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Column for the Boys.

MY DEAR LITTLE BOYS-Among my various friendly addresses to you, I do not remember having attempted to impress upon you with sufficient force, the danger which you are in of acquiring and nourishing prejudices or views of a narrow-minded and ungenerous character. A narrow-minded feeling is not perhaps in all instances actively vicious, but it should be, if possible, shunned as the source of much disquietude in society, and as frequently leading to that which is injurious both to our own interests and the interests of others.

Young persons who remain in a state of comparative ignorance from want of proper mental cultivation, are usually impregnated with all kinds of absurd prejudices and evil propensities. They have the most ridiculous fears, the most narrow-minded notions. Education at school is understood to be beneficial in stripping away the natural errors of the pupil; but unless the usual routine of school studies be followed up by the perusal of the works of intelligent authors, and unless the young man learn to judge of the actions of mankind by the extensively applicable rule of CHARITY, elementary education does not completely fulfil the end for which it is designed.

One of the first prejudices which a boy acquires, is one of self-love. It is the notion that he is the best, the cleverest, the most knowing, and, if chastised for misconduct, the worst-used, of all boys whatever. He has an idea that all mankind should bow down and worship him, or at least minister to his desires without regard to either one thing or another. His next prejudice is, that the place where he was born and dwells is superior in excellence to all other places in the country. His third great leading prejudice is, that the country to which he belongs is the greatest and most-to-be-lauded country in the whole world: he believes that there is no country like it; that it could fight and beat any two nations on the globe; that the people of other countries are a poor, shabby, ignorant race, not nearly so strong or so wise as the people of his country, and are only fit to be despised; and that his country, in short, is the essence of every thing that is excellent and admirable. Now, my dear young friends, all this is the result of sheer narrow-mindedness and want of knowledge.

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nest, pious, and innocent in their enjoyments, delight-
ing chiefly in the contemplation of nature, and the
attributes of the Deity. They have, it seems, no great
hospitals for poor, or for education, as in this country,
their rich men preferring to go about relieving the
needy with their own hands rather than leaving money
for the erection of splendid edifices. They likewise
chase, and kindly treat for the remainder of their ex-
seek out poor o'd distressed slaves, whom they pur-
istence. All this, you see, shows fine traits of feeling;
and should convince you, that, even among Turks,
and what are called heathens, there exist principles
of virtue, and a sense of moral responsibility.

By reading the works of travellers and historians, and comparing the facts detailed one with another, you will, I have no doubt, purify your minds from many such prejudices as I have here exemplified. Without reading, you will remain in a hopeless state of ignorance. Make a point of occupying a portion of your leisure hours in reading--not reading frivolous trashy novels, but the productions of respectable travellers, historians, and other writers. Of the various branches of literature which may thus engage your attention, and raise generous emotions in your mind, I consider that you will reap most benefit from the reading of books of history. Unfortunately, most historians dwell too much on descriptions of battles and other military achievements: all such matters, however, you will pass over, in sorrow for the mass of suffering which has from first to last been endured, and devote your attention principally to the causes which conspired to effect the rise and decline of empires, kingdoms, and states-the gradual improvement of the human mind-the origin, progress, and influence of arts and sciences, literature and commercethe manner in which the privileges you enjoy were established-and how the civilisation and refinement displayed in cities, courts, and senates, rose from small beginnings to their present condition. The reading of these matters will furnish you with an inexhaustible fund of entertainment and instruction, and will have a wonderful tendency in clearing away those illiberal prejudices which narrow the mind, deaden the feelings, and cloud the understanding. I beg to conclude these observations with a quotation from an excellent author, Bigland, whose letters on history form one of the best works which you could peruse. "Certain prepossessions (says he) take hold of our minds, and domineer over our reason, from our infancy, from the first dawn of thought. They are inspired by systems and establishments, by received customs, by current opinions, and by the conversation and the authority of those who are the nearest and dearest to us, and have the greatest influence over us. If the boys who think Every nation, every religious sect, every class of society, has prejudices peculiar to itself: these so foolishly would reflect a little, or read a little, or prejudices are strengthened by various circumstances; knew a little more of mankind, they would perceive they acquire a deeper root from the books we read, that such notions are both weak and absurd. They the country we live in, the persons with whom we would know that there are boys far cleverer and boys converse, the station of life in which we are placed, and a thousand other incidents. If we should select much worse used than themselves. They would know a certain number of children, of capacities as nearly that the place of their birth or residence is not only equal as possible (for a perfect equality in this reno better than hundreds of other places, but perhaps spect does not exist), if we should give them all the very much inferior in many points. They would like- same education, and place them in the same station wise know that their country is not the best of all of life, whatever trifling difference might be observed in their understandings or acquirements owing to the possible countries: that there are nations who are as different degrees of their application and intellectual virtuous, as courageous, as wise, as worthy of esteem exertion, or other incidental circumstances, we should as their own, if not a great deal more so. still find in all of them (more or less) the same views, the same prejudices, the same current opinions and general ideas. But if, on the contrary, they should be differently educated and disposed of if one should be made a soldier, another a sailor, the third an husbandman, the fourth a merchant-if another should be placed in a monastery, and enter into one of the religious orders of the church of Rome, another become a minister of some Protestant church-if another should be sent into a Mahometan country, and, after a suitable education, become a mufti of the Mussulman religion--if another should be educated among the Brahmins of India, and the mind of another be formed among the Lamas of Thibettian Tartary, or among the disciples of Confucius, or the worshippers of Foe, in China or Japan, we should then see in their different prejudices, current opinions and general ideas, the full force and influence of external and adventitious circumstances upon the human intellect. If the minds of men could be rendered visible, what different pictures would those persons in their maturer years display! They would exhibit in the most luminous, the most distinct, and the most striking point of view, the full power and effect of national, political, and religious prejudices upon the human mind. These prejudices, diversified by a thousand different shades, some more faintly, others more strongly marked, influence, in a greater or less degree, almost every individual of the human race; but more especially the vulgar and illiterate, the slaves of systems, opinions, and fashions; and their influence is hostile to the improvement of the human mind, as well as to true religion and Christian charity.

There is another prejudice which young people are apt to acquire; it is the prejudice of class or rank. Country boys affect to despise town boys, because they are ignorant of many things connected with the country; and town boys similarly look down upon country boys, because they are perhaps less neatly dressed, or know less of some kind of public or city amusements. Poor boys, also, affect a contempt for boys who belong to wealthier parents; a prejudice which is repaid by the contempt which the sons of the rich have for those who are in poverty. All this is exceedingly bad. Every such prejudice has a tendency to increase in virulence, till at length whole classes of grown men are found holding mean and unworthy opinions of each other.

It is my cordial wish that you should habituate your selves to the practice of suspending your opinions of any body, of any class, or of the people of any country, till you have read a good deal, gained experience of the world, or have had just cause for forming a mature judgment. I remember believing, along with my juvenile companions, that the French were a puny race of men, not nearly so stout, or well made, or well dressed, as the English and Scotch. I was, indeed, told this by persons who ought to have known better. I can now say, from observation, that the French are by no means the miserable race they have been represented to be. The people who crowd the streets of Paris are as good looking and as well dressed as the people of London or Edinburgh. It is time, therefore, that these aspersions and prejudices should be done away with, both among young and old. Every one Nothing has a greater tendency to eradicate narrow among us is also told what a bad class of men the Turks and illiberal prejudices than a general acquaintance are they are believed to possess no good qualities with those circumstances and events, which, at difwhatever. Now, this is likewise an aspersion on ferent periods, have taken place in the world, and national character. A late enlightened traveller, who which have, in so decisive a manner, determined the was not carried away by prejudices, describes the Turks condition and opinions of mankind; and this knowas possessing many excellent qualities. He says they ledge the judicious perusal of ancient and modern are remarkably charitable, not greedy of wealth, ho-history communicates. Hence arise extensive views

and just ideas, with which the spirit of persecution and intolerance is incompatible. While the prejudiced individual breathes nothing but intolerance and persecution against [or, at least, speaks spitefully or disrespectfully of] those who happen to differ from himself, the enlightened and benevolent consider the different nations of mankind as living under different dispensations, and resign them all into the hands of that Divine Being, who rules and disposes all things as he thinks fit, and in a manner which our feeble reason is not able to comprehend."

MY ISLAND HOME.

My verse's tuneless jingle
With Thule's sounding tides shall mingle,
While to the ear of wondering wight
Upon the distant headland height,
Soften'd by murmur of the sea,

The rude sound seems like harmony!--SCOTT.
My Island Home! I love thee well,
Despite the rugged shore;

Thy rocks of gladsome moments tell,
Fled to return no more.
They speak of joys' unclouded light-
Of sorrows, scarce less dear;
Of laughing moments' rapid flight-
Affliction's balmy tear.

My Island Home! I love thee well,
Despite thy barren plains:
They'll tell of early hours of bliss,
While memory remains.

'Tis true they also speak of grief;
Yet not for aught below

Would I forego those dreams of youth,
Though early tinged by woe.

My Island Home! I love thee well,
Despite thy cloudy skies;

In thy calm twilight's clear-obscure
What varied thoughts arise!
Even thy wild storms possess a charm ;
Thy ocean's circling foam

To Thule's child can bring no dread-
They speak of peace and home.

My Island Home! my childhood's home!
Beyond far fairer lands,

'Tis thou, despite thine aspect wild,
That all my love demands:
The visions of the lov'd and lost
Are blended with each scene;
And memory lives to linger o'er
Each spot where bliss hath been.

Lerwick.

C. G.

A PRUDENT GULL.-The family of H. Peter, Esq. of Harlyn, on the north coast of Cornwall, one morning at breakfast-time, threw a piece of bread out of the window to a stray sea-gull, which happened to have made its appearance at the moment: the bird ate the bread and flew away. The next day, at the same hour, he appeared again, was again fed, and departed. From this time, for a period of eighteen years, the gull never failed to show himself at the window every morning at the same hour, and to stalk up and down till he had received his meal (a basin of bread and milk), when he instantly took his leave till the next morning. The only time he omitted to do this was during the period of the pilchards being on the coast, which lasted about six weeks in each year; and at this time he omitted his morning visit. At length he brought one of his own species with him to partake of his meal; and they continued to come together daily for about a fortnight, when they suddenly disappeared, and were never seen afterwards.—Jesse's Gleanings in Natural History.

A FOOLISH CUSTOM REPROVED.-Sir Gilbert Heathcote being one night in company with the minister, Sir Robert Walpole, at his house, and being asked what he would like for supper, made free to mention beef steaks and oyster sauce. After supper an hour or two was spent in conversation over a glass of good wine: at last Sir Gilbert rose to bid his friend good-night; but in passing into the hall, he found it lined with the liveried attendants of the minister, to whom he now turned and asked, "Pray, Sir Robert, be so good as to point out which of these I am to pay for my beef steak?" Sir Robert, taking the hint, gave the signal for the servants to withdraw imme diately.

IMITATION.--Sir Joshua Reynolds continually de precated imitation, as the ruin of rising ability, as an impediment which if talent raises for itself, at once and for ever limits its progress. "We have a host of players of the Garrick school," said he, "and not one of them can ever rise to eminence, because they are of the Garrick school, If one man always walks behind another, how can he ever equal him, stiil more get before him ?"-Monthly Magazine.

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Complete sets of the work from its commencement, or num. bers to complete sets, may at all times be obtained from the Publishers or their Agents.

Stereotyped by A. Kirkwood, Edinburgh.
Printed by Bradbury and Evans (late T. Davison). Whitefriars.

DINBURG

JOURNAL

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

No. 198.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1835.

the peace and tranquillity of a country that knows not guilt? Are we to fly from an alphabet class as we should from a pestilence, while we hug the firstform boys to our heart of hearts? Are we to expect that, when our country is ruined by her degenerate | sons-children, servants, mechanics, and other individuals possessing "a little learning," are to be exclusively found in the ranks of her destroyers, while all who know more than that two and two make four are to be looking on in despair ?

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PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

us to pursue good and shun evil, to promote our own happiness and that of our fellow-creatures, we learn either in vain or to our loss. But though learning, if it set up for itself other objects, may be "a dangerous thing," it is not so with a reference to amount or degree; it is so only in reference to kind. Evil learn..

good, while the intellectual improvement of a nature inclined originally to evil, and unprovided with moral checks, can only confer greater powers of mischief. If it were generally known, however, that the moral faculties require a separate cultivation from the intellectual ; and if a separate but corresponding cultivation were accordingly, under whatever circumstances, given to them—in the domestic circle, at school, in the management of private study, and in the lectureroom-no learning, except it were of a kind more pernicious than any now in vogue amongst mankind, could be attended with evil consequences. The true object would then be attained.

A LITTLE LEARNING. addition at one's finger-ends, while there is safety in THERE are some popular sayings which have only fractions? Is there a danger in the first dozen proenough of plausibility about them to gain a dubious blems of Euclid, while there is none in those which respect and exercise an imperfect authority among follow? Is the Ass's Bridge a kind of line of demankind, and yet, though not sound enough to be marcation between a land of terror and a land of seconfidently or generally acted on, are capable of pre-curity? Is an infant school necessarily a scene of senting some little obstruction to the progress of truth. | flesh-shaking fears, while Eton and Harrow displaying will produce evil, and good learning will produce A few of these, I regret to say, are to be traced to the most eminent of our poets. To Pope we are indebted for the sapient maxim, that " a little learning is a dangerous thing." The moral bard, I believe, designed this expression to have a particular application only; and he is not therefore chargeable with any blame for having put it into circulation. It has been caught up, however, by the world, and we hear it quoted on all sorts of occasions, jocularly, half seriously, and whole seriously, being peculiarly useful to those sage and well-informed persons, who pay mankind the compliment of thinking that the bulk of them ought to be kept in a state of ignorance. "A little learning is a dangerous thing!" there is a terrifying sententiousness and mysteriousness in the apothegm, highly suitable for the purposes of those who do not find any advantage in coming to particulars. When aided by a judicious use of the words "smattering" and "smatterers," it can hardly be resisted.

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But what is a little learning? The wisest of uninspired men said that the utmost he could know was that he knew nothing. And it is no insult to the world to declare, that as yet but a small part of what is knowable is known. Even so primarily necessary a piece of know- INSENSIBILITY OF ANIMALS TO PAIN. ledge as the relation of man and his mind to the rest MR STODDART's proposition, in his instructive and of nature, is only beginning to dawn upon us. At entertaining little work on angling, that fishes do not this rate, the high and mighty persons who talk of feel pain in being hooked, is somewhat startling, and the danger of a little learning, must be possessed of such as will have set many persons a-thinking on the very little learning themselves. Their acquisitions, nature of the nervous system of the pike, trout, and compared to what they might acquire, are perhaps other finny inhabitants of the waters. Mr Stoddart not more than as 3 to 100, while the learning of those being only a practical angler, and no casuist, does not at whom they sneer, is as 1. Now, suppose that attempt to explain why fish are thus insensible to what there existed a person possessing the whole hundred, is called pain; leaving that to physiologists, he conand suppose Mr Three complaining to that indivi- tents himself with, simply, what he has observed in dual of danger from Mr One. What would Lord the course of his experience in angling. Speaking of Hundred think and say? "You poor miserable frac-pike-fishing, he remarks" Although the pike is often tion !" we can conceive him exclaiming; "you imp nice and suspicious, in places where trout abound, of ignorance! you vain wretch, who hardly know still, when provoked, he becomes bold and unwary, any thing, and nothing worth knowing, and yet treating your presence as no constraint upon his tem think yourself at the very summit of perfection! If per and appetites. He will follow the bait to your you look down upon the honourable struggles of an very feet, and should it escape him, will retire a yard ignorance only a shade deeper than your own, but or two, waiting eagerly for its reappearance. When more modest, with what feeling am I to regard your angry, he erects his fins in a remarkable manner, as learning, which is not a thirtieth of mine? What the lion doth his mane, or the porcupine his quills; deeper dye of the passion of contempt is to be em- moreover, the pike appears careless of pain, if, indeed, ployed in expressing what I think of you? You an- fishes in general feel it to any great degree. We have ticipate danger, too, from knowledge only a third part actually landed one of these fish, cooped him alive in of your own: am I to anticipate thirty times more our creel, and when, by some negligence of ours, he danger from you? No; I anticipate thirty times made his escape into the water, have succeeded a less-for I scorn you thirty times more. Get you second time in securing him. On another occasion, gone, you paltry thing, and never let me see your we remember having a part of our tackle, consisting face again, till, as the least possible reparation for of a large double gorge-hook, dressed upon brass wire, your insolence, you have made poor One as well-in- | carried off by a pike ; and yet, upon renewing it, the formed as yourself!" aggressor returned to the charge, and was taken. The former hook we discovered, gorged by him in such a manner as must, we thought, not only have suffocated any other animal, but done so by the medium of the most exquisite internal agony.

Now, the plain truth is, that there is no danger in any degree of learning. Every thing must have a beginning. The child must totter before it can walk, and prattle before it can talk. As wise would it be to apprehend serious mischief from the tottering and prattling of a child, as from the first steps in learning. Is there any peculiar ferocity in the first classes of our academies, resulting from their imperfect instruction, and which experiences a gradual decline in the ensuing years of their course? Is there an atmosphere of wickedness about Ruddiman's Rudiments, which does not hang over Livy and Horace? Are the boobies, whose learning is usually little enough, supposed to contract therefrom a wildness not to be found in the duces? Can those gentle beings be suspected to have, like Macbeth, "something dangerous" beneath all that tranquillity of demeanour which so much distinguishes them? If they have, what hypocritical dogs they must be, and how innocently, after all, do they contrive to live! Many men have risen, by the acquirement of knowledge, from the very humblest and most ignorant condition; some to be heads of colleges, others to be dignitaries of the church, others eminent teachers; but in none of the works which give an account of their early years, though some of these are written with great It can scarcely be necessary to argue this question minuteness and fidelity by themselves, are we told of in a more serious manner. The blessing of knowany viciousness of nature having broke forth in them, ledge, in all its shapes and degrees, is so fully estiat the time when they first handled their dictionaries. mated by the bulk of mankind, that the clamours of Many artizans and clerks now possess "a little learn- that small minority of supposedly learned but really Judging from these facts, and others we shall preing," or rather a little knowledge (for the distinction ignorant persons, who think that it is necessarily ac- sently relate, it seems to us, that, according to the is material), and I own it would puzzle me to tell companied by danger, may well be despised. It may arrangements of Nature, fishes are possessed of no what danger they have incurred, or threaten to their be proper, however, to take this opportunity of corvery acute sense of pain, and are generally defective neighbours, by knowing that an eclipse of the sun recting certain popular notions respecting knowledge. in that structure of emotions, upon which suffering arises from the intervention of the moon, while ig- Its occasionally failing in all its degrees to produce and pleasure are separately dependent. Those who norant of the sublime geometry which calculates the perfectly laudable conduct, while virtue is sometimes hold angling to be a cruel sport, are, we maintain, laws of the motion of the latter body. If there be found to reside with ignorance, is perhaps one of the without argument, until they discover to us the clue various degrees of danger in various degrees of learn- principal stumblingblocks in the way of the more gene by which to trace those capabilities in fish enabling ing, I should like to have a graduated scale by which ral diffusion of knowledge. It ought to be thoroughly them to endure the great extremes of heat and cold, those various degrees should be indicated: I should understood that the cultivation of the intellectual fa- to which water is liable. Should it be answered, they like to know when a man might be trusted in arith-culties, though likely to be favourable to the general are cold-blooded-that is the best reason why they are metic, when in geometry, and when in natural philo- | conduct, is not necessarily so, and may often advance not easily affected by any other sort of pain, such, for sophy. At what point in heraldry, for instance, does a a great way with not only no improvement, but a po- | instance, as is inflicted by the hook. It will be asked, man cease to be liable to fall into criminal propensities, sitive deterioration, of the moral sentiments. Know-however, why do fish struggle so vehemently, and and begin to recover his pristine innocence? But ledge is only power when combined with morality. If make such vigorous efforts to escape? Merely from can it really be that there is any peril in having simple ❘ the ruling aim of our acquirements be not to enable a love of freedom, and impatience of control, which

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desire after liberty is common to all breathing creatures, from the fly upwards.

And as to trout, we may mention, that the same insensibility to pain has been practically proved to us to be theirs, in common with the pike. We have caught them with large hooks, and even minnowtackles, encased in their mouths and stomachs; nor did they seem to suffer any great inconvenience, seeing that their appetites were not impaired, nor their condition rendered less healthy. On one occasion, we remember losing a small fly-hook upon some willows, which overhung the water; and on the evening of the same day, angling near the spot, we caught a trout with our identical fly sticking in his jaw. We remember also, when lashing the Yarrow behind a companion, he having lost his cast of hooks upon a fish, we were so fortunate as to entrap it, and recover his flies, not ten minutes after. The trout had the tackle fastened to his body, dragging after him at least five yards of gut."

Whatever may be the degree of nervous insensibility of fishes, it is a well-known truth in natural history, that a vast number of insects are not only insensible to acute pain, but are capable of living and enjoying themselves after they have been mutilated, and even cut in pieces. On this subject of interest, the following lucid observations occur in the article ANIMAL KINGDOM, in the new edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica, now in course of publication :"In proportion as the brain decreases in size, the medullary matter appears to collect in other parts of the body, or in the cords which emanate from the brain; so that many animals with much sinaller brains bave nerves more voluminous in proportion to their bodies than those of man. This medullary substance, the medium of sensation, is, in the human race especially, collected into one principal mass, as the engine of thought and reflection, the intellectual attributes by which man is characterised; but it becomes dispersed in the inferior animals, or ramified over the whole body in the form of ganglions or nervous chords, without any preponderating superior brain. It is owing to this dispersion of the nervous system into these small separate centres in the polypus and other tribes, that almost every portion of the body, when separated from the rest, is capable of becoming a distinct animal, and of assuming an independent existence.

newed its efforts to escape. This fact being mentioned
to Mr Haworth, the well-known English entomologist,
he confirmed the truth of the remarkable insensibility
to pain manifested by insects, by narrating an addi-
tional circumstance. Being in a garden with a friend
who firmly believed in the delicate susceptibility of
these creatures, he struck down a large dragonfly, and
in so doing unfortunately severed its long abdomen
from the rest of the body. He caught a small fly,
which he presented to the mutilated insect, by which
it was instantly seized and devoured; and a second
was treated in the same manner. Mr Haworth then
contrived to form a false abdomen, by means of a
slender portion of a geranium; and after this opera-
tion was performed, the dragonfly devoured another
small insect as greedily as before. When set at liberty,
it flew away with as much apparent glee as if it had
received no injury. It is a fact well known to prac-
tical entomologists, that large moths found asleep
during the daytime may be pinned to the trunks of
trees without their appearing to suffer such a degree
of pain as even to awake them. It is only on the ap-
proach of the evening twilight that they seek to free
themselves from what they must no doubt regard as
an inconvenient situation.

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under similar circumstances, if the finger be moved to it, will attempt to sting.'

That the acuteness of bodily suffering, even among the higher classes of the brute creation, is in some manner providentially subdued, and rendered so much less acute as not to be a fit subject of comparison with the suffering of the human race, is indeed evident from various phenomena, whatever the cause may be. The writer of this article has seen a turtle-dove (Columba risoria) which was so severely lacerated by a cat, that the contents of its stomach were torn out. The painfully excited sympathy of those who had long cherished the gentle creature was, however, in a great measure allayed by seeing the bird immediately afterwards proceed to pick up the fresh grains of barley which (till the aid of the surgeon was called in) continued to fall from its wounded paunch.

Considerations of the nature glanced at in the preceding paragraphs can never, of course, be so misconstrued as to afford any palliation to wanton or inconsiderate cruelty to the brute creation. The judges of the Areopagus who condemned to death the child whose amusement it had been to pluck out the eyes of quails, were regulated in their determination by the motives imputed to the young criminal, and which they deemed expressive of so cruel and pernicious a character, that in after-times he would assuredly offend the state. But had some great oculist, intent on the structure and physiology of the human eye, and engaged in a difficult course of experimental observation, by means of which the dim suffusion' which often veils the orbs of his fellow-men might be obviated or decreased, found himself under the necessity of having recourse to a somewhat similar operation, the case would have assumed another character, and the most sentimental philanthropist must have applauded the practice of the philosopher. So it is in a great measure with the pursuits of the naturalist. If the wonderful structure of the lower orders of creation cannot be studied or understood, or their infinitely varied forms held in remembrance, without hastening by a few days or hours the termination of that brief career which in truth scarcely ever meets with a strictly natural end, then is the student of nature, following out the principles of an elevating and intellectual pursuit, as well entitled to command a portion of animal life as he who, to pamper the refined grossness of a sensual appetite, bleeds his turkeys to death by cutting the roots of their tongues, boils crabs and lobsters alive, and swallows unsuspecting oysters by the score."

THE TWO BROTHERS,

AN IRISH TALE.*

The cruelty of zoological, especially of entomological pursuits, has too often been stated as an objection to the practical parts of the study of natural history. When an individual slaughters a hundred brace of grouse in a single day, we hear nothing of such an objection, possibly because the flavour of moor-game is very exquisite; and the reason of defence is good. But the tastes of men differ, and fortunately, as all have not the means of an equal gratification from the same source. 'Cruelty,' say Messrs Kirby and Spence, is an unnecessary infliction of suffering, when a person is fond of torturing or destroying God's creatures from mere wantonness, with no useful end in view; or when, if their death be useful and lawful, he has recourse to circuitons modes of killing them, where direct ones would answer equally well. This is cruelty, and this with you we abominate; but not the infliction of death when a just occasion calls for it. With respect to utility, the sportsman, who, though he adds indeed to the general stock of food, makes amusement his primary object, must surely yield the palm to the entomologist, who adds to the general Singular effects result from the dispersion of the stock of mental food, often supplies hints for useful brain into so many small and separate centres; and improvement in the arts and sciences, and the objects this class of phenomena also illustrates the analogy of whose pursuit, unlike that of the former, are prewhich exists between the lower animals and the vege- served, and may be applied to use for many years. table world. Among the superior creatures no repro- But in the view of those even who think inhumanity duction takes place except of the fluids, and of what- chargeable upon the sportsman, it will be easy to place ever partakes of the nature of the epidermis. Injury considerations which may secure the entomologist is repaired and superficial parts renewed, but nothing from such reproof. It is well known, that, in proresembling regeneration of important organs ever takes portion as we descend in the scale of being, the sensiplace. But it is otherwise with the inferior orders. bility of the objects that constitute it diminishes. The The tentacula of the polypus and of many molluscous tortoise walks about after losing its head; and the animals, the rays of the star-fish, the external mem-polypus, so far from being injured by the application bers of the salamander, and the entire head, with the of the knife, thereby acquires an extension of existeyes and antennæ of the snail, when cut off, are ence. Insensibility almost equally great may be found speedily renewed. in the insect world. This, indeed, might be inferred a priori, since providence seems to have been more prodigal of insect life than of that of any other order of creatures, animalcula perhaps alone excepted. No part of the creation is exposed to the attack of so many enemies, or subject to so many disasters; so that the few individuals of each kind which enrich the valued museum of the entomologist, many of which are dearer Many a fair-day have we witnessed in this quiet to him than gold or gems, are snatched from the ra- and thriving market town, and it is pleasant to go venous maw of some bird or fish, or rapacious insect, back in imagination to one of these hilarious festivals. would have been driven by the winds into the waters About twelve o'clock the fair-tide is full, when the and drowned, or trodden under foot by man or beasts; utmost activity in solid business prevails. For an for it is not easy in some parts of the year to set foot hour or two this continues. About three o'clock the to the ground without crushing these minute animals; tide is evidently on the ebb; business begins to slacken; and thus also, instead of being buried in oblivion, they and now it is that the people fall into distinct groups have a kind of immortality conferred upon them. Can for the purpose of social enjoyment. If two young it be believed that the beneficent Creator, whose ten- folk have been for some time "coortin' one another," der mercies are over all his works, would expose these the "bachelor," which in Ireland means a suitor, gehelpless beings to such innumerable enemies and in-nerally contrives to bring his friends and those of his juries, were they endued with the same sense of pain sweetheart together. The very fact of these acceptand irritability of nerve with the higher orders of ani- ing the "trate," on either side, or both, is a good mals?' Instead, therefore, of believing, and being omen, and considered tantamount to a mutual congrieved by the belief, that the insect we tread upon, sent of their respective connexions.

If the head of a mammiferous quadruped, or of a bird, is cut off, the consequences are of course fatal; but the most dreadful wounds that imagination can figure or cruelty inflict, have scarcely any destructive influence on the vital functions of many of the inferior creatures. Riboud stuck different beetles through with pins, and cut and lacerated others in the severest manner, without greatly accelerating death. Leeuwenhoeck had a mite which lived eleven weeks transfixed on a point for microscopical investigation. Vaillant caught a locust at the Cape of Good Hope, and after excavating the intestines, he filled the abdomen with cotton, and stuck a stout pin through the thorax, yet the feet and antenna were in full play after the lapse of five months. In the beginning of November, Redi opened the skull of a land-tortoise, and removed the entire brain. A fleshy integument was observed to form over the opening, and the animal lived for six months. Spallanzani cut the heart out of three newts, which immediately took to flight, leapt, swam, and executed their usual functions for forty-eight hours. M. Virey informs us, We have seen a salamander live two months, though deprived of its head by means of a ligature tied round the neck.' A decapitated beetle will advance over a table, and recognise a precipice on approaching the edge. Redi cut off the head of a tortoise, which survived eighteen days. Colonel Pringle decapitated several libellulæ or dragonflies, one of which afterwards lived for four months, and another for six; and, which seems rather odd, he could never keep alive those with their heads on above a few days.

In corporal sufferance, finds a pang as great

As when a giant dies,

the very converse is nearer the truth. Had a giant lost an arm or a leg,' continue the authors just quoted, or were a sword or spear run through his body, he would feel no great inclination for running about, dancing, or eating. Yet a tipula will leave half its legs in the hands of an unlucky boy who has endeavoured to catch it, and will fly here and there with as Some curious particulars connected with the great much agility and unconcern as if nothing had haptenacity of life in the lower animals, are mentioned pened to it; and an insect impaled upon a pin will by Mr Fothergill. A friend being employed one day often devour its prey with as much avidity as when in the pursuit of insects, caught a large yellow dragon- at liberty. Were a giant eviscerated, his body difly (Libellula varia), and had actually fastened it down vided in the middle, or his head cut off, it would be in his insect box, by thrusting a pin through the thorax, all over with him; he would move no more; he would before he perceived that the voracious creature held a be dead to the calls of hunger, or the emotions of fear, small fly, which still struggled for liberty, in its jaws. anger, or love. Not so our insects: I have seen the The dragonfly continued devouring its victim with common cockchafer walk about with apparent indifgreat deliberation, and without expressing either pain ference after some bird had nearly emptied its body of or constraint, and seemed totally unconscious of being its viscera; a humble bee will eat honey with greedipinned down to the cork, till its prey was devoured, ness though deprived of its abdomen; and I myself after which it made several desperate efforts to regain lately saw an ant, which had been brought out of the its liberty. A common flesh-fly was then presented nest by its comrades, walk when deprived of its head. to it, when it immediately became quiet, and ate the The head of a wasp will attempt to bite after it is sefly with greediness; when its repast was over, it re- | parated from the rest of the body; and the abdomen,

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THE village of Ballydhas was situated in as sweet a valley as ever gladdened the eye and the heart of man to look upon. Contentment, peace, and prosperity, walked step by step with its happy inhabitants; and the people were marked by a pastoral simplicity of manners, such as is still to be found in some of the remote and secluded hamlets of Ireland. Within two miles of the village stood Ballaghmore, the market town of the parish. It also bore the traces of peace and industry. Around it lay a rich fertile country, studded with warm homesteads, waving fields, and residences of a higher rank, at once elegant and fashionable.

Amidst such scenes as these, at the fair of Ballaghmore, several years ago, a party of the kind now alluded to was seen to enter a public-house. It was less numerous than is usual on such occasions, and consisted of a young man, a middle-aged woman, and her two daughters one grown, the other only about fifteen. Who is ha!-it is not necessary to inquire. Alley Bawn Murray! Gentle reader, bow with heartfelt respect to humble beauty and virtue! She is that widow's daughter, the pride of the parish, and the beloved of all who can appreciate goodness, affection, and filial piety. The child accompanying them is her sister, and that fine, manly, well-built, handsome youth, is even now pledged to the modest and beautiful girl. He is the son of a wealthy farmer, some time dead, and her mother is comparatively poor; but in purity, in truth, and an humble sense of religion, their hearts are each rich and each equal. Their history is very brief and simple. Felix O'Donnell was the son of a farmer, as we have said, sufficiently extensive and industrious to be wealthy, without possessing any of the vulgar pride which rude independence frequently engrafts upon the ignorant

Abridged from a tale in the Dublin University Magazine, S October 1834, by the author of "Traits and Stories of the Inash Peasantry."

and narrow-hearted. His family consisted of two sons and a daughter-Maura, the last-named, being the eldest, and Felix by several years the junior of his brother Hugh. Between the two brothers there was in many things a marked contrast of character, whilst in others there might be said to exist a striking similarity. Hugh was a dark-browed, fiery man when opposed, though in general quiet and inoffensive. His passions blazed out with fury for a moment, and only for a moment; for no sooner had he been borne by their vehemence into the commission of an error, than he became quickly alive to the promptings of a heart naturally affectionate and kind. In money transactions he had the character of being a hard man; yet were there many in the parish who could declare that they found him liberal and considerate. The truth was, that he estimated money at more than its just value, without having absolutely given up his heart to its influence. When a young man, though in good circumstances, he looked cautiously about him, less for the best or the handsomest wife than the largest dower. In the speculation, so far as it was pecuniary, he succeeded; but his domestic peace was overshadowed by the gloom of his own character, and not unfrequently disturbed by the violent temper of a wife who united herself to him with an indifferent heart.

His brother Felix, in all that was amiable and affectionate, strongly resembled him; but there the resemblance terminated. Felix was subject to none of his gloomy moods or violent outbursts of temper. He was manly, liberal, and cheerful-valued money at its proper estimate, and frankly declared that in the choice of a wife he would never sacrifice his happiness to acquire it.

"I have enough of my own," he would say; "and when I meet the woman that my heart chooses, whether she has fortune or not, that's the girl that I will bring to share it, if she can love me."

Felix and his sister both resided together; for after his father's death he succeeded to the inheritance that had been designed for him. Maura O'Donnell was in that state of life in which we feel it extremely difficult to determine whether a female is hopeless or not upon the subject of marriage. Her humours had begun to ferment; her temper became shrewish; still she loved Felix, whose good humour constituted him an excellent butt for her irascible sallies. He was her younger brother, too, of whom she was justly proud; and she knew that Felix, in spite of the pungency of her frequent reproofs, loved her deeply, as was evident by the many instances of his considerate attention in bringing her home presents of dress, and in contributing, as far as lay in his power, to her comfort. The courtship of Alley Bawn and Felix had arrived, on the fair-day of Ballaghmore, to a crisis which required decision on the part of the wooer. They went in, as we have shown the reader, to a publicnouse. Their conversation, which was only such as takes place in a thousand similar instances, we do not mean to detail. It was tender and firm on the part of Felix, and affectionate between him and her. With that high pride, which is only another name for humility, she urged him to forget her, "if it was not plasin' to his friends. You know, Felix," she continued, "that I am poor and you are rich, an' I wouldn't wish to be dragged into a family that couldn't respect me." Alley, dear," replied Felix, "I know that both Hugh and Maura love me in their hearts; and although they may make a show of anger in the beginnin', yet they'll soon soften, and will love you as they do me."

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"Well, Felix,” replied Alley, "my mother and you are present; if my mother says Í ought "I do, darling," said her mother; "that is, I can't feel any particular objection to it. Yet somehow my mind is troubled. I know that what he says is what will happen; but, for all that-och, Felix, aroon, there's something over me about this same match-I don't know-I'm willin' an' I'm not willin'."

They rose to depart; and as both families lived in the beautiful village of Ballydhas, which we have already described to the reader, of course their walk home was such as lovers could wish. The arrangements for their marriage were on that night concluded, and the mother, after some feebly-expressed misgivings, at which Felix and Alley laughed heartily, was induced to consent that on the third Sunday following they should be joined in wedlock. Had Felix been disposed to conceal his marriage from Hugh and Maura, at least until the eve of its occurrence, the publishing of their banns in the chapel would have, of course, disclosed it. When his sister heard that the arrangements were completed, she poured forth a torrent of abuse against what she considered the folly and simplicity of a mere boy, who allowed himself to be caught in the snares of an artful girl, with nothing but a handsome face to recommend her. Felix received all this with good humour, and replied only in a strain of jocularity to every thing she said.

Hugh, on the other hand, contented himself with a single observation. "Felix," said he, "I wont see you throw yourself away upon a girl that is no fit match for you. If you can't take care of yourself, I will. Once for all, I tell you that this marriage must not take place."

ledge his elder brother's natural right to exercise a due degree of authority over him, felt that this was stretching it too far. Still he made no reply, nor indeed did Hugh allow him time to retort, had he been so disposed. They separated without more words, each resolved to accomplish his avowed purpose. The opposition of Hugh and Maura to his marriage, only strengthened Felix's resolution to make his beloved and misrepresented Alley Bawn the rightful mistress of his hearth, as she already was of his affections. At length the happy Sunday morning arrived, and never did a more glorious sun light up the beautiful valley of Ballydhas, than that which shed down its smiling radiance from heaven upon their union. Felix's heart was full of that eager and trembling delight, which, where there is pure and disinterested love, always marks our emotions upon that blessed epoch in human life. Maura, contrary to her wont, was unusually silent during the whole morning; but Felix could perceive that she watched all his motions with the eye of a lynx. When the hour of going to chapel approached, he deemed it time to dress, and, for that purpose, went to a large oaken tallboy that stood in the kitchen, in order to get out his clothes. It was locked, however, and his sister told him at once that the key, which was in her possession, should not pass into his hands that day. No," she continued, nor the sorra ring you'll put on the same girl with my consent." During the altercation which ensued, Hugh entered. "What's all this ?" he inquired; "what racket's this ?" "Oh, he wants the kay to deck himself up for marrying that pet of his." "Felix," said his enraged brother, "I'm over you in place of your father, and I tell you that I'll put a stop to this day's work. Be my sowl, it's a horsewhip I ought to take to you, and lash all thoughts of marriage out of you; if you marry this portionless, good-for-nothing husFelix's eyes flashed. He manfully repelled the right of his brother to interfere. It was in vain. After several unsuccessful remonstrances, and even supplications very humbly expressed, a fierce struggle ensued between the brothers, which was only terminated by the interference of the two servant-men, who, with some difficulty, forced the elder out of the house, and brought him across the fields towards his own home. Maura then gave up the key, and the youthful bridegroom was soon dressed and prepared to meet his "". man," and a few friends whom he had invited, at the chapel. His mind, however, was disturbed, and his heart sank at this ill-omened commencement of his wedding-day.

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Let us follow him on his way. He had not gone far when he saw his brother walking towards him through the fields, his arms folded, and his eyes almost hidden by his heavy brows; sullen ferocity was in his looks, and his voice, for he addressed him, was hollow with suppressed rage. "So," said he, “you will ruin yourself! Go back home, Felix." "For God's sake, Hugh, let me alone, let me pass." "You will go?" said the other. "I will, Hugh." "Then may bad luck go with you, if you do. I order you to stay at home, I say.' "Mind your own business, Hugh, and I'll mind mine," was the only reply given him.

Felix walked on by making a small circuit out of the direct path, for he was anxious not only to proceed quickly, as his time was limited, but, above all things, to avoid a collision with his brother. The characteristic fury of the latter shot out in a burst that resembled momentary madness as much as rage. "Is that my answer?" he shouted, in the hoarse, quivering accents of passion, and, with the rapid energy of the dark impulse which guided him, he snatched up a stone from a ditch, and flung it at his brother, whose back was towards him. Felix fell forward in an instant, but betrayed, after his fall, no symptoms of motion; the stillness of apparent death was in every limb. Hugh, after the blow had been given, stood rooted to the earth, and looked as if the demon which possessed him had fled on the moment the fearful act had been committed. His now bloodless lips quivered, his frame became relaxed, and the wild tremor of horrible apprehension shook him from limb to limb. Immediately a fearful cry was heard far over the fields, and the words, "Oh! yeah, yeah, Felix, my brother, agra, can't you spake to me?" struck upon the heart of Maura and the servant-men, with a feeling of dismay, deep and deadly.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, with clasped hands and upturned eyes, "Oh! my boy, my boy!-Felix, Felix, what has happened you ?" Again the agonised cry of the brother was heard loud and frantic. "Oh! yeah, yeah, Felix, are you dead ?-brother, agra, can't you spake to me ?"

With rapid steps they rushed to the spot; but ah! what a scene was there to blast their sight and sear the brain of his sister, and indeed of all who could look upon it. The young bridegroom smote down when his foot was on the very threshold of happiness, and by the hand of a brother!

Hugh, in the meantime, had turned up Felix from the prone posture in which he lay, with a hope-a frenzied, a desperate hope of ascertaining whether or not life was extinct. In this position the stricken boy was lying, his brother, like a maniac, standing over him, when Maura and the servants arrived. One As he uttered the words, his dark brows were bent, glance, a shudder, then a long ghastly gaze at Hugh, and his eyes flashed with a gleam of that ungovern- and she sank down beside the insensible victim of his "able passion for which he was so remarkable. Felix, fury. 66 What," said Hugh, wildly clenching his at all times peaceful, and always willing to acknow-hands, "have I killed both! Oh, Felix, Felix! you

are happy, you are happy, agra, brother; but for me, oh, for me, my hour of mercy is past an' gone. I can never look to heaven more! How can I live ?" he muttered furiously to himself; "how can I live? and I darn't die. My brain's turnin'. I needn't pray to God to curse the hand that struck you dead, Felix dear, for I feel this minute that his curse is on me." Felix was borne in, but no arm would Hugh suffer to encircle him but his own. Poor Maura recovered, and, although in a state of absolute distraction, yet had she presence of mind to remember that they ought to use every means in their power to restore the boy to life, if it were possible. Water was got, with which his face was sprinkled; in a little time he breathed, opened his eyes, looked mournfully about him, and asked what had happened him. Never was pardon to the malefactor, nor the firm tread of land to the shipwrecked mariner, so welcome as the dawn of returning life in Felix was to his brother. The moment he saw the poor youth's eyes fixed upon him, and heard his voice, he threw himself on his knees at the bedside, clasped him in his arms, and, with an impetuous tide of sensations, in which were blended joy, grief, burning affection, and remorse, he kissed his lips, strained him to his bosom, and wept with such agony, that poor Felix was compelled to console him. "Oh! Felix, Felix!" exclaimed Hugh, "what was it I did to you, or how could the enemy of man tempt me to-to-to-Oh, Felix, agra, say you're not hurted-say only that you'll be as well as ever, an' I take God and every one present to witness, that, from this minute till the day of my death, a harsh word 'ill never crass my lips to you. Say you're not hurted, Felix dear. Don't you know, Felix, in spite of my dark tempter's puttin' me into a passion with you sometimes, that I always loved you?"

"Yes, you did, Hugh," replied Felix, "you did, an' I still knew you did. I didn't often contradict you, because I knew, too, that the passion would soon go off you, and that you'd be kind to me again." After uttering these words, the suffering Felix gradually recovered, but it was only at intervals that he was free from pain or clear in his faculties. His partial recovery, however, such as it was, gratified both Hugh and Maura, and each strove to assure him of their hearty concurrence in his marriage with his dearly beloved Alley, and hastened to make preparations for entertaining the company which might be expected to be present at the marriage-feast.

Gathering strength sufficient, as he thought, to support him, the stricken Felix now rose to depart. When ready to set out, he again put his hand to his head. "It comes on me here," said he, "for about a minute or so this confusion-I think I'll tie a handkerchief about my head. It'll be an asey thing for me to make some excuse, or I can take it off at the chapel." This was immediately acquiesced in; but at Hugh's suggestion a car was prepared, a horse yoked in a few minutes, and Felix, accompanied and supported by his brother and sister, set out for mass. On arriving at the "green," he felt that his short journey had not been beneficial to him; on the contrary, he was worse, and very properly declined to go into the heated atmosphere of the chapel. A message, by his sister, soon brought the blushing, trembling, serious, yet happy-looking girl to his side. Her neat white dress, put on with that natural taste which is generally accompanied by a clear sense of moral propriety, and her plain cottage bonnet, bought for the occasion, showed that she came prepared, not beyond, but to the utmost reach of, her humble means. And this she did more for Felix's sake than her own, for she resolved that her appearance should not, if possible, jar upon the feelings of one who she knew in marrying her had sacrificed prospects of wealth and worldly happiness for her sake. At sight of her Felix smiled, but it was observed that his face, which had a moment before been pale, was instantly flushed, and his eye unusually bright. When he had kissed her, she replied to the friendly greetings of his brother and Maura, with a modest comely dignity, well suited to her situation and circumstances. Then turning to the elected husband of her heart, she said,

"Why, thin, Felix, but it's little credit you do me this happy morning, coming with your nightcap on, as if you wern't well;" but as she saw the smile fade from his lips, and the colour from his cheek, her heart sank, and pallid as death's dedicated bride," with her soft blue eyes bent upon his changing colour and bandaged head, she exclaimed, "God be merciful to us! Felix, dear, you are ill-you are hurted! Felix, Felix, darling, what ails you? What is wrong!" "Don't be frightened, jewel," he replied; darling-it wont signify-my foot slipped afther lavin' you last night on my way home, and my head came against a stone-it's only a little sore outside. It'll be very well as soon as the priest puts your heart and mine together-never to be parted-long, long an' airnestly have I wished an' prayed for this happy day. Isn't your mother here, jewel, an' my own little Ellen ?"

don't,

When the ceremony was concluded, those who attended it of course returned to Felix's house to partake of the wedding dinner. He indeed seemed to be gifted with new life; his eyes sparkled, and the deep carmine of his cheek was dazzling to look upon. Courtesy, and the usages prevalent on such occasions, compelled him to drink more than his state of health was just then capable of bearing; he did not, however, transgress the bounds of moderation. Stili

the noise of many tongues, the sounds of laughter, and the din of mirth, joined to the consciousness that his happiness was now complete, affected him with the feverish contagion of the moment. He talked hurriedly and loud, and seemed to feel as if the accomplishment of his cherished hopes was too much for his heart to bear.

In the midst of all this jollity, a change which none observed came over him. His laugh became less frequent than his shudder or his sigh, and taking Alley aside, he begged she would walk with him to the beach. "The say-breeze," said he, "and a sate upon the rocks-upon your own thyme-bank, where we've often sat happily, Alley, dear, will bring me to myself soon. I am tir'd, asthore machree, of all this noise and confusion. Come away, darling, we'll be happier with one another than with all these people about us.' "His young bride accompanied him, and, as they went, her happy heart beating under that arm to whose support she had now a right, her love the while, calm, and secure in its own deep purity, she saw before them, in bright perspective, many, many years of domestic affection and peace.

There they sat in the mellow sunset, until the soft twilight had gradually melted away the lengthened

shadows of the rocks about them. Their hands were locked in each other, their hearts burned within them, and a tenderness which can be felt only by souls equally pure and innocent, touched their delighted converse into something that might be deemed beautiful and holy. Long before the hour of their return, Felix had felt much worse than during any preceding part of the day. The vivid and affectionate hopes of future happiness expressed by Alley, added to his concern, and increased his tenderness towards her, especially when he contrasted his own physical sensations with the unsuspicious character of her opinion concerning his illness and the cause that produced it. 'Tis true he disguised all this as long as he could; but at length, notwithstanding his firmness, he was forced to acknowledge that pain overcame him. With the burning chill of fever bubbling through his blood-shivering yet scorching-he complained of the shooting pain in his head, and a strange confusion of mind which the poor girl, from some of his incoherent expressions, had attributed to his excess of affection. With words of comfort she soothed him; her arm now returned the support she had received from his; she led him home languid and half delirious, whilst she herself felt stunned as well by the violence as the unaccountable nature of his illness. On reaching home, they found that the noise of social enjoyment had risen to the outrage of convivial extravagance; but the moment he staggered in, supported only by the faithful arm of his wife, a solemn and apprehensive spirit suddenly hushed their intemperance, and awed them into a conviction that such an illness upon the marriage day

must be as serious as it was uncommon.

Felix was

put to bed in pain and danger; but Alley smoothed his pillow, bound his head, and sat patient, and devoted, and wife-like, by his side. During all that woeful night of sorrow she watched the feverish start, the wild glare of the half-opened eye, the momentarily conscious glance, and the miserable gathering together of the convulsed limbs, hoping that each pang would diminish in agony, and that the morning might bring ease and comfort.

We feel utterly incapable of describing, during the progress of this heavy night, the scorching and fiery anguish of his brother Hugh, or the distracted and wailing sorrow of poor Maura. The unexpected and delightful revulsion of feeling produced upon both, especially on the former, by his temporary recovery, now utterly incapacitated them from bearing his relapse with any thing like fortitude. The frantic remorse of the guilty man, and the stupid but pungent grief of his sister, appeared but as the symptoms of weak minds and strong passions, when contrasted with the deep but patient affliction of his innocent and uncomplaining wife. She wasted no words in sorrow; for, during this hopeless night, self, happiness, affection, hope, were all forgotten in the absorbing efforts at his recovery. Never, indeed, did the miseries and calamities of life draw from the fruitful source of a wife's attached and affectionate heart a nobler specimen of that pure and disinterested devotion which characterises woman, than was exhibited by the strickenhearted Alley Bawn.

With a vehemence of grief that was pitiable, Hugh uttered cries of despair, and, tearing himself from a spot he dreaded to leave, he mounted a horse, which he spurred to the nearest town for a physician to come and see his now apparently dying brother. The doctor, a man of great skill and humanity, instantly attended the summons. But the visit was unavailing. The patient grew worse every minute. Never before had the physician witnessed such a scene of family distress. "Oh, Felix, Felix, Felix, darling," cried Hugh, in the agony of his repentance, "spake to me, spake harshly, cruelly, blackly-oh, say you wont forgive me-but no, that I couldn't bear-forgive me in your heart, and before God, but don't spake wid affection to me, for then I'll not be able to bear it."

"Hugh," said Felix, from whose eyes the keenness of his brother's repentance wrung tears, despite his burning agony; Hugh, dear"—and he looked pitifully in the convulsed face of the unhappy man"Hugh, dear, it was only an accident, for if you had -thought-that it would turn out as it has done

But no matter now-you have my forgiveness and
you desire it; for, Hugh, dear, it was as much and
more my own thoughtlessness and self-will that caused
it. Hugh, dear, comfort and support Alley here, and
Maura, too, Hugh; be kind to them both for poor
Felix's sake." He sank back, exhausted, holding his
brother's hand in his left, and his mute heart-broken
bride's in his right. A calm, or rather torpor, fol-
lowed, which lasted until his awakening spirit, in re-
turning consciousness of life and love, made a last
effort to dissolve in a farewell embrace upon the pure
bosom of his wife.

66

Alley," said he, are you not my wife, and amn't I your husband? Whose hands should be upon me -in what arms but yours should I die? Alley, think of your own Felix-oh, don't let me pass altogether out of your memory; an' if you'd wear a lock of my hair (many a time you used to curl it over on my cheek, for you said it was the same shade as your own, and you used to compare them together), wear it, for my sake, next your heart; and if ever you think of doin' a wrong thing, look at it, and you'll remember that Felix, who's now in the dust, always desired you to pray for the Almighty's grace, an' trust to him for strength against evil. But where are you? My eyes want a last look of you; I feel you-ay, I feel you in my breakin' heart, and sweet is your presence in it, avourneen machree; but how is it that I cannot see you? Oh, my wife, my young wife, my spotless wife, be with me-near me !" He clasped her to his heart, as if, while he held her there, he thought it could not cease to beat; but in a moment, after one slight shudder, one closing pang, his grasp relaxed his head fell upon her bosom-and he, Felix, who that morning stood up in the bloom of youth and manly beauty, with the cup of happiness touching his very lips, was now a clod of the valley. Half unconscious-almost unbelieving that all could be over, she gently laid him down. On looking into his face, her pale lips quivered; and as her mute wild gaze became fixed upon the body, slowly the desolating truth forced itself upon her heart. Quietly and calmly she arose, and but for the settled wretchedness of her look, the stillness of her spirit might have been mistaken for apathy. Without resistance, without a tear, in the dry agony of burning grief, she gently gave herself up to the guidance of those who wept, while they attempted to soothe her. At the inquest, which followed, there was no proof to criminate the wretched brother, nor were the jury The man's shrieking misery anxious to find any. was more wild and frightful than death itself. From "the dark day" until this on which I write, he has never been able to raise his heart or his countenance.

Home he never leaves, except when the pressure of business compels him; and when he does, in every instance he takes the most unfrequented paths and the loneliest bye-roads, in order to avoid the face and eye of man. Better, indeed, to encounter flood or fire, than to suffer what he has borne, when the malicious or coarse-minded have reproached him, in what, we trust, is his repentance, with his great affliction.

Alley, contrary to the earnest solicitations of Hugh and Maura, went back to reside with her mother. Four years have now passed, and the maiden widow is constant to her grief. With a bunch of yarn on her arm, she may be occasionally seen in the next market-town, the chastened sorrow of her look agreeIn vain is she ing well with her mournful weeds. pressed to mingle in the rustic amusements of her former companions; she cannot do it, even to please her mother; the poor girl's heart is sorrow-struck for ever. She will never smile again.

Reader, if you want a moral, look upon the wasted brow of Hugh O'Donnell, and learn to restrain your passions and temper within proper limits.

TREACLE, OR MOLASSES.

These

THOUGH this substance is so largely used as an article
of household economy, most of our readers know no-
thing more of its history than that it is made by the
sugar-refiners. A few words will explain the history of
its manufacture. Treacle is never made on its own ac-
count, but is a necessary product of the refinement of
sugar. When refined sugar is to be made, raw sugar,
after being boiled, is poured into conical vessels made
of burnt clay, technically termed moulds, which are
placed with their pointed ends downmost.
moulds have an aperture at the point, which for the
present is closed. When the sugar has become solid,
the stops are removed, and the moulds are placed on
vessels, which receive the liquid portion of the sugar
as it trickles down, leaving the crystallised portion
The substance thus obtained is called
in the mould.
syrup, and is boiled, put into moulds just as the raw
sugar was at first, and then produces another syrup,
which, being also boiled, in its turn produces the mo-
lasses or treacle, which is just a syrup from which no
crystallisable sugar can be obtained. Treacle is also
procured by boiling foreign molasses that is, the
syrup which drops from the raw sugar during its ma-
nufacture in the colonies. Treacle, though dark in
colour, is perfectly pure.

milies with whom this is an article of daily use, are
generally healthy. Some mothers give treacle rather
than butter to their children with bread. It is said
to be less liable than sugar to become sour in the
Brewers and distillers are prevented from
stomach.
using molasses in their works by a law, which, though
only intended to secure to the agriculturist a mono-
poly in supplying them, benefits the poor, so far as it
prevents this article from rising to the high price that
would be occasioned by an enlarged demand.

LIVING IN LONDON AND EDINBURGH.

A GOOD deal has been said and written in recent times respecting the saving of expenditure which English families may accomplish by taking up their residence in particular parts of the Continent. That the price of living is considerably lower in France, Germany, as

well as the Channel Islands, and other places abroad, than in Great Britain, and especially England, there can be no dispute. But it is cheapness procured at a sacrifice, that of expatriation: Children acquire foreign habits, and are brought up in corresponding ignorance of our national institutions: Society is either on a limited scale, or of a peculiar nature: In the rigorous political supervision which prevails on the Continent, not to speak of the unsettled state of public affairs, there is little to recommend a family to settle for a series of years abroad. Besides, although wines, rents, and some other things, are low-priced on the Continent, there are a thousand little articles and accessories of comfort, which are hardly to be obtained in any country in the world but Great Britain: Coal is generally very expensive, and in many places cannot be procured at any price: Fire-grates are seldom, if ever, to be seen in the houses: The malt liquors are execrable: The means of land conveyance are very imperfect: Communication in respect of goods or letters is tedious, dear, and uncertain. In short, those who take up their residence on the Continent, for the sake of cheapness of living, have to put up with a number of inconveniences and "disagreeables," which previous calculation could not well have anticipated.

Many persons proceed southward, also, with a view to enjoying a milder climate than Great Britain can possibly afford. In some instances, as in all pulmonary complaints, wintering in Italy or the south of France is certainly advisable; but there are cases of dyspeptics and others of weak health, who would receive all the benefit they could expect in going southwards, simply by a change of air in their own country, or by taking up their residence in a place where they could at once enjoy at a cheap rate the comforts of a refined species of society-the amusements of a capital -and salubrity of atmosphere.

Looking about us, within the limits of the United Kingdom, we do not know any place so well calculated to meet the wishes of English families who desire to live comfortably on circumscribed means, as Edinburgh. We do not say this from the least feeling of partiality, but from solid grounds of conviction, and the experience of ourselves, and others whose We hold opinion is worthy of being depended on. that there are three leading points which ought to enter into the views of the families we have been alluding to. These are the non-deprivation of any of the essentials or accessories of comfort, both physical

and moral, which have been hitherto enjoyed, accompanied with the requisite of cheapness the proper education of children-and salubrity of climate and situation. And it admits of the clearest demonstration that these are points which are fully attainable by a residence in Edinburgh. Many families and individuals are aware of the facts we mention, for many take advantage of them; but we suspect that many more, particularly those who have retired from business and live in the vicinity of London, are still in some measure ignorant on the subject, and would have no objections to hear a few particulars regarding the inducements held out by the Scottish metropolis as a place of residence.

It is a prejudice in the minds of most persons that every place north of their own country is cold and cheerless. The people of London consider York as very far north; those at York, as the poet has remarked, place the north at the Tweed; but when you come to the Tweed, you find the north is pushed onward to Aberdeen, where it is pushed onward to Inverness, where it is driven as far as the islands of

Treacle, besides its more obvious recommendation of agreeableness to the palate, is known to be whole-Orkney and Shetland. Where the Shetlanders place their north the place which they pity as cold and some and nutritious, and is understood to be useful for medicinal purposes. It is recommended for chil-cheerless-we have never heard, though it is reasondren by the faculty. Mrs Child characterises treacle able to suppose that they have such a place in their "the aliment of all others useful in regulating the eye as well as their brethren in the south. Such bowels." It has accordingly been remarked, that fa- being the ordinary state of feeling respecting places

as

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