CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM CHAMBERS, AUTHOR OF "THE BOOK OF SCOTLAND," &c., AND BY ROBERT CHAMBERS, AUTHOR OF "TRADITIONS OF EDINBURGH," "PICTURE OF SCOTLAND," &c.

hour arrived. Old men were either spoken of by re- day. Our modern youngsters are reared with an
collection, or pointed out in life, who were understood exercise of their perceptive faculties only. Their ima
to have had rencontres, in lonely places, with the in- gination lies dead till called into life by the reading of
carnate enemy of man, whom, after a warm debate, literary fiction. And having in childhood laid up
and perhaps a personal conflict, they had invariably none of the images, fancies, and sentiments which I
succeeded in putting to flight by dint of their extraordi- have described as being poured upon myself in the
nary piety. Saints of an earlier time were spoken of, country, they want, in their adult years, those re-
who had willingly given their lives as a testimony for miniscences upon which I and every other native of
their faith, and through whose constancy the existing the primitive portions of the land now set such store
religious privileges of the people had been purchased. —those things which, upon a fair inventory of our
The coach of Sir George Mackenzie was described as possessions, ideal and material, we are inclined to
having passed under the Netherbow Port in Edin- think nearly the most precious of all. Among the city
burgh, three weeks after the head of Cameron had poor, all of whose circumstances are hard enough,
been placed there, when several drops of blood sud- this deprivation must be esteemed as no small addi-
denly fell upon the top of the vehicle. Every effort tion to an unhappy lot; and even among the city rich,
was made to wash off or erase the accusing liquid, but I esteem it a considerable drawback. A benevolent
without effect; and the conscience-struck persecutor father of my acquaintance used to take his children
was at last obliged to have his coach furnished with a
to see every unusual scene within reach, and at ju-
new top. But the most affecting of all these fireside dicious intervals indulged them in cheap strawberry
entertainments consisted in the singing of old ballads; and gooseberry feasts out of town, in order, as he said,
a tribe of recitals either springing directly from the that, in future years, when engaged in the turmoils
people, or greatly modified by them, yet, strange to of business, they might have a few happy youthful
say, introducing the hearer into a world more unlike days to look back upon-every such "ploy" forming,
the present, more dreamy, mystical, and impressive, as he thought, a kind of lens, which was to send a
than any to be found in the most imaginative literature, dispersive light of roseate hue throughout the whole
the Thalaba and Kehama of Southey not excepted. of the subsequent part of life. This I conceive to be
I must, however, take opportunity elsewhere to dilate a most economical means of increasing human happi-
upon this singular poetical inheritance of the Scottishness, for an inch-breadth of joy in childhood becomes
nation.
in middle life an illumination for the whole theatre of
the mind. Let me suggest that every such expedient
ought to be adopted by those who have the charge of
families in confined city-pent situations, to compen-
sate the unavoidable deficiency of natural scenes,
pleasing adventures, and appeals to the imagination
and feelings, which must otherwise leave the mature
age of their offspring comparatively waste.

The metropolitan youth of the same period with whom I had also some intercourse-were not without a few corresponding mysticalities. They had a vague notion respecting a subterraneous passage between the Castle and Holyrood Palace, which had been originally destined for the convenience of the inhabitants of the latter building, but in time fell into disuse. When its very existence had become a matter of doubt, a piper undertook to penetrate its awful recesses, playing his pipes as he went along, so that the people in the street above might know the progress he was making. They followed him from the Castle to the Tron Church-about half-way-but the pipes ceased at that point: the poor piper was never more seen, and the subterraneous passage remained nearly as great a mystery as ever. Long, long ago-so another story ran the Castle was held out by a powerful lord against a large army, who at last succeeded in taking it. The great lord, who possessed a vast treasure in an iron box, resolved at once to put himself and his money beyond the reach of his enemies. Knowing that at one part of the rock, a little below the top, there existed a projecting iron hook, he threw himself down, slung on the box in his descent, and was killed by falling to the bottom. The treasure has ever since hung secure upon its hook, having not only defied the researches of the besiegers, but the perhaps still more keen and minute exploration of the various generations of Edinburgh boys, who, age after age, have spent their Saturday afternoons in climbing along the precipices. Indeed, it hangs in such a hidden and inaccessible place, that it is not likely ever to be discovered by any body. In the Lawnmarket, there was a common stair, in which a gentleman had many years ago been stabbed to the heart by some one who had him at feud, and which the boys would point out with a kind of shuddering awe. In the same

THE HUMAN STATURE.
ALL the productions of nature-no matter whether
we contemplate the curiously constructed fabric of ani-
mal bodies, the structure of plants, or the regularly
arranged particles of minerals—are in themselves per-
fect; and, as if it were intended that the eye of every
observant being should be gratified, all we behold
seems to have been moulded in a cast of beauty such
as must in every instance excite admiration. In the

vegetable kingdom-from the oak of the forest to the
gracefully drooping willow of the valley, from the
rarest flower of foreign climes to the most common
weed-we behold the most agreeable variety; so, too,
in the animal kingdom-from the lions and tigers
which prowl wild through the woods, down to the
lizards and serpents that creep along the grass or
desert sands-from the eagle that builds its eyrie on
the loftiest cliff, down to the little humming-bird

The

It

five feet; but there is no uniformity between any
particular climate and variety of human stature.
is true that the Laplander is short, but the Naz-
wegian, living nearly in the same latitude, is tall;
so, also, while the Hottentots, living in the south of
Africa, are very short, the Caffres, a neighbouring
tribe, are tall, robust, and muscular. In Asia, the
Chinese and Japanese are nearly of the same sta-
ture as ourselves; but the Mongols, and some other
tribes, are remarkably short. The inhabitants of
America present us with very striking differences.
In the regions north of Canada, the tribes are very
tall; among the Cherokees many exceed the height
of six feet, and few are below five feet eight or ten
inches. The western Americans of Nootka Sound,
near the Columbia, are of low stature; so also are
many tribes in South America. The Patagonians,
a savage people living at the south-eastern extremity
of the continent of South America, are usually repre.
sented as being the most gigantic human inhabitants
of the globe. Some travellers have alleged that these
men grow to a height of eight feet, which is certainly
an exaggeration. Their stature was measured with
great accuracy by the Spanish officers in 1785 and
1786, when they found the common height to be six
and a half to seven feet, and the highest was seven
feet one inch and a quarter.

Individuals of very remarkable height have frequently existed; and among them the following examples, which we believe to be well authenticated, may be adduced :—

Duke John Frederic of Brunswick, Hanover, measured
One of the King of Prussia's guards
Gilly, a Swede (exhibited as a show)
Reichardt of Frielberg, near Frankfort
Martin Salmeron, a Mexican

An Irishman (skeleton in the London College)
A Danish female, named La Pierre

Ft. In.

8

6

8 6

8 0

8 3

7

8

4

But while we call to recollection these and other gigantic personages, we may also remember, that a remarkable diminution of stature is likewise frequently observable.

Bebe, King of Poland, measured only

Bonolaski, a Polish nobleman (skilled in many
languages)

33 inches (French)
28 do. do.
3 feet.

Stoberin, a female in Nuremberg
In some instances, these varieties of stature appear
to have been hereditary; thus, the father and sister
of the gigantic Reichardt, above mentioned, were gi-
gantic; the parents, brothers, and sisters of Stoberin,
dwarfs. It is well known that the King of Prussia
had a body of gigantic guards, consisting of the tall-
est men who could be collected from all the neighbour-
ing countries. A regiment of these men was stationed,
during fifty years, at Potsdam. "And now," says
of that place are gigantic, which is more especially
Forster, "a great number of the present inhabitants
striking in the numerous gigantic figures of women,
and is certainly owing to the connections and inter-
marriages of these tall men with the females of that
town."

All such cases, showing an excess or a diminution which flits about like a mote in a sunbeam—all we of the developement of the human body, may be resee excites wonder and admiration. Yet, amidst all garded as irregularities of nature, or as species of that has been created, the human form, by universal monstrosities. Accordingly, those men who have consent, has been esteemed the most admirable; so just much exceeded the ordinary standard are generally are all its proportions; so exquisitely do they harmo-ill proportioned, and have not possessed strength corresponding to their size. In general, in such cases street, a house was supposed to exist, which had been nise together; and so obviously is the whole stamped the nervous system seems as if insufficient to supply shut up since long before any one remembered, in with the expression of superior intelligence. with muscular vigour, or intellectual energy, the deconsequence of some mysterious circumstance. A exquisitely perfect structure of the human figure is mands of the preternaturally sized body. It may supper party had assembled-all was light and cheer- nevertheless dependent, in a great measure, on culti- indeed be remarked, that a sort of healthy balance fulness, when something happened; the company dis. vation. Man, in his physical as well as in his moral should exist between mind and matter; and if, therepersed in horror and dismay, and the host and his qualities, is an improvable savage. His race, by means fore, from the original formation of the body, or from family departed, locking the door behind them, never of training, attention to feeding, clothing, and exerhabits of luxury, the human frame make too great a to return. Since that night, the house has not once demand on the nervous influence, by which all its been opened; every article of furniture remains as it cise, is susceptible of being raised from ungainly to was left; the very goose which was preparing for elegant proportions; as, for example, from the condi- parts are animated, the mind itself must be enfeebled and impaired. Dwarfs are, for the most part, the supper, is still at the fire, awaiting a purpose which tion of the natives of New Holland to that of the revictims of disease; they are in general ill made; their it will never fulfil! The Edinburgh boys also refined inhabitants of Europe. heads are very large, and their powers, physical and joiced in the terrors of Major Weir and his haunted The improvements which may thus be effected on mental, very feeble. It may be concluded, then, that tenement in the Bow. In the Grassmarket they saw the human fabric, would appear to have extremely few healthy well-made men, having all the attributes the gallows-stone, where so many martyrs had breathed little influence on the stature of mankind. There of their race, will be found to exist who are much their last in psalms of devout triumph. At the Cow- seems to be a standard of height, from which partial above or much below the average height of their folgate Port, they could distinguish a stone high in the deviations every where occur; but taking mankind low-countrymen. The causes which produce these adjacent wall, on which were some fragments of iron. in the gross, from the earliest till the present time, varieties of stature are not well understood; but, work, said to have been employed in fixing the head and under all circumstances of climate and diet, their doubtless, a simple mode of life, nutritious sustenance, of the Marquis of Argyle upon the Tolbooth. At the general height has varied and still varies from five to and a salubrious atmosphere, will be found to favour Gibbet Toll, a few stones by the wayside were known little more than six, and, in extreme instances, seven the full, healthy, and natural developement of the by them to mark the place where the body of Mon- feet. Independently of the substantial proofs which human body. Mankind, ever fond of indulging in trose had been ignominiously buried. They also are produced of this fact, it is apparent to our senses the marvellous, have very willingly given credence to knew the balcony of Moray House in the Canongate, that human beings never were and never will be any fabulous accounts of the great stature of men in the where the former of these nobles had stood, in power taller than they are at present. Their average height, early ages of the world. and prosperity, to see the latter dragged up the street, from five to six feet, is decidedly in accordance with on his way from the lost battle-field to the scarcely the stature and form of animals on whom they depend less bloody scaffold. The same street, they knew, had for assistance, and also the external character of inwitnessed a similar progress made by the Marie Ha-animate nature. Philosophers have usually found conmilton of the touching old balladsiderable difficulty in accounting for the stature of particular races, tallness being sometimes the attribute of savage, and at other times of civilised life. In this country, the average height of men is five feet eight inches; the average height of women five feet five inches: and all who exceed or are beneath either of these measurements, may be considered above or below the ordinary standard. In the temperate climate of Europe, the stature of the human race may be said to vary from five feet and a half to six feet; but in the high northern latitudes, where the growth of animals and vegetables is checked by the intensity of the cold, the stature of man is low. The Laplanders, Greenlanders, and Esquimaux, are all very short, measuring only from four to a little above

As she gaed up the Cannogate,
The Cannogate sae frie,

'Mony a ladye looked ower her window,
Weeping for this ladye.

When she cam to the Netherbow Port,
She laucht loud lauchters three;
But when she cam to the gallows fit,
The tears blinded her ee.

Oh little did my mother ken,

That day she cradled me,
What lands I was to traver ower,

What death I was to die.

But these associations have perished with the bickers, and Leith races, and the squibs of the King's birth

It is a fashion with all poets, and with early histo rians, who often encroach on the land of fable, to describe giants as originally composing the nations whose praises they sing, or whose history they record; but such narratives are for the most part founded only on popular traditions, which have been sometimes suggested by superstition, and not unfrequently by the premeditated craft of interested and better informed persons. To excite the energies of the people, and to goad them on to war, their leaders often represented their enemies to them as gigantic beings, who would destroy them, unless they prepared themselves for the most enterprising and daring feats. We have already said that there exist indubitable proots of the fact that the human race has in no respect declined in stature or strength. Those who advocate the progres. sive degeneracy of mankind, reason upon an insubstantial basis. The Scriptural statement, that "there were giants in those days," has indeed given rise to much

useless discussion; for while some have maintained that all men before the deluge were giants, others have argued, more correctly, that no giants ever existed, but that the term simply refers to men noted for their crimes, and the violence they committed. There is certainly no reason to suppose that the general stature of man differed before the flood from that which we at present observe; yet that some few very gigantic men did exist, is recorded on authentic testimony; nor, from the instances above mentioned of men of extraordinary stature, could such occurrences be regarded as marvellous, or out of the ordinary course of experience.

The remains of Egyptian mummies preserved from the earliest antiquity prove satisfactorily that the stature of the Egyptians did not exceed the ordinary height of the human race; many of these being five feet six inches, five feet eight inches, &c. Besides which, from the helmets and breast-plates preserved, from the buildings designed for their accommodation,

and from monuments and works of art that have es

caped the vicissitudes of ages, we may be satisfied that men were not formerly any taller than they are at present. Immense bones have often been dug up, and exhibited as the bones of men, which, on inspection, have proved to be those of animals. In 1613, the bones of a great giant, called Teutobachus, were shown through Europe; but these, on inspection, turned out to be the bones of an elephant. It is remarkable, that even the great natural historian Buffon fell into a similar blunder, which has been corrected by Blumenbach.

THE LIE OF BENEVOLENCE,

A STORY.

[Every species of lying is deserving of reprobation. This is a sentiment to which, doubtless, all correct thinking persons will respond; yet there can be no doubt that many excellent and weldisposed individuals do not scruple, on certain occasions, and under particular circumstances, to lie, either in direct terms, or by im

plication. In such cases it is generally represented that the end
sanctions the means; they perhaps say that they conceal the truth
in order to prevent mischief, which is a most dangerous principle
to act upon, and one which very frequently leads to the disclosure
of the very circumstances they weresirous to conceal, and in a
way more fatal to their peace. Of the effects of this kind of false-
hood, called the LIE OF BENEVOLENCE, Mrs Opie, in her excel-

lent little work entitled "Ilustrations of Lying in all its Branches"
(Longnian, 1825), presents the following story, which we have con-
densed for the benefit of our youthful readers:-]
EDGAR VERNON was the son of the vicar of a small
parish in Westmoreland, and was distinguished above
all his brothers for his aptitude in learning, general
cleverness, and generosity of disposition. These good
qualities were, however, of no avail, on account of the
restlessness and daringness of his disposition, which
rendered him unamenable to discipline, and threatened
to ruin his prospects in the world. With the view of
curbing his impetuous temper, his father at length re-
solved to send him to a public school at a distance
from his home; and to this seminary he was conse-
quently dispatched. This step was not taken without
exciting painful emotions. The tender-hearted father
and mother wept as they parted from their dearly be-
loved boy, while Edgar, overcome by the scene, uttered
words of tender contrition, which spoke comfort to
the minds of his parents when they beheld him no
longer.

In a few days, however, he wrote to his father, detailing his reasons for visiting home, and all the agonies which he had experienced during his short stay. Full of consolation was this letter to that bereaved and mourning heart! for to him it seemed the language of contrition; and he lamented that his beloved wife was not alive to share in the hope which it gave him. "Would that he had come, or would now come to me!" he exclaimed; but the letter had no date, and he knew not whither to send an invitation. But where was he, and what was he at that period? In gambling-houses, at cock-fights, sparring-matches, fairs, and in every scene where profligacy prevailed the most; while at all these places he had a pre-eminence in skill which endeared these pursuits to him, and made his occasional contrition powerless to influence him to amendment of life. He therefore continued to disregard the warning voice within him, till at length it was no longer heeded.

One night, when on his way to Y, where races were to succeed the assizes, which had just commenced, he stopped at an inn to refresh his horse; and, being hot with riding, and depressed by some recent losses at play, he drank very freely of the spirits which he had ordered. At this moment he saw a schoolfellow of his in the bar, who, like himself, was on his way to Y. This young man was of a coarse, unfeeling nature, and, having had a fortune left him, was full of the consequence of newly-acquired wealth. Therefore, when Edgar Vernon impulsively approached him, and, putting his hand out, asked how he did, Dunham haughtily drew back, put his hands behind him, and, in the hearing of several persons, replied, "I do not know you, sir!" "Not know me, Dunham!" cried Edgar Vernon, turning very pale. "That is to say, I do not choose to know you.' "And why not?" cried Edgar, seizing his arm, and with a look of menace. "Because-because I do not choose to know a man who murdered his mother." "Murdered his mother!" cried the

Vernon ?-that important period of a boy's life, the
years from fourteen to eighteen? Suffice it that, un-
der a feigned name, in order that he might not be
traced, he had entered on board a merchant ship;
that he had left it after he had made one voyage; that
he was taken into the service of what is called a sport-
ing character, whom he had met on board ship, who
saw that Edgar had talents and spirit which he might
render serviceable to his own pursuits. This man,
finding he was the son of a gentleman, treated him as
such, and initiated him gradually into the various
arts of gambling, and the vices of the metropolis; but
one night they were both surprised by the officers of
justice at a noted gaming-house; and, after a desperate
scuffle, Edgar escaped wounded, and nearly killed,
to a house in the suburbs. There he remained till he
was safe from pursuit, and then, believing himself in
danger of dying, he longed for the comfort of his pa-
ternal roof; he also longed for paternal forgiveness;
and the prodigal returned to his forgiving parents.
But as this was a tale which Edgar might well
shrink from relating to a pure and pious father, flight
was far easier than such a confession. His father,
however, continued to hope for his reformation, and
of his son, which reached him through a private
was therefore little prepared for the next intelligence
channel. A friend wrote to inform him that Edgar
was taken up for having passed forged notes, knowing
them to be forgeries; that he would soon be fully
committed to prison for trial, and would be tried with
his accomplices at the ensuing assizes for Middlesex.
At first, even the firmness of Vernon yielded to the
stroke, and he was bowed low unto the earth. But
the confiding Christian struggled against the sorrows
of the suffering father, and overcame them; till at
last he was able to exclaim, "I will go to him! Ι
will be near him at his trial! I will be near him
even at his death, if death be his portion! And, no
doubt, I shall be permitted to awaken him to a sense
of his guilt. Yes, I may be permitted to see him ex-
pire contrite before God and man, and calling on his bystanders, holding up their hands, and regarding
name who is able to save to the uttermost!" But Edgar Vernon with a look of horror. "Wretch !"
just as he was setting off for Middlesex, his wife, who cried he, seizing Dunham in his powerful grasp, "ex-
had long been declining, was to all appearance so plain yourself this moment, or"-"Then take your
much worse, that he could not leave her. She, hav-fingers from my throat!" Edgar did so; and Dun-
ing had suspicions that all was not right with Edgar, ham said, "I meant only that you broke your mother's
contrived to discover the TRUTH, which had been heart by your ill conduct; and, pray, was not that
kindly, but erroneously, concealed from her, and had murdering her ?" While he was saying this, Edgar
sunk under the sudden, unmitigated blow; and the Vernon stood with folded arms, rolling his eyes wildly
welcome intelligence that the prosecutor had withdrawn from one of the bystanders to the other, and seeing,
the charge, came at a moment when the sorrows of the as he believed, disgust towards him in the counte-
bereaved husband had closed the father's heart against nances of them all. When Dunham had finished
the voice of gladness.
speaking, Edgar Vernon wrung his hands in agony,
saying, "True, most true, I am a murderer! I am
a parricide!" Then, suddenly drinking off a large
glass of brandy near him, he quitted the room, and,
mounting his horse, rode off at full speed. Aim and
object in view, he had none; he was only trying to
ride from himself trying to escape from those looks
of horror and aversion which the remarks of Dun.
ham had provoked. But what right had Dunham so
to provoke him?

"This good news came too late to save thee, poor victim!" he exclaimed, as he knelt beside the corpse of her whom he had loved so long and so tenderly; "and I feel that I cannot, cannot yet rejoice in it as I ought."

Meanwhile, Edgar Vernon, when unexpectedly liberated from what he knew to be certain danger to his life, resolved, on the ground of having been falsely taken up, and as an innocent, injured man, to visit his parents; for he had heard of his mother's illness, and his heart yearned to behold her once more. But it was only in the dark hour that he dared venture to approach his home: and it was his intention to dis cover himself at first to his mother only. Accordingly, the grey parsonage was scarcely visible in the shadows of twilight, when he reached the gate that led to the back door, at which he gently knocked, but in vain. No one answered his knock; all was still within and around. What could this mean? He then walked round the house, and looked in at the window; all there was dark and quiet as the grave; but the church bell was tolling, while alarmed, awed, and overpowered, he leaned against the gate. At this moment he saw two men rapidly pass along the road, saying, "I fear we shall be too late for the funeral! I wonder how the poor old man will bear it, for he loved his wife dearly!" "Ay; and so he did that wicked boy, who has been the death of her," replied the other.

These words shot like an arrow through the not yet callous heart of Edgar Vernon, and, throwing himself on the ground, he groaned aloud in his agony; but the next minute, with the speed of desperation, he ran towards the church, and reached it just as the service was over, the mourners departing, and as his father was borne away, nearly insensible, in the arms of his virtuous sons.

But, short were the hopes which that parting hour had excited. In a few months the master of the school wrote to complain of the insubordination of his new pupil. In his next letter he declared that he should soon be under the necessity of expelling him; and Edgar had not been at school six months before he prevented the threatened expulsion, only by run. ning away, no one knew whither! Nor was he heard of by his family for four years; during which time, not even the dutiful affection of their other sons, nor their success in life, had power to heal the breaking heart of the mother, nor cheer the depressed spirits of the father. At length the prodigal returned, ill, meagre, penniless, and penitent, and was received, and forgiven. "But where hast thou been, my child, this long, long time ?" said his mother, tenderly weeping, as she gazed on his pale sunk cheek. "Ask me no questions! I am here; that is enough," Edgar Vernon replied, shuddering as he spoke. "It is enough!" cried his mother, throwing herself on his neck!" for this, my son, was dead, and is alive again; was lost, and is found!" But the father felt and thought differently; he knew that it was his duty to interrogate his son, and he resolved to insist on knowing where and how those long four years had beer. passed. He resolved, however, to delay his questions till his Edgar's health was re-established; and when that time arrived, he told him that he expected to know all that had befallen him since he ran away from school. "Spare me till to-morrow," said Edgar Vernon," and then you shall know all." His father acquiesced; but the next morning Edgar had disappeared, leaving the following letter behind him:"I cannot, dare not, tell you what a wretch I have been! though I own your right to demand such a confession from me. Therefore, I must become a wanderer again! Pray for me, dearest and tenderest of mothers! Pray for me, best of fathers and of men! At length he rose up and endeavoured to speak, but I dare not pray for myself, for I am a vile and in vain; then, holding his clenched fists to his forewretched sinner, though your grateful and affection-head, he screamed out "Heaven preserve my senses!" ate son, E. V." Though this letter nearly drove the mother to distraction, it contained for the father a degree of soothing comfort.

How had those four years been passed by Edgar

At such a moment Edgar was able to enter the church unheeded, for all eyes were on his afflicted parent; and the self-convicted culprit dared not force himself, at a time like that, on the notice of the father whom he had so grievously injured. But his poor bursting heart felt that it must vent its agony or break; and ere the coffin was lowered into the vault, he rushed forwards, and, throwing himself across it, called upon his mother's name, in an accent so piteous and appalling, that the assistants, though they did not recognise him at first, were unable to drive him away, so awed, so affected were they by the agony which they witnessed.

and rushed from the church with all the speed of des-
peration. Casting one long lingering look at the abode
of his childhood, he fled for ever from the house of
mourning, humiliation, and safety.

After he had put this question to himself, the image of Dunham, scornfully rejecting his hand, alone took possession of his remembrance, till he thirsted for revenge; and the irritation of the moment urged him to seek it immediately.

He

The opportunity, as he rightly suspected, was in his power; Dunham would soon be coming that way on his road to Y, and he would meet him. did so; and, riding up to him, seized the bridle of his horse, exclaiming, "You have called me a murderer, Dunham, and you were right; for though I loved my mother dearly, and would have died for her, I killed her by my wicked course of life!" "Well, well; I know that," replied Dunham, “ so let me go; for I tell you I do not like to be seen with such as you. Let me go, I say!"

He did let him go; but it was as the tiger lets go its prey, to spring on it again. A blow from Edgar's nervous arm knocked the rash insulter from his horse. In another minute Dunham lay on the road, a bleeding corpse; and the next morning officers were out in pursuit of the murderer. That wretched man was soon found, and soon secured. Indeed he had not desired to avoid pursuit; but as soon as the irritation of drunkenness and revenge had subsided, the agony of remorse took possession of his soul, and he confess. ed his crime with tears of the bitterest penitence. To be brief: Edgar Vernon was carried into that city as a manacled criminal, which he had expected to leave as a successful gambler; and before the end of the assizes, he was condemned to death.

He made a full confession of his guilt before the judge pronounced condemnation; gave a brief statement of the provocation which he received from the deceased; blaming himself at the same time for his criminal revenge, in so heart-rending a manner, and lamenting so pathetically the disgrace and misery in which he had involved his father and family, that every heart was melted to compassion; and the judge wept, while he passed on him the awful sentence of

the law.

His conduct in prison was so exemplary, that it proved he had not forgotten his father's precepts, though he had not acted upon them; and his brothers, for whom he sent, found him in a state of mind which afforded them the only and best consolation. This contrite lowly Christian state of mind accompanied him to the awful end of his existence; and it

might be justly said of him, that "nothing in his life became him like the losing it."

Painful, indeed, was the anxiety of Edgar and his brothers, lest their father should learn this horrible circumstance; but as the culprit was arraigned under a feigned name, and as the crime, trial, and execution had taken, and would take up, so short a period of time, they flattered themselves that he would never learn how and where Edgar died, but would implicitly believe what was told him. They therefore wrote him word that Edgar had been taken ill at an inn, near London, on his road home; that he had sent for them; and they had little hopes of his recovery. They followed this letter of BENEVOLENT LIES as soon as they could, to inform him that all was over.

The sight of their mournings on their return, told the tale to the father which he dreaded to hear, yet which he would at the time have borne up against; and wringing their hands in silence, he left the room, but soon returned, and, with surprising composure, said, "Well, now I can bear to hear particulars." Now was the time for their telling the real state of the case; but unfortunately the truth was not told. In a short time, the sorely tried father regained a degree of cheerfulness, and he expressed a wish to visit, during the summer months, an old college friend who lived in Yorkshire. This the sons entirely disapproved of, from a secret dread that he might possibly learn the real fate of his deceased child. However, as he was bent on going, they could not find a sufficient excuse for preventing it, and he set off by the stage-coach on

at the same time, with a look of mingled appeal and
resignation. He then rushed to the obscure spot
which covered the bones of his son, threw himself
upon it, and stretched his arms over it, as if embrac.
ing the unconscious deposit beneath, while his head
rested on the grass, and he neither spoke nor moved.
But he uttered one groan-then all was stillness!
His terrified and astonished companion remained
motionless for a few moments, then stooped to raise
But the paternal heart, broken by the sudden
shock, had suffered, and breathed its last.

him.

BIOGRAPHIC SKETCHES.

OWEN GLENDOWER.

THE traditionary eminence assigned in Scotland to Sir William Wallace, and in Switzerland to William Tell, as asserters of the independence of their country, is given, in Wales, to Owen Vychan or Vaughan more commonly called Glyndower, from his lands of Glyndwrdwy (the bank-side of the Dee) in Merionethshire. This celebrated patriot, born on the 28th of May 1349, was a lineal descendant of the princes of Wales, and lord of considerable possessions. At the time of his appearance in the world, Wales was groaning under the ill-administered government of the English, who had conquered it about a century before, without subsequently adopting those concilia. tory measures which are necessary for thoroughly The coach stopped at an inn outside the city of uniting new provinces to the principal state. The York; and as Vernon was not disposed to eat any birth of the Cambrian chief is said to have been dinner, he strolled along the road, till he came to a small church, pleasantly situated, and entered the marked by circumstances betokening his extraordi. churchyard to read, as was his custom, the inscrip-nary destiny: Holinshed, the English historian, says tions on the tombstones. While thus engaged, he saw a man filling up a new-made grave, and entered into conversation with him. He found it was the sexton himself, and he drew from him several anec

his journey.

dotes of the persons interred around them. During

this conversation they had walked over the whole of the ground, when, just as they were going to leave the spot, the sexton stopped to pluck some weeds from a grave near the corner of it, and Vernon stopped also; taking held, as he did so, of a small willow sapling, planted near the corner itself.

how careless the Welsh knight was with regard to the more stirring events of the world. Unambitious of future fame or present glory, contented and happy, he dwelt in the bosom of his family, beloved by all, and much venerated by his numerous dependents. That this was a happy state of existence, will readily be admitted by those who have mingled much with the world; but a fiend broke in upon this paradise on earth, and turned all its peace and felicity into the peril of the tented field, and the active bustle of war and defiance.

The exciting cause of Glendower's insurrection was an unjust seizure of part of his lands, by Lord Gray of Ruthyn, a neighbouring English proprietor. On an application to parliament for redress, the claim of the Welsh chief was treated with contempt, and Lord Gray confirmed in possession of the lands. About the same time, a writ of summons, calling on Glendower to attend the king on an expedition against the Scots, was entrusted to Lord Gray, and by him withheld, so that the chief was unwittingly placed in the condition of a rebel against the royal authority. The king, confirmed in his suspicions by the false representations of Gray, declared Glendower a traitor, and gave that nobleman a grant of the whole of his estates, which he immediately proceeded to take into his possession. Thus treated, it is not wonderful that a chief of that age and country resolved upon a course of vengeance. With a trusty band of friends, he lost no time in spreading desolation through the territories of Gray. He soon recovered the lands of which he had been so unjustly deprived; and, actuated by the spirit of retaliation, took possession of a large portion of the domains of his enemy. But the consequences did not rest here. The mountain wilds of Snowdon and Cader Idris resounded with the tumultuous din of insurrec

tion. Tidings of the chieftain's success ran like wildfire along the hills, and "Liberty and Vengeance!" was once more the terrific war-cry of the Welsh. Glendower himself, too, shook off his lethargy. Am. bition now entered his mind; he called to his recollection his high and princely lineage, and, directing his arms to a nobler cause than the redressing of his own wrongs, he involved both nations in a war which lasted some years, sacrificed many thousand lives, and drenched both countries with blood.

Although the Welsh were at first despised as a barefooted rabble, and their disaffection treated with contempt, they were soon found to be a formidable and dangerous enemy. The intelligence of Glenthe court, than the king dispatched some troops dower's retaliation upon Lord Gray no sooner reached under the command of that nobleman and the Lord Talbot to chastise him; and they arrived with such speed and diligence, that they nearly succeeded in surrounding his house, before he gained any inti. mation of their approach. He contrived, however, to escape into the woods, where he did not long remain; but, having raised a band of men, he caused himself to be proclaimed Prince of Wales on the 20th of September 1400; he surprised, plundered, and burnt to the ground the greater part of the town of Ruthyn (the property of Lord Gray), at a time when a fair was held there. Having achieved this, he retreated to the mountain-fastnesses of Merionethshire, and directed his attention to the speedy and effectual augmentation of his forces.

that "the same night that he was born, all his father's horses in the stable were found to stand in blood up to their bellies!" He received his education in England, and, being designed for the legal profession, was admitted a student in one of the Inns of Court in London. But, on the wars breaking out against Richard II., he deserted his studies, and took up arms in behalf of that unfortunate monarch, who knighted him for his services, and appointed him squire of his body. After the deposition and death of his master, As the man rose from his occupation, and saw where to whom he was warmly attached, he retired to his Vernon stood, he smiled significantly, and said, "I estates in Wales, with no friendly feeling, it may be planted that willow; and it is on a grave, though supposed, towards the triumphant Bolingbroke, who the grave is not marked out." "Indeed!" "Yes; now became Henry IV. Here he married Margaret it is the grave of a murderer." "Of a murderer!" echoed Vernon, instinctively shuddering, and moving Hanmer, the descendant of an ancient and influential away from it. "Yes," resumed he, "of a murderer Welsh family, by whom he had a numerous offspring. who was hanged at York. Poor lad! it was very For several years Glendower lived peacefully at his right that he should be hanged; but he was not a castle of Glyndwrdwy, a strong building situated on hardened villain-and he died so penitent! and as I what is now a beautifully wooded hillock beside the knew him when he used to visit where I was groom, Dee; dispensing numerous blessings amongst his I could not help planting this tree, for old acquaint happy and devoted tenantry, and, probably, with no ance' sake." Here he drew his hand across his eyes. loftier wishes than those of contributing to the con"Then he was not a low-born man ?" "Oh no; his tentment and happiness of his numerous dependents. father was a clergyman, I think." "Indeed! poor His establishment was every way worthy of his rank, man: was he living at the time?" said Vernon, and his wealth was rendered tributary to that spirit deeply sighing. "Oh yes; for his poor son did so of boundless hospitality which it was the pride of the fret, lest his father should ever know what he had Welsh knight to display. Jolo, his favourite bard, done; for he said he was an angel upon earth, and he informs us that within the mansion were nine spacould not bear to think how he would grieve: for, poor cious halls, each furnished with a wardrobe containing Hitherto the disturbance in the principality had lad he loved his father and his mother too, though he clothing for his retainers. On a verdant bank near been chiefly considered as a private quarrel between did so badly." "Is his mother living?" "No; if the castle was a wooden building, erected on pillars, Gray and Glendower, and the English government she had, he would have been alive; but his evil and covered with tiles: it contained eight apartments, did not seem to be much concerned as to the issue. courses broke her heart; and it was because the man designed as sleeping chambers for such guests as Now, however, it assumed a more serious and importhe killed reproached him for having murdered his graced the castle with their company. In the imme- ant aspect, and became altogether an international mother, that he was provoked to murder him." diate vicinity of the residence was every requisite for contest. The proclamation issued by Owen alarmed "Poor, rash, mistaken youth! then he had provoca- the laudable purposes of good eating and drinking; Henry, who determined to march in person into tion ?" "Oh yes, the greatest; but he was very a park well stocked with deer; a warren, a pigeon- Wales to curb the boldness of the rebel chieftain, and sorry for what he had done; and it would have broken house, and heronry; a mill, an orchard, a vineyard; to crush, if possible, a revolt daily becoming more exyour heart to hear him talk of his poor father." "I with a preserve or stew, well filled at all times with tensive and momentous. For this purpose, he assemam glad I did not hear him," said Vernon hastily, pike, trout, and salmon. The hospitality of the chief- bled his troops, and hastened into Wales; but Glenand in a faltering voice (for he thought of Edgar). tain was so profuse, says the bard, that rich or poor, dower, whose forces were not yet sufficiently powerful, "And yet, sir, it would have done your heart good young or old, all were welcome to the good cheer of retreated to the fastnesses of Snowdon, and Henry too." "Then he had virtuous feelings, and loved his the castle. In short, Glendower lived in his castle was compelled to return to England, without having father amidst all his errors ?" Ay." "And I dare like a generous and wealthy lord of the soil; and hav- obtained any material advantage. In order, however, say his father loved him, in spite of his faults ?" "I ing imbibed from his English education, and from his to weaken his opponent, he made a grant of all the dare say he did," replied the man; "for one's children subsequent residence at court, a taste for a more civi- chieftain's estates in North and South Wales to his are our own flesh and blood, you know, sir, after alllised mode of existence than was then common in own brother, John Earl of Somerset; an act as inthat is said and done; and maybe this young fellow Wales, Glyndwrdwy afforded pastimes and amuse- effectual as it was irritating; for Glendower was so was spoiled in the bringing up." "Perhaps so," said ments of a more rare, and, consequently, of a more far from any danger of being dispossessed of them, Vernon, sighing deeply. "However, this poor lad costly character, than could be found elsewhere in the that, at this very time, he was daily growing more made a very good end." "I am very glad of that! principality. A marked and very prominent feature powerful by the accession of new forces. It is reand he lies here?" continued Vernon, gazing on the in Glendower's character at this time, was the en-markable, that the chieftain's revenue, in money, at spot with deepening interest, and moving nearer to it couragement and liberality which he extended to the as he spoke. "Peace be to his soul!-but was he not then persecuted and despised race of poets. It was dissected ?" "Yes; but his brothers got leave to this which contributed, more than any other circumhave the body after dissection. They came to me; stance, to render the chieftain an object of adoration and we buried it privately at night." "His brothers to the Welsh ; for one of the greatest calamities which came !—and who were his brothers ?" "Merchants, had happened to the Cambro-British, was the conin London; and it was a sad cut on them; but they tempt and misery into which this favoured race had took care that their father should not know it." "No!" cried Vernon, turning sick at heart. "Oh no; they wrote him word that his son was ill; then went to Westmoreland, and "Tell me," interrupted Vernon, gasping for breath, and laying his hand on his arm, "tell me the name of this poor youth!" "Why, he was tried under a false name, for the sake of his family; but his real name was Edgar Vernon !"

The agonised parent drew back, shuddered violently and repeatedly, casting up his eyes to heaven

fallen.

In the encouragement of the arts of poetry and music, as well as of those appertaining to the cultivation of the land, and in the exercise of all those openhearted courtesies in which the opulent and generous Welshman delights to indulge, including, of course, all the customary pastimes of the age, Owen Glendower passed his time during the period immediately consequent upon the downfall of his royal master. We are anxious to place his actual condition at this time before the reader, that he may perceive

this period, did not exceed three hundred marks, which shows that his rents in kind must have been very considerable.

Preparations were now made by the king to com. mence a regular war with the Welsh; and that they might have no plea of undue severity to urge, a proclamation was issued on the 30th of November, in the same year (1400), offering to protect all Welshmen who would repair to Chester, anu there make submis sion to Prince Henry, after which they should be at full liberty to return to their respective homes. Few, however, availed themselves of the monarch's clemency. The martial spirit of the Welsh was once more kindled into action; and Glendower found his cause warmly espoused by great numbers of his countrymen. Multitudes from all quarters flocked to his standard, and contributed to make him a most formidable opponent-so formidable, indeed, that Henry,

notwithstanding some very urgent affairs which had detained him at the capital, resolved to march again into Wales; and, entering the principality about the beginning of June 1401, he ravaged the country in his progress, but was finally forced to retreat, his men having suffered severely from fatigue and famine. The misfortunes which befell the king's army greatly encouraged the rebels; and a comet, which ushered in the year 1402, infused new spirit into the minds of a superstitious people, and imparted additional vigour to their exertions. A victory, also, which Glendower obtained about this time over a powerful force commanded by Lord Gray, strengthened their hopes of success, and gained the chieftain many friends and followers. By this event, Gray fell into the hands of the insurgents, and was secured in close confinement till a ransom of six thousand marks, and, in accordance with the rude policy of the age, a promise to marry one of Owen's daughters, released bim from captivity. So elevated were the Welsh with these simultaneous successes, that, if we may believe the prejudiced Holinshed, they were "uplifted with high pride, and their wicked and presumptuous attempts were marvellously increased." Atall events, the Welsh patriot now extended his designs, and plundered the domains of all such as were inimical to him, spreading fire and sword through the lands of his opponents. He revenged, also, in some degree, the indignities inflicted upon his royal master, the ill-fated Richard, for whom he seems to have entertained strong feelings of regard and commiseration. John Trevor, Bishop of St Asaph, who had voted for the deposition of that unfortunate king, became a marked object of his vengeance; and the cathedral, episcopal palace, and canons' houses belonging to the see, were ransacked and destroyed. A victory at Bryn-glâs, over the troops of Sir Ed. ward Mortimer, whom he took prisoner, induced the king to march once more against the Welsh, with an army divided into three portions, which were to rendezvous respectively at Shrewsbury, Hereford, and Chester, on the 27th of August. Glendower beheld these formidable preparations without dismay, and continued to devastate the country, destroying the principal towns in Glamorganshire, the inhabitants of that district having refused to embrace his cause, and receiving from all other parts of Wales fresh succours and supplies.

At the time appointed, Henry and his generals advanced towards the principality, and Glendower, too prudent to hazard an engagement with a force so superior in every respect to his own, again retired to the fastnesses among the mountains, driving the cattle from the plains, and destroying every means by which the enemy could procure food for themselves or forage for their horses. The English, willing to conceal their shame, attributed the cause of their ill success to the incantations of the British chieftain, who, as Holinshed expresses it, "through art magic (as was thought) caused such foul weather of winds, tempest, rain, snows, and hail, to be raised for the annoyance of the king's army, that the like had not been heard of." Perhaps Glendower, as well to infuse terror into his foes as to give his own people a more exalted notion of his powers, might politicly insinuate his skill in spells and charms. This species of credulity was in full vigour at the time, and it is not improbable that the mountain-chief might have endeavoured to influence his followers by pretending to a proficiency in the mystic arts of sorcery and divination.

had unquestionably a preferable title to the crown.
So confident were the rebel chieftains of success,
that they determined beforehand to divide the em.
pire between them, so that, when they had subdued
their opponents, no discord might arise as to a di-
vision of the booty. Henry Percy was to possess
the district north of the Trent; Sir Edward Mortimer
all the country from the Trent and Severn to the
eastern and southern limits of the island; and Glen-
dower the whole of Wales, westward from the Severn.
It was on this occasion that Owen, to animate his
followers, reminded them of an ancient bardic pro.
phecy, which predicted the fall of Henry, under the
name of Moldwarp, or "cursed of God's own mouth ;"
and to revive those pleasing and heroic sentiments
which are always associated in the mind of a Briton
with the achievements of the mighty Uthyr Pendra.
gon (the father of the immortal Arthur), he adopted
the title of the Dragon; Percy was styled the Lion,
and Mortimer the Wolf: and, now in the meridian
of his glory, he assembled the states of the principa-
lity at Machynlleth, in Montgomeryshire, where he
was formally crowned and acknowledged Prince of
Wales.*

The affairs of Owen Glendower now bore so pros.
perous an aspect, that Charles, king of France, entered
into an alliance with him, and compensated, in a slight
degree, for the loss of the gallant and high-spirited
Hotspur, who fell in the battle of Oswestry about a
year before. But he did not reap any very extensive
advantages from this union. When it was contract-
ed, he appears to have arrived at the very acme of
his career, and the crisis was any thing but favour-
able. Although fortune had hitherto smiled upon
him, the time was not far distant when he was to ex.
perience her capricious mutability; for, in an engage-
ment between a party of his adherents (in number
about eight thousand), and some English troops, the
former were defeated with great loss. To repair this
misfortune, Glendower instantly dispatched his son
Gruffydd with a strong force; and another battle was
fought five days afterwards at Mynydd y Pwll Melyn,
in Brecknockshire, when the Welsh again sustained
a defeat, the prince's son being taken prisoner, and
his brother Tudor slain. The latter resembled the
prince so closely, that it was at first reported that
Glendower himself had fallen; but on examining the
body, it was found to be without a wart over the eye,
by which the brothers were distinguished from each

other.

After this defeat, many of the patriot's followers deserted him, and he was compelled to conceal himself in caves and desert places; from which he occa sionally ventured forth to visit a few trusty friends, who still adhered to him, and who supported him with food and other necessaries.+

in which he lived, he was, in every respect, a very important and extraordinary character, and possessed a rare combination of physical as well as moral excellencies. He was bold, active, ambitious, and brave; he had the will to dare, and the power to do," and he possessed no inconsiderable portion of military skill. He was hospitable to profuseness, the patron and liberal encourager of bards, the protector of the injured, the father and the friend of his devoted dependents. In his friendships he was eager, confiding, and faithful even unto death; in his enmities, he was unforgiving, cruel, and revengeful. In his general character, he was patriotic, enthusiastic, irascible, and impetuous, so that in him were combined all the characteristics of the warm-hearted Cambro-Briton; and his gallant spirit, unsubdued to the last, achieved those exploits which are familiar to this day to the mountain-peasant of Merionethshire. After his death, the Welsh endured the miseries of an enslaved people for upwards of a century, when they were at length placed by Henry VIII. on a level with the people of England, and the commencement was made of that prosperity which they have since enjoyed.*

RESIDENCE OF EUROPEANS IN THE HIMALAYA MOUNTAINS. IT is a very obvious natural fact, that coldness of the atmosphere increases in proportion to the height from grounds on the level of the sea; wherefore, as we ascend mountains, the warmth of the summer sun diminishes, and, climbing aloft, we at length attain the region of snow, or a climate resembling that of countries situated near the pole. This fact, we believe, is taken advantage of to a considerable extent in both the West and East Indies, but particularly in the latter, as a means of obtaining a temporary escape from the evils of a climate to which the residents are not inured. Along the northern boundary of the vast region of Hindostan, there is a range of mountains, higher than any other on the surface of the globe, and called the Himalaya Mountains, from the Indian word "heem," signifying snow, some of their peaks being perpetually clothed with ice and snows. In some places these mountains have been ascended by travellers to the height of 19,411 feet above the level of the sea; but even at this height they were a considerable distance from the loftiest summits, which were conjectured to be 22,000 feet in altitude. Along the sides and within the ravines or glens of the mountains are experienced all the various gradations of climate, It is possible that our chieftain's career would have from extreme heat to extreme cold, with a correspondterminated without further hostilities, had not his new ally, the king of France, afforded him assistance.ing variation of vegetable growth. At 12,000 feet are found immense forests of pines; villages with naA fleet, carrying an army of twelve thousand men, sailed from Brest, and reached Wales after a favourtive inhabitants are situated at a height of 13,000 able voyage. But this succour, seasonable and li- feet; above these altitudes, vegetation gradually di. beral as it was, seemed only to prolong the war, with- minishes in strength, bushes only grow, and finally out being eventually of any important service. Glen- no species of verdure is seen but that of lichens upon dower never perfectly recovered the defeat of Mynydd the rocks. The establishment of encampments by y Pwll Melyn. From that time he acted chiefly on Europeans among these distant and lofty mountains, the defensive, or meditated nothing more than mere for the purpose of procuring a restoration of health, marauding excursions: his followers were daily foris described in an article in the Asiatic Journal for saking him, and he was at length obliged to seek reThe Scots now took advantage of the king's ab- fuge among the mountains, from whence he never sence from the capital, and, under the command of emerged to perform any exploit of consequence. the renowned Archibald Douglas, surnamed Tyne-world it was," says an old annalist, "to see his quoman, invaded England with an army of thirteen thou- tidian removing, his painful and busy wandering, his sand men. It is probable that they acted in concert troublesome and uncertain abiding, his continual mo. with the Welsh. Be this as it may, the revolt in the tion, his daily peregrination in the desert felles and north was of no small advantage to Glendower, for craggy mountains of that barren, unfertile, and dethis event, and the adverse state of the weather, con- populate country." Notwithstanding his ill fortune, tributed to compel Henry once more to relinquish his however, he was still considered so important an enedesign of reducing the Welsh rebels; and, for the my, that Henry V. condescended to propose terms for third time, he quitted the principality without having a cessation of hostilities; and a treaty to this effect accomplished any part of his purpose. was concluded a short time before his death, which happened on the 20th of September 1415, and afterwards renewed with his son Meredydd, on the 24th of February in the year following. This, let us observe, contradicts the general opinion that the Cambrian patriot died in extreme distress, "lacking meat to sustain nature, and for mere hunger and lack of food miserably pining away." It was immediately after the defeat of Mynydd y Pwll Melyn that he experienced those calamities usually attributed to a later period of his life; and we have every reason to suppose that he died-broken, indeed, in body, but unsubdued in spirit. As to the miserable deprivations alluded to by Hall and other chroniclers, they must have been merely imaginary, as his death took place at the house of one of his daughters, who had married a wealthy knight of Herefordshire. The Welsh accounts state that he was buried in the churchyard of Monnington, in the above-named county, although there is now neither monument nor memorial of any kind to mark the spot where his bones were laid.

"A

"Three times did Henry Bolingbroke make head Against the Welsh; thrice from the banks of Wye, And sandy-bottom'd Severn, did they send Him bootless back, and weather-beaten home." The crown of England now began to totter on the brow of the usurper Bolingbroke; for, in addition to his disasters in Wales, the powerful and wealthy family of the Percies conspired to throw off its allegiance to Henry. A dispute between the king and the Earl of Northumberland appears to have been the primary cause of this disaffection; and, perhaps, the desire of becoming entirely independent might have contributed in no small degree to the same effect. At all events, be the causes what they may, this family and its numerous adherents joined Glendower, and added very materially to the power of the Welsh. The rebels gained another very important ally this year-Sir Edward Mortimer, whom, we have already mentioned, Glendower had taken prisoner at the battle of Bryn-glas. He procured the alliance of this knight, whom he had treated with great kindness and liberality since his capture, by insinuating that it might be in his power to seat the representative of his house upon the throne of his ancestors-a temptation not to be withstood by the brave and ambitious captive. is still to be seen; it forms part of the stables of the principal inn Glendower, therefore, Sir Edward Mortimer, and the gallant Percy, entered into a confederacy to overthrow the house of Lancaster, and to advance to the sovereignty of England the nephew of Mortimer, who

Thus died Owen Glendower, after an eventful life of sixty-six years. Considering the gloom of the age The building in which this memorable Synod was convened, at Machynlleth.

There is a cavern near the seaside in the romantic and wild district of Celynin, in Merionethshire, still called Ogov Owain, or the Cave of Owen. He was supported here by his kinsman, Ednyfed ab Aaron, the representative of the royal tribe of Ednowain ab Bradwen,

April 1835, from which we make the following ex

tract:

"The occupation of elevated tracts of country in various parts of India, and the erection of houses in which Europeans, whose health has suffered from the extreme heat of the plains, may enjoy all the advantages of a change of climate, forms an entirely new feature in Anglo-Indian life. There are three stations in the Himalaya-Simlah, Landour, and Mussouree-which are much resorted to by nearly all classes of Europeans belonging to the Bengal presidency: the latter has been formed into a sanitarium, or place of abode for convalescent British soldiers during the hot months. The establishment of a depôt for those invalids whose constitutions have suffered, either through intemperance, or a long period of service, has not been found to answer so completely as it was expected when once the health has been entirely broken down, nothing but a voyage to Europe, and a protracted residence in a cold country, will be of any avail; and as provision has not yet been made against the severity of the cold, in the wintry season, in these mountainous regions, few people at present are enabled to remain there long enough to derive any material benefit from a change of climate. The instant the convalescents descend into the plains, their complaints return; and the government has seriously contemplated the abandonment of the project, as far as it regards invalid soldiers, whom it is less expensive to send to Europe.

:

The time in all probability is approaching, in which British troops will no longer be exposed to the inconvenience resulting from the extreme heat of a tropical sun; a design has been entertained of bringing up the whole of the European soldiery to the hilly districts; and though this design cannot be accomplished immediately, the difficulties in the way of it

Abridged from an article in the Retrospective Review (vol. xiii.), which seems to have been compiled with great care from authentic documents, and particularly from an old manuscript in the Mostyn collection.