. Hence one of these, with its adhering capsule or beard fixed on a stand, serves the purpose of an hydrometer, twisting itself more or less, according to the moisture of the air.

CONVERSATION.-When five or six men are together, it is curious to observe the anxiety of every one to speak. No one wishes to hear-all he desires is an auditor. Rather than defer telling their respective stories, they frequently all speak at the same time. Every one has a subject of his own that he wishes to introduce; therefore he is miserable till he has an opportunity to drag it in. One is desirous to discuss some religious subject; another would engage in a political diquisition. One would talk of the price of stocks; and another would expatiate on the merits of a favourite horse. The glass circulates, and the confusion becomes general. The Tower of Babel would be an excellent sign for a modern tavern.

THE MIND. It is with the diseases of the mind, as with those of the body; we are half dead before we understand our disorder, and half cured when we do.