'observed a very dense fog resting in patches on certain -parts of the island; at times it was so defined, that he could point out the exact measure of ground over which it rested. It hung low over the ground, and had the appearance of a light powdering of snow. In passing, it fell down on his small farm, and he smelt it very unpleasant; exactly like, he says, the bilge water of a ship, a sulphurous sort of stench. After the wind rose and cleared off those clouds or lumps of fog, there remained on the grass over which they had hung, as well as on the potato shaws, an appearance of gray dew or hoar-frost. The next morning he noticed the leaves of his potatoes slightly spotted. In two days the shaws began to droop and wither, turning pale-yellowish. He now observed that the tubers in the ground, under the diseased plants, were covered by minute white specks, which soon became small maggots; and before ten days, not a shaw was in his potato patch, more than if it had been a bare fallow, while the stench of the rotten potatoes was very bad. This was one of the spots where the fog bank had rested most palpably. But everywhere through the island, the disease, after the fog, began in spots and corners of fields, and spread more slowly over all.' After quoting other observers of the fogs, Mr Milne remarks that there was something extraordinary in them. In the first place, they appeared at an anomalous season of the year-that is, at a period when the temperature of the air generally exceeds that of the earth and water. In the second place, they continued for longer periods than they usually do, even in spring. In the third place, some persons were sensible of a peculiar odour or smell accompanying them.' He adds In regard to the connection of these fogs with the potato disease, it certainly does not follow, because two extraordinary things happen simultaneously, or closely in succession, that they are connected. But the probability of their being so, is enhanced by the considerations formerly submitted, as to the existence of some extraordinary substance in the air which must have produced the disease; and the presumption is further strengthened by the fact, that in 1845, when there was no failure of potato crops in the Highlands and the Orkneys, there were no fogs; whilst in 1846 there was a universal failure, and simultaneously with the disease, the prevalence of peculiar fogs in the Highlands.' pollen and odoriferous dust from flowers, they are, as Dr Graham says, "highly-organised particles of fixed matter, which find their way into the atmosphere, and remain for a time suspended in it," and when so suspended, they can be dissolved and neutralised by gases of the nature before described.' Should additional investigation settle the question in this manner, may we not hope to see, among the arrangements of agriculture, apparatus for neutralising such infusions of noxious matter, when they happen to arise? THE STRANGER OF THE BALL. A BALL was about to take place in a small country town on the west coast of Scotland, and as the town boasted only one barber of any eminence, it may be supposed that his hands were full. Indeed Duncan could not by any possibility have got through his business, had it not luckily happened that he had just provided himself with an assistant. The assistant was from London; though only from an establishment' in a lane leading out of Goswell Street. No matter: he was from London; and the fact was a tower of strength to the concern. The young man was a smart, vain, ignorant, impudent Cockney; and on finding himself all on a sudden in such wonderful demand, he gave himself a thousand ridiculous airs, at which even the anxious and expectant fair ones could not refrain from laughing. At the period referred to, it must be told-the time when our respected grandmothers were young ladiesa ball could not by any possibility be got up without the assistance of the hairdresser. He was the primum mobile of the whole affair. The toes in those days were as nothing compared with the head; and the preparation of the latter for the scene was a task which could only be intrusted to the hands of a professional artist. We might wonder how it was possible for one pair of hands, even when assisted by another pair, to dress the hair of a whole townful of ladies-if we were not aware of the heroic endurance of the fair sex in extraordinary exigencies. The fact is, the labours of the barber began at daybreak on the morning of the day before that of the ball; and those who were obliged to submit to the operation on that day, rather than put in jeopardy, by lying down, the edifice he had constructed of dust, grease, and hair, sat up all night in a chair. In the town in question, a certain young lady-not our grandmother, we beg to say-was on the present occasion one of these victims: but a very unwilling one. On the first intelligence reaching her of the day for the ball being fixed, she had hastened to the spot from a place at some distance where she had been on a visit; but railways, unluckily, not having as yet been invented, she did not arrive till Duncan was engaged, body and soul, for every minute of the actual day, up to the very tuning of the fiddles. Now Miss Bella, though an angel in beauty, was the very opposite in temper. She was proud, arrogant, and imperious; and this unfortunate In the latter part of his pamphlet, Mr Milne shows how small an infusion of deleterious matter in the atmosphere is sufficient to injure vegetation. He also remarks the unusual mortality of both man and beast during the last two years as probably connected with the same cause. While, he says, it is for experienced chemists to ascertain the nature of the substance which seems to have produced the potato failure, he may observe that the gases which apparently neutralise it, or counteract its noxious effects, are all those which are remarkable for their antiseptic properties, and some of which are commonly used to stop contagion. Dr Ure observes, that "malaria, or morbific and putrescent mi-casualty, though charged in the first instance upon the asmata, consist chiefly of hydrogenous matter as their basis, and are best counteracted by chlorine." Liebig, in his "Chemistry and Physics in Relation to Physiology," p. 53, says, that "free or combined ammonia, the almost invariable product of putrefactive processes, is found, during many contagious diseases-as, for instance, typhus-in the surrounding atmosphere ;" and we know that ammonia may be decomposed by chlorine (Ure's "Dictionary of Arts"). In like manner it is known that sulphurous and arsenious acids are pre-eminently useful in counteracting putrefaction (Liebig, do. p. 50). It may, therefore, be inferred, that the substance in the air which these several gases neutralised was similar to what, under the convenient name of miasm, is found to be injurious to the vitality of plants and animals. The true nature of miasmata, though guessed at by chemists, has never been ascertained. But it is believed that, like the exhalations from marshes, and the barber exclusively, seemed at length to be the effect of nothing less than a conspiracy of the whole population. But it was needless to fret or fume. The barber could not, and the other young ladies would not, give way; and at length Miss Bella was constrained to take her place among the penultimates. This was an unhappy occurrence for the Cockney, who, for his sins, was doomed to dress the spoiled beauty's hair. She was not at any time very condescending to her inferiors in station; but on the present occasion she discharged all the vials of her pride upon the unfortunate young man, till she nearly set him crazy, vanity and all. Her temper, it may be supposed, was not improved by her being obliged to sit up the whole of the night as motionless as a wax doll: but, sustained by the heroism of her sex, she did come through the trial; and as on the next day the hours wore on towards the evening, a wild and feverish gaiety gradually took the place of her ill-humour. She at length found herself in the ball-room, blazing with beauty, with a pyramid of hair such as Goswell Street had never seen in this world, and her sufferings were entirely forgotten. It was remarked that Miss Bella never looked so handsome, and never moved so gracefully but some of her own sex discovered a dash of scorn in her gaiety, which detracted, they said, from the effect of her beauty; and others declared that there was something strangely flighty in the movements both of her limbs and eyes. Perhaps all this arose from envy. But, unluckily, the grand element in the success of a ball was wanting: there was no adequate number of dancing men. The few as yet present were her discarded swains-for she had refused half the bachelors in the town; and these, either in spleen or mortification, kept out of her way. By and by all her own party had been led out; and Miss Bella was exposed to the frequent interrogatories of her affectionate friends-Why don't you dance?' Still she was not cast down. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes blazed, and she met such impertinent questions with a haughty smile. Why don't you dance, Bella? Don't you mean to dance to-night?' said her good-natured companions, gathering round her. 'Yes,' replied Bella, turning to them with a gay fierceness I will dance to-night, if my partner should be the How she meant to have finished the sentence, no one can exactly tell: but there was a gleam in her eye while she spoke which frightened her audience, and they drew back with a faint scream. In drawing back, some of them nearly trod on the toes of a gentleman who had just entered the room: at least no one had observed him till that instant. He was a young and handsome man, with the most exuberant curls and whiskers in the world, of a jetty blackness, and contrasting strangely with the waxen colour of his cheek. The eyes of the stranger, for no one in the room knew him, were fixed admiringly upon the beautiful Bella; and walking straight up to her, he asked her to dance. He had not been presented to her; she did not know his name; and yet with an obliviousness of conventional rule quite foreign to her character-she at once accepted his arm, and in another moment they were whirling together through the dance. This incident occasioned much conversation. Miss Bella and her partner were decidedly the handsomest couple in the room; and they continued dancing together half the evening. Who was he? From appear ances, military' seemed most likely; yet not one of the officers of the neighbouring garrison knew him. He was not a resident in the town: it was ascertained that he had not bespoken a bed at either of the inns he had no horse nor equipage. How did he come? How did he mean to go? The mystery appeared unfathomable; and when at length Bella's uncle made his appearance, at a late hour in the evening, many of the company gathered round him, to tell eagerly how his niece had been dancing so long with an utter stranger, and to advise him at least to ascertain the gentleman's name. The uncle thought the proud and high-spirited Bella might very well be left to herself in a case of the kind; but still he could hardly avoid taking some notice of the affair. The couple were at this time standing near the door, with several others, to enjoy the cool air; and as they saw the eyes of so many of the company directed towards them, Bella, with perhaps some feeling of awkwardness, as she recollected her imprudence, turned away from her partner. Niece,' said the old gentleman, going up to her, 'I shall request the pleasure of being introduced to the gentleman you have danced with.' 'I did not catch his name,' replied Bella; 'the master of the ceremonies will doubtless do what is necessary, unless the gentleman himself—where is he?' 'Where is he?' repeated the uncle. 'Where is he?' echoed the rest of the company. The gentleman had disappeared. This is a simple statement of the affair as it really happened; but it is hardly necessary to say that a thousand circumstances were added to it by rumour, till at length it was reported and believed that Bella, in despair of a partner, had summoned a certain very old young gentleman to dance with her, who had come at her bidding, and at length vanished in smoke. Even without these adjuncts, however, the thing was mysterious enough; and the proud girl found herself subjected to so many taunts, that she hardly stirred out of her house for some time after the ball. At length another wonder occurred, to arouse anew the attention of the town. This was the sudden disappearance of the Cockney barber. Duncan, when questioned on the subject, was very close and mysterious; and he was likewise averse to holding frank communication touching the absence, discovered at the same moment, of the plantation of jet-black curls and whiskers of a waxen bust in his shop-window. These were now currently said to bear an astonishing resemblance to the decorations of the stranger of the ball!-and, proceeding from one impertinence to another, Miss Bella was at length complimented with the title of 'The Barber's Bride. Some old ladies, however, were still disposed to adhere to the supernatural theory; for how otherwise was it possible to account for the change which took place in the haughty beauty? Miss Bella became, from that day, an absolute personification of meekness and gentleness; and acquiring a perfect horror of the vanities of fashion, ever afterwards appeared in a plain crop of curls! THE INTERIOR OF AUSTRALIA. THE old and new worlds are almost tired of this newer world of the Pacific, where only the sea-coasts, we have been told, are fit for human settlement, while the interior, for a space of at least thirty degrees of longitude, is a series of deserts, watered by lakes that turn periodically into swamps, and rivers that lessen as they run, till they finally sink in the earth, and disappear. Such, at least, has been the experience of Captain Sturt, who, in the midst of unparalleled difficulties, endeavoured, and is still endeavouring, to intersect the vast country from south to north, from Adelaide to the Gulf of Carpentaria. The mighty river, or inland sea, which was the object of his quest, and in the existence of which he entertained a firm belief, receded as he advanced; and when last heard of, he had accomplished two-thirds of his journey, arriving at some degrees beyond the tropic of Capricorn, with still nothing more than Hope in the distance. But while this is the case in the very middle of the new continent, great discoveries are taking place to the eastward, midway between Captain Sturt's line of route and the distant shores of the South Pacific. There Sir Thomas Mitchell, it appears, has wandered by the banks of noble rivers-one of which he believes to have its estuary in the Gulf of Carpentaria-and in the midst of plains as rich, and hills as picturesque and romantic, as any that are to be found on the most beautiful part of the coast. The world has been too impatient. Australia will yet realise its earlier dreams, and become the site of great empires. Even the central wastes may yield to human industry, as population closes in upon them from all sides of the compass. But pleasant as such anticipations may be, they are somewhat vague and shadowy. This is truly affirmed to be a practical age; which means that we work much, and speculate little. Progress, progress, is our grand object. Another generation will perhaps ascend the hill-tops, to observe the course of the country through which they are journeying, but it is our genius to push blindly, untiringly on. Let us in the meantime, therefore, follow Sir Thomas Mitchell, without burthening ourselves with the task of posterity. CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL. The letters of the surveyor-general, as given in substance in the Launceston Examiner,' are not so precise as could be wished; indeed it is hardly possible to obtain from them any distinct idea of the system of After the junction of rivers he attempts to describe. the Macquarrie with the Darling, he visited the Narran Swamp, a wonderful provision of nature for the supply and retention of water in a dry and parched country.' It appears to be fed chiefly by the Narran River, but also by minor branches of the Balonne, which discharges its main waters into the Darling. This division of so important a river as the latter is likewise advantageous, as it serves to irrigate from one principal channel extensive regions of rich earth beyond the Darling, while the surplus or overflow, instead of passing, as in common cases, to the sea, is received in the deep channel of the Narran, and thereby conducted to that extensive reservoir, where, on rock or stiff clay, and under eververdant polygonum, it furnishes an inexhaustible supply for the support of animal life.' Proceeding beyond the farthest point marked in the maps, he traced the Balonne flowing in broad, deep, and From Mount Abundance,' he says, extensive reaches. in longitude 148° 40′ east, latitude 26° 39' 30" south, I again perceived that the fine open country in which I then was extended eastward as far as the eye or telescope could reach, and that it was watered by a river from the northward, distinctly marked by the smoke of the natives' fires. That river was still the Balonne, according to the natives; and from Mount Bindango I was able to intersect the summits of the isolated range in the centre of that splendid region, placing it in longitude about 149° 2' east, and in latitude 26° 23' 32" south. To mark the epoch of this discovery, I named it on my map the Fitzroy Downs, and the range in the midst of them I distinguish as the Grafton Range.' He next came upon the river Maranoa; which was subsequently discovered by Mr Kennedy to join the Balonne. Its banks were of rich pastoral land, of the nature of open downs. Continuing my ride north-west, I again found a chain of volcanic summits connected with a mass of table-land, which I named-finding none of the aborigines there-Hope's Table-Land. Mount P. P. King, a pointed volcanic cone, longitude 147° 37' 40" east, latitude 25° 9' 10", is near the head of that river, which we followed down until it turned, as all the others had done, to the south-west. I reached an extensive grassy valley, which terminated on a reedy lake in a more open country. The lake was supplied by springs, arising in a swamp at the gorge of the valley, which supported The country is a flowing stream of the purest water. adorned by hills of the most romantic form, presenting outlines which surpass in picturesque beauty the fairest creations of the painter. Several pyramids mark the spot where the springs were first discovered, and Lower down appear over the whence I now write. woods isolated rocks, resembling ruined castles, temples, and Gothic cathedrals. Others have apertures through them; and the trees being also very varied and graceful in form, and rich in colour, contribute so much to the beauty of the scenery, that I have been induced to distinguish river and lake by the name of a painter. We lost two days in vainly endeavouring to pass to the westward, through dense brigalow scrub; but on a ride I took north-westward, I was more successful, for after forcing my way through ten miles of scrub, I came to what seemed to me the finest region on earth: plains and downs of rich black mould, on which grew in profusion the Panicum lavinode grass, and which were finely interspersed with lines of wood, which grew in the hollows, and marked the courses of streams: columns of smoke showed that the country was too good This to be left uninhabited; and, in fact, on approaching the found it full of water. nearest river channel, river I named Claude, in honour of the painter of quiet pastoral scenery; and to the downs and plains, so favourable to flocks and herds, I gave the name of the Mantua Downs and Plains. I returned to the party on 'We were obliged to make a bridge for the passage of All this, however, was of little consequence to the object of the surveyor-the discovery of a great river flowing towards the Gulf of Carpentaria; but in a letter from the Balonne, dated November 9, 1846, we desired. His first view of what he fondly imagines to have at length some hint of the consummation so much be the river, was in longitude 146° 42′ 25′′ east, latitude 24° 50′ 35′′ south. 'On ascending the range early next morning, I saw open downs and plains with a line of river in the midst, the whole extending to the north-north-west as far as the horizon. Following the little stream from the valley in which I had passed the night, I soon reached the open country, and during ten successive days I pursued the course of that river, through the same sort of country, same direction, again approaching the Tropic of Caprieach day as far as my horse could carry me, and in the In some parts the river formed splendid reaches, as broad and important as the river Murray; in others, corn. it spread into four or five channels, some of them seveThe ral miles apart; but the whole country is better watered than any other portion of Australia I have seen, by numerous tributaries arising in the downs. water-courses, in the most of which water was abunsoil consists of rich clay, and the hollows give birth to dant. I found at length that I might travel in any direction, and find water at hand, without having to seek the river, except when I wished to ascertain its The plains were general course, and observe its character. The grass consists of panicum and several new sorts, one of which springs green from the old stem. verdant; indeed the luxuriant pasturage surpassed in The myall-tree and salt bush (Acacia penquality, as it did in extent, anything of the kind I had ever seen. dula and salsola), so essential to a good run, are also an essentially different region from any I had previously there. New birds and new plants marked this out as explored; and although I could not follow the river was convinced that its estuary was in the Gulf of Carthroughout its long course at that advanced season, I watered for a direct route thereto. That the river is pentaria; at all events, the country is open and wellthe most important of Australia, increasing as it does distant ranges, admits of no dispute; and the downs by successive tributaries, and not a mere product of seem sufficient to supply the whole world with animal and plains of Central Australia, through which it flows, food. I crossed the river at the lowest point I reached, in a great southern bend, in longitude 144° 34' east, latitude 24° 14' south, and from rising ground beyond the left bank, I could trace its downward course far to the northward. I saw no callitris (pine of the colonists) in all that country; but a range showing sandstone cliffs appeared to the southward, in longitude about 145° east, latitude 24° 30' south. The country to the northward of the river is, upon the whole, the best; yet in riding ninety miles due east from where I crossed the southern bend, I found plenty of water and excellent grass.' The other rivers surveyed-in number, seven-were all of considerable importance; and Sir Thomas believed that an investigation of the mountain-ranges in which they originate would enable him to construct such a map of those parts of Australia, as may greatly facilitate the immediate and permanent occupation of the country, and the extension through it of a thoroughfare to the Gulf of Carpentaria, to which the direct way is thus laid open.' He named the great river, watering the best portion of the largest island in the world,' the Victoria. To the Gulf of Carpentaria we must look for the solution of the mystery of Australia. This mighty basin, at the extreme north of the new continent, is the receptacle of so vast a body of water, that the Indian voyagers are said to be able to fill their casks with fresh water when as yet the low land is barely visible from the deck. The head of the gulf consists of an expanse of alluvial soil, covered with luxuriant herbage, and stretching inland to an unascertained extent, which has been appropriately named by Captain Stokes Plains of Promise.' 'Whether the rivers, or rather watercourses, discovered here by the Beagle,' says Mr Earl, are independent channels, or the embouchures of one large river which carries off the waters of a great extent of country, and which, like the mouths of the Indus, become partially closed during the dry season, is a point of the deepest interest, and which will probably not long remain undetermined.' The same acute observer adds, as a proof of the rapidity with which the land is gaining on the sea, that it has outstripped in its advance even the progress of tropical Australian vegetation, the period that has elapsed since its elevation above the level of the waters not having been sufficient to allow the forest-trees to overspread the face of the country.' Whether the Victoria River, the discovery of which is reported above, will prove to be the grand Australian stream or not, it is as yet impossible to say; but it is at least satisfactory to know that we have advanced so far in the question as to render much longer delay in its solution improbable. THE CHEAPEST BREAD YET. We have been favoured by Mr S. Brown, of Finedon, near Higham Ferrers, with a sample of bread, which he states is in constant use on his farm. It is made of flour and mangel wurzel, in equal quantities, by weight. The mangel wurzel is pared, cut into slices, and boiled so as to mash well. The usual quantity of yeast must be used, and little or no water is required. It must stand some time after mixing, and then be baked as other bread. If the loaf sent to us be a fair sample, we should call it good household bread. The saving to families would be very great, the price of mangel wurzel being only a farthing a pound. Fifty per cent. at least would be saved by the use of this bread.-Newspaper paragraph. THE TRUE ELIXIR VITE. Joy is one of the greatest panaceas of life. No joy is more healthful or better calculated to prolong life than that which is to be found in domestic happiness, in the company of cheerful and good men, and in contemplating with delight the beauties of nature. A day spent in the country, under a serene sky, amidst a circle of agreeable friends, is certainly a more positive means of prolonging life than all the vital elixirs in the world. Laughter, that external expression of joy, must not here be omitted. It is the most salutary of all the bodily movements; for it agitates both the body and the soul at the same time; promotes digestion, circulation, and perspiration, and enlivens the vital power in every organ.-Hufeland. BUSINESS AND LEARNING. time, which might otherwise be better employed, I answer, If any man maintaineth that learning takes up too much that no man can be so straitened and oppressed with business, and an active course of life, but may have many vacant times of leisure, while he expects the returns and tides of business, except he be either of a very dull temper, and no despatch, or ambitious (little to his credit and reputation) to meddle and engage himself in employment of all natures and matters above his reach. It remaineth, therefore, to be inquired, in what matter and how those spaces and times of leisure should be filled up and spent ; whether in pleasures or study, sensuality or contemplation; as was to pleasure, when he told him, by way of reproach, that his well answered by Demosthenes to Eschines, a man given orations did smell of the lamp, Indeed,' said Demosthenes, 'there is a great difference between the things that you and I do by lamplight.' Wherefore, let no man fear lest learning should expulse business; nay, rather, it will keep and defend the possessions of the mind against idleness and pleasure, which otherwise, at unawares, may enter to the prejudice both of business and learning.—Bacon. PUBLIC CHARITIES. The general principles by which men are actuated who bequeath fortunes to public charities are fear and vanity more than benevolence, or the love of doing good, which -1st, If a will appear from the following considerations: must then have) a delight in doing good, he would no man were possessed of real benevolence, and had (as he more defer the enjoyment of this satisfaction to his deathbed, than the ambitious, the luxurious, or the vain, would wait till that period for the gratification of their several passions. 2dly, If the legacy be, as it often is, the first charitable donation of any consequence, it is scarcely possible to arise from benevolence; for he who hath no compassion for the distresses of his neighbours whom he hath scen, how should he have any pity for the wants of posterity. 3dly, If the legacy be, as is likewise very common, to the injury of his family, or to the disappointment of his own not benevolence; for he who loves not his own friends and friends in want, this is a certain proof that his motive is relations, most certainly loves no other person. Lastly, if a man hath lived any time in the world, he must observe such horrid and notorious abuses of all public charity, that he must be convinced (with a very few exceptions) that he will do no manner of good by contributing to them.Fielding. REVERENCE FOR TRUTH. The virtue of the ancient Athenians is very remarkable in the case of Euripides. This great tragic poet, thongh famous for the morality of his plays, had introduced a person who, being reminded of an oath he had taken, replied, I swore with my mouth, but not with my heart. The impiety of this sentiment set the audience in an uproar, made Socrates (though an intimate friend of the poet) go out of the theatre with indignation, and gave so great offence, that Euripides was publicly accused, and brought what they thought the most holy and indissoluble bond of upon his trial, as one who had suggested an evasion of human society. So jealous were these virtuous heathens of even the smallest hint that might open a way to perjury. Addison. CONTROVERSY. I never loved those salamanders that are never well but when they are in the fire of contention. I will rather suffer a thousand wrongs than offer one: I will suffer a hundred rather than return one; I will suffer many ere I will comhave ever found, that to strive with my superior, is furious; plain of one, and endeavour to right it by contending. I base; with any, full of unquietness.-Bishop Hall. with my equal, doubtful; with my inferior, sordid and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, High Street, Edinburgh. Also sold by D. CHAMBERS, 98 Miller Street, Glasgow; W. S. ORE, 147 Strand, and Amen Corner, London; and J. M'GLASHAN, 21 D'Olier Street, Dublin.-Printed by W. and R. CHAMBERS, Edinburgh. CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR No. 184. NEW SERIES. SATURDAY, JULY 10, 1847. THE DICTATOR; OR TWO SCENES SCENE THE FIRST. In the vicinity of the city of Assumption, the capital of Paraguay (that irregular country, which, from the policy of seclusion so long pursued by its government, has been termed the Japan of South America), are scattered many country-houses belonging to the more wealthy citizens, who retire thither when their business is over, to escape from the scorching heat and stifling dust of the open, unpaved streets. To many of these villas farms or plantations of considerable extent are attached, which, cultivated by servants, supply the market of the capital, and thus afford a revenue to the proprietors. It is to one of these mansions that we would transport the imagination of our readers; and as this power-namely, the imagination-is lord of time as well as of space, we shall expect it to bear us company as far back as a period of forty years ago, when Paraguay was under the sway of a Spanish governor appointed by the viceroy of Buenos Ayres. At that time there stood, about a league north of the little city of Assumption, a dwelling of small dimensionsin fact a mere cottage-but beautifully situated, and surrounded by fields of sugar-cane, maize, tobacco, and cotton, all in full cultivation. The house was built, after the fashion of the country, of sun-dried bricks, covered with plaster, and whitewashed. Along the front was a deep veranda, the pillars of which were slender stems of forest trees, stripped of their branches and bark, and whitewashed, but with many rough knots and inequalities where the boughs had been hewn off These served to sustain the vines which, planted at their feet, ascended with many a winding clasp, and covered them with their luxuriant leaves. Then, reaching the roof of the veranda, the vines spread and interlaced, until the whole was buried in a mass of verdant foliage, which contrasted beautifully with the snowwhite walls of the cottage and the ruddy tiles of the sloping eaves. In the rear of the cottage was a long, low building, appropriated to the servants and the offices, and extending to a corral, or enclosure, in which the cattle and horses were kept. Directly in front of the porch were two tall trees, of the tatayiba, or wild mulberry, with slender stems and a profusion of light, glossy leaves; while before, and on each side of the house, was an orchard, or it might rather be called a thicket, of fruit-trees. The broad dark leaf of the fig hardly allowed its abundant fruit, in all stages of growth, to meet the eye, but the sunny orange and yellow lime gleamed from the depths of their verdant canopy, like to use the odd but striking simile of honest Andrew Marvell 'Like golden lamps in a green night.' PRICE 14d. It was late in the evening. The full unclouded moon shone on the scene here described, lighting up the white walls of the humble cottage and the verdant masses of the orange grove. The tall sugar-cane and the rustling maize-stalks waved their tasselled heads and slender leaves in the soft night-wind. Now and then might be heard the sullen hooting of a distant owl, or the harsh scream of a paroquet disturbed in its uneasy slumbers. All other sounds were hushed. The cattle were asleep in the corral, the fowls at roost on their accustomed trees. From the darkness and silence which prevailed, it appeared that all the inhabitants of the cottage were It was very at rest, except in one room, which was lighted up, and into which we will make bold to enter. The brick floor was covered with fine straw simply furnished, as is usual throughout Spanish America. matting. To the whitewashed walls were fastened a few ordinary pictures and engravings. Some light cane chairs were placed around the room, and at the farther end was an elevated dais or estrada, covered with the skins of the jaguar and puma, and serving as a lounge for visitors, or a couch for the siesta or afternoon nap. In the centre of the room was a table, made of the wood of the urandig-pitai, a native tree equal to the finest rosewood. Two candles stood upon it, and numerous papers-some folded, and tied with tape, others openwere scattered over it. A young man sat beside the table, deeply engaged in the perusal of one of the documents. He was dressed like a wealthy haçiendado, or gentleman farmer. His jacket of blue cloth was adorned with silver buttons, hanging by little chains of an inch in length. His vest of white satin, elegantly tamboured, was open so as to show the embroidered front of his cambric shirt. His green velvet small-clothes, tied round the waist by a blue satin sash, were loose at the knee, allowing the ruffled ends of his muslin drawers to appear beneath them. They were met by white cotton stockings, and buskin boots of untanned horse-skin. The age of the wearer was apparently about twenty-five. He had the brown complexion, the dark eyes, the black, glossy His handsome features hair, the thick beard and mustaches, which were proper to his Spanish descent. Just behind wore an expression of deep sadness, and his brow was occasionally knit, as with indignation, while his eye glanced over the paper which he held. him, in another chair, but leaning on the back of his, with her eyes fixed earnestly on his face, sat a young woman of extreme beauty both of form and feature. It was a style of beauty, too, which is commonly thought peculiar to northern, or rather to cold climates, but which is, in fact, frequently seen in the interior of ringlets round her fair face, and her dark blue eyes South America. Her chestnut hair clustered in natural looked out with changeable lustre from beneath their |
