The connaisseurs (oafs !) differ: some de

clare

That Cleopatra's style-the ebony Of the full eye and of the flowing hair Alone form beauty it is fit to see; Others protest that they can only bear Tresses of gold, and skin of ivory.

Some praise the full-turned make, the stately height,

The Queen-like bearing: "Beauty needs no less."

Many would term the lady quite a fright, Coarse, vulgar, masculine, a giantess ! They will not deign to look save at a slight, A petite, fairy, form. "This only?"

"Yes!"

And such as these say no one else can

trace

Beauty of form!-it moves your gall to hear it!

It is not size or smallness can replace That which alone creates it, or comes near it!

THE diffusion of information among all classes of the community, through the medium of liberal opinions and cheap books, fraught as it must be with incalculable advantages to individuals and to the community, is yet not without its drawbacks. True, it will effectually break the chains by which the majority of mankind have been bound to the altars of ignorance and error, it will render up to its proper exercise of thinking an immense volume of intellect which has too long been smothered under the dull masses of credulity and prejudice, -and by making the minds of the majority work as well as their hands, it will blend with every art its appropriate science, and thus enable each individual to add to the productive value of the nation, by improving that about which he is more immediately occupied. But still there are some drawbacks it will obliterate many of those characteristic distinctions which have hitherto belonged to districts and classes, and which, to those who love to paint human nature, have often

formed the chiaro scuro-the grouping of light and shade which have given to the productions much of their charm and effect. For all purposes of strength, and greatness, and wealth, and the enjoyment of what it can give, we grant that the change is incalculably the better; but still it is human nature to doat upon the recollection of that which was reality when life was young. Amid the enjoyments of the British metropolis you cannot make the English peasant, however successful be may have been, forget the little ivied cottage in which he was born; green as is the Savannah of the West, Erin will rise greener in vision o'er the blue waste of the sea, to the Irish exile the moment that he sits down to reflect; and gorgeous as is the state, and glowing as is the landscape in oriental climes, the summer shealing in the glen will be dearer in reflection to the Scot; the blue-bell and the purple heather will out-lustre all the flowers of the east; and bright as is the sun upon the Ghauts, it will not come up to the little beam which danc

ed through the thunder-cloud upon the snow-dappled top "o' braw Cairn Gorm."

For the sake of those who feel these things, and for a higher purpose-that of preserving a full and faithful record of the human race-there lies an onus on every one who can give even one authenticated trait of the opinions and manners that are vanishing, to render it up, and let it go upon the record.

Besides the necessity of this, from the evanescence of the matter to be preserved the certainty that if not taken now, it will be gone ere another age has rolled away, there is a necessity in that literature of the time which professes to be a delineation of human character. Formerly the dramatists and the novelists of England ransacked every clime and every class for their characters, and if the artist was a Shakspeare or a Smollet, the picture was truth in all its variety; and, from the haughty bearing of the Roman senator to the uncouth flirtation of the American squaw, the fictionist in story was a sterling matter-of-fact man in every particular. But the case is altered sadly, we should rather say miserably. The drama is puns and patch-work; and the novelists are mere court butterflies. Scandal and intrigue, vamped up with occasional scraps of maudlin morality, more pitiable and even more pernicious than the coarseness of the elder giants, and imaginary and distorted characters, drawn, not from real persons, for these have never been seen, or, if seen, never spoken with, but from names hunted up in the Red Book. These, these form the literature of England for the nineteenth century-light indeed in value, and in meaning, but in all else as ponderous, and nearly as poisonous, as barytes. Such things are called fashionable, and it must be confessed that they have some of the grand elements of fashion-they come one knows not whence, they go one knows not where; they vanish rapidly, and they leave not a trace behind. Thus the wonted preservers of the peculiarities of human character have aban

doned their duties, and are as useless as if annalists were to inscribe the events of the time upon a racing river or a dashing cascade, or as if limners should go about to pencil the wind and the whirlwind with the effigies of illustrious men.

But, besides those necessities, there is an example, and an encouraging example: the truth with which Sir Walter Scott has delineated such a variety of Scottish characters does far more than redeem all the witchcraft and diablerie to which he has obviously too great a leaning, and all the local prejudices, from which he could be purified only in the crucible of Time ;-and the lovers of genius will thank heaven that he has been so purified, and will enter upon the eternity of his fame without the stain of illiberality.

One of Sir Walter's truest and most touching delineations is that of the fisherman and his family, in the

Antiquary ;" and rude though be the lines of the hardy reaper of the deep, his courage in the hour of peril, and his grief in that of privations, are haply stronger than if he sat on a throne.

The fishers on the east coast of Scotland, of whom Scott's delineation is almost the only memorial at all true or readable, have long been a singular and a separate people, though they are now so fast blending with their neighbors, that probably before twenty years have elapsed, not a vestige of them will be found,-at least not a vestige of that character which thirty years ago was comparatively pure and perfect. Their principal localities are at Buckhaven, in Fife; at Auchmithie, on the east coast of Angus (where Scott's hero lived); at John's Haven, on the coast of Mearns; and at Buckie, on the shores of the Moray Firth. There are numbers of them at other places, and wherever they are found, their habits are nearly the same; but at the places mentioned they remained longer without admixture. In the choice of their situations they are somewhat

singular; for, though they have not been able to construct their dwellings absolutely in the sea, they have contrived to have them where the land is the least accessible. Buckhaven lies on a narrow beach, with a steep bank behind, the summit of which is not thirty yards from the sea; and it used to be a very extraordinary occurrence if one of the men extended his landward peregrinations to the top of the bank. Daring and persevering in their fishery, (which was generally what is called the white fishery,) and sober in their habits, they were comparatively rich, and a beggar was never known to issue from one of their villages for the purpose of soliciting alms. Their ignorance of all matters relating to the land, as well as of all the ordinary forms of polish and politeness, even as known to the land peasantry of Scotland, was striking; but they had a politeness of their own, and they had a morality which would have been valuable anywhere-and rare in some very polished societies. As characteristic of their ignorance of rural affairs one fact may be mentioned: John Tamson, of Buckhaven, after a three score and ten years' life upon the waters, (for he was sea-worthy at ten, and had remained on board till his eightieth year,) having earned an ample independence for a fisherman, left his boat and his bravery to his sons and grandsons, and became one of the gentlemen of the village. Like many others, John Tamson resolved to commence his gentleman-craft by foreign travel; and for this purpose, after two days spent in deliberating and preparing, he arrived at the summit of the bank, where he stood in as intense an ecstatic wonder as Bruce did by the fountains of the Nile; and all the strange creatures of Africa did not afford to that traveller more novelty and delight than a cow, which George Wilkie was tending by the hedgeside, afforded John Tamson. The head, the four oars, the rudder, were all surveyed and all criticised. The quarter oars were quarrelled with for

being too far aft, and George was found fault with for steering the cow (which he had in a halter) by a hawser from the bow instead of the tiller. The cow was grazing along the slope, and John came to the lower side to reconnoitre. The uneven surface caused the cow's hoofs to separate considerably. John observed it, and exclaimed, " Egoa, man! baith ye're sdarboard sgulls are sbrung; gi’en ye dinna vish them, theyll be in ribbins up to the thows avore a porpesse coud swallow a witing!"

Auchmithie, in a little hollow, like a shell scooped out of the gigantic and cavern-intersected cliffs between Arbroath and the Red Head, is much more wild and inaccessible; and though the people be not just so secluded, in consequence of the near vicinity of Arbroath, their manners used to be even more singular; and there was much more glee in them than in the inhabitants of the softer shore of Fife. Lord Ethie (Northesk) is the great man of the neighborhood-the ultimate umpire in all alarming cases, and especially that most fearful one when any wag happens to insinuate a hare, or any part thereof, into one of the fishing-boats. On these occasions there is no safety or success for the boat, if his lordship does not cast out the imp with his own hand.

The traditional, but well-authenticated, anecdotes of the Auchmithie fishers are innumerable; and some are told of John Swankie and his spouse

the veritable Saunders and Maggie Mucklebackit of Sir Walter. John was a man of substance, or a "Vather o' the toon," according to the heraldry of the village. One of his sons being a little delicate, John resolved to breed him to a less laborious profession than that of the sea. As education was, even in John's view of the matter, necessary for that purpose, he went to the schoolmaster to settle the terms; and he addressed him in these words: "Zer sguelmaestr, my zon Dam is an aitecky laddie, an' 'as nae staetur for 'is

changed for sorrow deeper than ever; for, upon turning the corner of the fence, the enemy stood before her in the middle of the road, bellowing and pawing in high chafe, and not above forty yards distant ! Janet lost not a moment in deliberation, but sped on for the bridge of Montrose, with the bull in full pursuit. But fear for once made two feet better than four, and Janet entered the toll-gate on the bridge in time for its being closed against the enemy. But that enemy kept his post, and return to Craig or to Ferryden there was none.

What did Janet Tyrie do? a religious woman-she could not remain a whole Sunday from the kirk; but there was more than a lion in the way -she could not profit by the instruc

tions of her parish-minister. Her resolution was soon taken: she had often served the ministers of Montrose with fish, and why should not they for once serve her with sermons? No reason appeared to the contrary, and off she went. As some time had been lost, she found, on arriving in the town, that the stream of kirkward people set but in one direction; into that stream she threw herself, and did not stop till she had sat down on the step below the altar in the English Chapel. It is the custom there to chant the versicles; the organ began to breathe,-up sprang Janet: "Goad keep me gin there binna 'Igham's 'awkit ox comin' agen, creun creunin!" and with that she vanished from the chapel.

SUPERSTITIONS OF THE SWISS PEA

SANTRY.

THERE is, perhaps, no canton of Switzerland where superstition has cast deeper roots than in that of the Grisons. Like the peasantry of Germany, they scrupulously consult the signs of the almanac before they undertake anything of importance; such as sowing, planting, reaping, cutting of trees, bleeding, cupping, vaccinating, &c. But the most important season for them to dive into futurity is Christmas Eve, and they employ an endless variety of devices to obtain this interesting result. This is especially the case with such damsels as have passed the ominous limit of their twenty-fifth birth-day, without having met with a husband, and who are now naturally anxious to ascertain whether, and in what manner, this supreme felicity is to fall to their lot during the ensuing year. For this purpose they put heaps of salt or bran in places which are inaccessible to light; they bawl up the chimney; throw their slipper backwards; draw cards; open their

psalter at random by means of a pin; pour melted lead or the white of an egg into water; pull a piece of wood from the fire; walk about the village green, or even the churchyard; and, from the peculiar appearances they observe, foretel all they wish to know. A woman must be excessively ugly to renounce the hope of being ultimately relieved from that state of single blessedness which seems so irksome to these simple people; and a quarter of a century of annual disappointment does not cool their conjugal ardor, and make them renounce these fooleries.

The surest and best omen, however, is to see their future suitor in a dream. To effect this, the expectant, without uttering a word, fetches salt, flour, and water, from three different houses, and at midnight makes from these ingredients a small cake, which she eats before going to bed. This cake being very highly salted, and the heated imagination of the person rendering the blood feverish, it is natural that she should feel thirsty the next