Manchester Weekly Times and Examiner from Manchester, Greater Manchester, England • 9

SUPPLEMENT TO THE MANCHESTER EXAMINER AND TTMRS, Satttrday, August 24, 1850. A TALE OF HOLLAND. Ebenbzbp. Elliott. In reciting he sis energetic.

He startled me with a passage from his speech in Palace Yard: "They poisoned Socrates they crueified Jesus and they are starving you I he climax he delivered with all the force ol his stentorian lungs. It was bis constant habit to disparage himself, and to speak in a tone of hyperbole of the merits of others. Thus he said, ''I have one of tbe poorest intellects that God ever made. I no mind. I cannot create.

I wish 1 could write like you; yonr prose is perfect. If I were to read your play to you I would make you wonder at the merit of it!" Oil giving bira a few MS. verses to read, he said, They were beautiful as an expression of the writer's feelings, but were not poetry." I asked what was poetry? And he answered, It is the heart speaking to itself." He said, "If you wish to kuow what I and shed her light over the waters. Felixtnrned and beheld STourrikah at his The monster's face was horribly distorted, and a hideous mocking laugh burst from him as his glance met that of his enemy. Did tbe young eaballero think that a Fellattah sleeps oyer bis revenge?" A few minutes before, Felix would have thought that, next to tbe appearance of a certain historical personage, this apparition would bave been the moBt disagreeable whieh could have presented itself; but even this was so preferable to the shark, for which' it bad been mistaken, that be regarded the discovery as a relief, and was enabled to preserve that sangfroid which seemed so much to irritate tbe black, accustomed as he was to inspire terror.

Did you think a Fellattah sleeps over his hatred, doe?" with the eye upwards then a little sand, hashes, or saw. dust spread over them. When the weather is frosty, mats, sacks, or straw are spread over the whole. In open and mild weather this covering is taken off, and the room properly ventilated. By the.

time the weather and the land are suitable for planting, the young shoots are got from a quarter of an inch to an inch long, and are stout and vigorous. The ground is formed into beds of four and a half feet, with intervals of one and a half feet. The dung is spread on the beds, and the sets laid upon the game; very frequently thirty tons, and in some cases forty tons per acre of good dung are given. repeated the latter, finding that be received no answer. Dialogues conducted under the circumstances of the swimmers are necessarily open to objections which do not attend those taking place ou terra firms; and Felix, feeling that same movement of his jaws requited to let out an argument would let in a dose of salt water, preferred listening to monologue and therefore, contenting himself with an elaborate stare at the black, he struck out steadily in hopes overtaking Mantis, who bad gained ground, and whose dingy head was rising and falling in the heaving sea, some distance in advance.

He did not at all underrate the danger of his present poBi-tiou. He knew the desperate character of tbe black, and recent events bad rendered it more than amatter of suspicion he was capable of risking his own life for the sake of destroying an enemy aud he was therefore full of anxiety, because, though he felt himself capable of coping with the monster on shore, ou anything like even terms, be feared if a struggle was engaged in in the water it must inevitably end in the destruction of both of them, by depriving-theiu or their streugth, the whole of which be felt would not more than enough to enable them to reach the yet distant shore. The black, however, seemed to be also mindful of this whatever might be his plans of hostility, be delayed their execution, and, without uttering another word, swam on by side of bis enemy. Thus, ihen, they advanced, each keeping a jealous watch on tbe other. After they had been about au hour in the water, they found themselves, to Felix's infinite satisfaction, within a short distance of the shore.

A low headland rose up before iheuj, at its foot the waves fell rippling in upon a soft sandy beach. They had been gradually overtaking Mantis, who now but a very little way in advance. Yourrikah observing this, and possibly fearing the result of a combination of tbe enemy's forces, seemed to consider that the moment for action had arrived. He raised his arm out of water, and shouted to the other black with a loud defiant It was now for the first time that Felix saw witb horror lie was armed witb his long knife, and that thus it was his power, with little comparative risk, to destroy them After brandishing his weapon in an ecstasy of savage triumph, tbe black dropped back to make his blow from behiud, and to avoid, by so doing, the risk of being locked bis victim's death grasp. Felix turned to meet the blow, staunch to the last, aud waiting the moment to grapple with enemy, to wrest the knife from his hand, or to clincr round him, and die in company.

loiirriKan was now urtvancing slowly, seeking a moment plant his weapon without being closed upon. The moon shone out so brightly that the features of his ghastly face illuminated with horrible distinctness. As the eyes of were fixed an it in a sort of fascination, he suddenly the waves violently agitated; tbeu there was a plunge, the black rose out of the water to tbe waist, with a prolonged and fearful cry. Felix felt a rushing, and a stunning blow, and was borne almost senseless on the shore. After moment or two he opened his eyes, and found himself supported in tbe arms of tbe faithful Mantis.

Yourrikiih never came to laud he had been taken by a shark. Denton Hall. A TRIBUTE TO MARGARET FULLER. (From the New Fork Literary World, August 3rd, 1B50.J Although four years have gone, it seems but yesterday that parted with Margaret Fuller, eminent in worth and iutel-lect, and now moie eminent in the melaucholy suddenness touching incidents of her deatb. It was from the shore Loug Island, from the house of a frieuti at Brooklyn, that set forth, a pilgrim and wanderer towards the old world, be a stranger among a strange people, to rove through ancient cities; to become familiar witb the manners of distant communities, to champion the cause of liberty in its ciussic neiu oi xtuiy, ever aear to ner, to nud there a life-companion, to become tbe mother of a dear child, and, returning to us with all.her treasures, it was on that same memorable island that the whole freightage went to wreck, sight of native land uud home wife, husband, aud child, memory and memorial of all that four years' precious travel, suffering, experience, and hope.

Out of these woods, and from these Btdlnossos, A power with her lias passed, bearing a light away. She has gone from us of this lower sphere for ever. Of noble personal character, accomplished in learning, wittt many matured graces of a gifted understanding, she has gone whither we cannot follow ber, to hold any more discourse of greatness, freedom, and beauty, till a like summons shall come to ourselves. Margaret Fuller (we derive the facts from the Tribune') was the daughter of tbe Hon. Timothy Fuller, a lawyer of Bostoo, but nearly all bis life a resident of Cambridge, and a representative of the Middlesex district in congress from 1617 to 1825.

Mr. Fuller, upon his retirement from congress, purchased a farm at some distance from Boston, and abandoned law for agriculture, soon after which he died. His widow and six children still survive. Margaret, the firstborn, from a very early age, evinced tbe possession of remarkable intellectual powers. Her father was from childhood her chief instructor, guide, companion, and friend.

He committed the too common error of stimulating her intellect to an assiduity and persistency of effort which severely taxed, and ultimately injured her physical powers. At eight years of age he was accustomed to require her the composition of a number of Latin verses per day, while her studies in philosophy, history, and general science, and current literature, were in after years extensive aud profound. After her father's deatb she applied herself to teaching as a vocation, first in Boston, then in Providence, and afterwards in Boston again, where ber Conversations" were several seasons attended by classes of women, some of them married, and including many from the best families of the city of Boston. In the 'autumn of 1814, she accepted an invitation to take part in the conduct of the Tribune, with special reference to the department of reviews and criticisms on current literature, art, music, a position which she filled foruearly two years bow eminently our readers well know. Her reviews Longfellow's Poems," Wesley's Memoirs," Poe's Poems," Bailey's "Festus," "Douglas's Life," must yet be remembered by many.

She had previously found fit audieuce, though few," for a series of remarkable papers ort The Great Kl usician3," Lord Herbert, of Cherbury," Woman," iu the Dial, e. quarterly of remarkable breadth and vigour, of which she was at first co editor with Ralph Waldo Emerson, but which was afterwards edited by him only, though she continued a contributor to its pages. In 1843, she accompanied some friends on a tour via. Niagara, Detroit, and Mackinac to Chicago, and across the prairies of Illinois; aud ber resulting volume, entitled "Summer on the Lakes," is one ot tbe best works in its department ever issued from the American press. Her Woman iu the Nineteenth Century," an extension of ber eBsay in tbe Dial was published early in 1845, and a moderate-edition sold.

The next year a selection from her Papers on Literature and Art" was issued by Wiley and Putuam, in two fair volumes of their "Library of Aim-ricau Books." Tbe original edition was nearly or quite exhausted, buta second has not been called for, while books no wise comparable to it for-strengih or worth, have ruu through half a dozen editions. tiese tapers eruoody some ot ner best contributions to tbe Dial, the Tribune, and perhaps one or two which had not appeared in either. In the slimmer of 1815, Miss Fuller accompanied tbe family of a devoted friend to Europe, visiting England, Scotland, France, and passiug through Italy to Rome, where they spent the ensuing winter. She accompanied her friendsc next spring to the north of Italy, and there stopped, spend-, ing most of tbe summer at Florence, and returning at tbe approach of winter to Rome, where she was soon after married to Giovanni, Marquis d'Ossoli, who had made her ae- quuiutance durmg her tirstwiuter in the Eternal City. The "Can no one hear us, madume? Are you sure we are Quite alone, sir," replied the astonished Annunciata.

Van Amberg recommenced his walk; For some moments he said nothing. His wife, her arm resting on the tiaek of an arm-chair, silently awaited his pleasure. At last he agmu spoke. "You bring up your daughter Christine badly I left her to your care and guidance, and you do not watch over her. Do you know where she goes, an" nd what she does?" from her childhood, sir," replied Annunciata, gently, pausing between each phrase, lias loved to live the open air.

She is and requires sun aud liberty to strengthen her. Till now you have allowed Her to live thus; I saw no harm in letting her follow her orders 'saPl'rove s'r she will oifey your Yu hriliS up your daughter badly," coldly repeated M. e- 'in "She will dishonour the name she bears." exclaimed Annunciata, her cheeks sufEused with the deepest crimson; her eyes emitting a momentary but vivid Hash. "Look to it, madame, I will have my name respected, that you know You also know I am informed of whatever passes in my own house. Your daughter secretly meets a man to whom I refuse her hand this morning, at six i Cy on the river bank 1" My daughter! my daughter!" cried Annunciata, in disconsolate tones.

()li it is impossible She is innocent blie shall remain so I I will place myself between her and evil, will save my child 1 I will take her in my arms, and close Her ears to dangerous words. My daughter, I will say, remain innocent, remain honoured, if you would not With HT IT a i i i m. rilu inuoerg oeneiti tne mothers emotion. Beneath his frozen gaze, Annunciata felt embarrassed by her own agitation: she made an effort to calm Herself; then, with clasped hands, and eyes filled with tears, which she would not allow to flow, she resumed, in a constrained voice "Is this beyond doubt, sir?" It is," replied M. Van Amberg I never accuse without certainty.

spoke" a moment's M. Van Amberg again "You will Jock Christine in her room, and then bring me the key She will have time to reflect, a'nd I-trust reflection will be of service to her in a prolonged seclusion, she will lose that love of motion and liberty which leads her into harm the silence of complete solitude will allay the tumult of her thoughts. None ahull enter her room, save Gothon, who shall take her her meals, and return me the key. This is what I have decided upon as proper;" Madame Van Amberg's "lips opened- several times to speak, but her courage failed her. At last she advanced a pace or two, But sir, said she, in a stifled voice, I am to see my child!" 1 said no one," replied Van Amberg.

"But she will despair, if none sustain her. I will be severe with her, you maybe assured I will! Let me see her, if only once a day. She may fall ill of grief, aud who will know iti' Gothon dislikes her. For pity's sake let me see Christine Tor a minute only, a single minute." M. Van Amberg once more stood still, and fixed upon his wife, a look that made her stagger.

"Not another word!" he said, "lallow no discussion, madame. No one shall see Christine do you hear?" I will obey," replied Annunciata. Convey my orders to your daughter. At dinner bring me the key of her room. Go." Madame Van Amberg found Christine alone, seated on her bed, and exhausted by long weeping.

Her beautiful face, at times so energetic, wore an expression of profound and touching dejection, Her long hair fell in disorder on her shoulders, her figure was bent, as if weighed dowu by grief her rosary had fallen from her half-open hand she had tried to cbey her mother and to pray, but had been able only to weep. Her black mantle, still damp with rain, lay upon a few willow sprays peeping from its silken folds. Christine eyed them with mingled love and melancholy. She thought it a century since she saw the sun rise on the river, on the old trees, aud on Herbert's skiff. Her mother slowly appioached her.

My child," said she, where were -you at daybreak this morning?" Christine raised her eyes to her mother's face, looked at her, but did not answer. Annunciata repeated her question without change of word or tone. Then Christine let herself slide from the bed to tho ground, and kneeled before her mother. "1 wasseated," said she, "upon the trunk of a willow that overhangs the stream. I was near Herbert's boat." "Christine exclaimed Madame Van Amberg, "can it be true? Oh, my child, could you so infringe the commands laid upon you Could you thus forget my lessons and advice Christine, you thought not of me when you committed that fault 1" Herbert said to me, Come, you shall be my wife, I will love you eternally, you shall be free and happy all is ready for our marriage and our flight; cornel' 1 replied, I will hot leave my mother Mother, you have been my safeguard if it be a crime to follow Herbert, it is the thought of you alone that prevented my committing it.

I would not leave my mother." A beam of joy illumined Annunciata's countenance. Murmuring a thanksgiving to God, she raised her kneeling child, aud seated her by her side. Speak to me, Christine," she said, open your heart, and tell me all your thoughts. Together we will regret your faults, aud seek hope for the future. Speak, "my daughter conceal nothing." Christine laid her head upon her mother's shoulder, put one of her little hands in hers, sighed deeply, as though her heart were too oppressed for words, and spoke at last with effort and Mother," she said, "I have nothing to confess that you do not already know.

I love Herbert. He is but a poor student, entrusted to my father's care, but he has a noble neart iue mine, somewhat sad. He knows much, aud he is gentle to those who know nothing. Poor, he is proud as a king: he loves, and he tells it only to her who knows it. My mother, I love Herbert! He asked my baud of my father, whose reply was a smile of scorn.

Then he was Keptfrqm me, and 1 tried to exist without seeing him; I could not do it. I made many neuvuiues on the rosary you gave me. I had seen you weep and prayj mother, and I said to myself, Now that I weep as she does, 1 must also pray like But it happened once, as day broke, that I saw a small boat descend the stream, then go up again, and again descend; from time to time a white sail fluttered in the air as one flutters a kerchief to a departing friend. Mv thoughts, then as now, were on Herbert; I ran across the meadow I reached the stream. Mother, it was he, hoping and waiting my coming.

Long and mournfully we bewailed our separation fervently we vowed to love each other till death. This morning Herbert, discouraged and weary of waiting a change in our position, urged me to fly with him, I might have fled, mother, but I thought of you, aud remained. I have told you all if I have done wrong, forgive me, dearest mother!" With deep emotion Madame Van Amberg listened to her daughter, and remained buried in reflection, when Christine paused. She felt that the young girl's suffering heart needed gentle lessons, affectionate advice; and, instead of tliese, she was the bearer of a sentence whose severity must aggravate the evil -she was compelled to deny her sick cliiltl the remedies that might have saved her. Yoti love him very dearly, then," she said at last, fixing a long melancholy look ou her daughter's countenance.

Oh, mother exclaimed Christine, I love him with all my soul! My life is passed in expecting, seeing, remembering him I could never make you comprehend how entirely my heart is his. Often 1 dream of dying for him, not to save his life, that were too easy aud natural, but uselessly, at his command." "Hush I Christine, hush! you frighten me," cried Annunciata, placing both hands upon her daughter's mouth. By a quick movement Christine disengaged herself from her mother's arms. Ah she. exclaimed, you know not what it is to love as I do! My father could never let himself be loved thus!" Be silent, my child, be silent repeated Annunciata energetically.

"Oh, my daughter! bow to instil into your heart thoughts of peace and duty. Almighty Father bless my weak words, that they may touch her soul! Christine, hear me Annunciata. took her daughter's bands, and compelled her to stand before her. My child," she said, you know nothing of life you walk at random, and are about to wander from the right path. All young hearts have been troubled as yours is now.

The noble ones have struggled and triumphed; the others have fallen Life is no easy and pleasant passage its trials are many aud painful its stiugglea severe; believe me, for us women there is no true happiness without the bounds of dutv. And when hanui- uesa is not our destiny, many great things still remain to us. Honour, tne esteem ot others, are not mere empty words. Here me, beloved child That God, whom from your infancy 1 have taught you to love, do you not fear oirenuing nimr eeK mm, ana you will nnil netter conso lation than Icau otter. Christine, we love in God those from whom we are severed ou earth.

He, who in his infinite wisdom imposed so many fetters on the heart of woman, foresaw the sacrifices they would entail, aud surely he has Kept treasures or love tor Hearts tnat urealc in obedience to duty." Annunciata rapidly wiped the tears inundating her fine countenance; then clasping Christine's arm On your knees, my child, on our knees both of us before the Christ I gave you 'Tis nearly dark, and' yet we still discern Him bis arms seeming to open for us. and save, and console my child, 0, merciful God! appease her heart; make it Humble anubedient! Her prayer at an cod, she rose, and, throwing her arms round Christine, who had passively allowed herself to be placed on her knees and litteu up she embraced her tenderly, pressed her to her heart, and bathed her hair with tears. My daughter," she murmured between her kisses, my daughter, speak to me utter one word that I may take wiih me: as a hope My child, will you not speak to your mother?" Mother, love Herbert was utiristine reply. Annunciata looked despairingly at her child, at the crucifix upon the wall, at the darkening sky seen through the open window. The dinner-bell rang.

Madame Van Atii- uerg made a strong ettort to collect and express her ideas. Van Amberg," said she, in broken voice, "orders you to remain iu your room. 1 am to take him the key. You are to see no one. The hour is come, and he expects me." A prisoner 1" cried Christine a prisoner alone, all day death rather than.

that He will have it so," repeated Annunciata, mournfully I must obey. He will have it so." And she approached the door, casting upon Christine a look of" such ineffable love and grief, that the young girl, fascinated by the gaze, let her depart without opposition. The key turned in the lock, aud Annunciata, supporting herself by the banister, slowly descended. She found M. Van Amberg alone iu the parlour.

"You have been a long time up stairs," said he. "Have you convinced yourself that your daughter saw the studeut Herbert this morning She did, murmured Annunciata. "You have told her my orders?" 1 have done so." Whore is the key She gave it to him. "Now to dinner," said M. Van Amberg, walking into the dining-room.

Annunciata endeavoured to follow him, but her streiigtlvtailea lior, aim sue sanK upon a chaur. M. Van Amberg sat down alone to his d'umer, (7b be wiJijiiiMJ oitlQIHAL. WEDDING-DAY SONNET. BT CHARLES SMtTH CHBLTNAM.

A twelvemonth rolled away, and Faith still young The honeymoon gone by, and Love not dead? A long year married, Patience etill not fled Sweetqeae still sweet? Harmony's obords atill strung In duloet evennesB no string o'erwrung? fable wild! atory aweetly bred Of daily proof, that hatb my spirit fed On eweeter frnits than those of Eden eprnng ye, unhappy in the cheerless want Of faith in goodnesB, to yonrselveB untrue XhiB day I sing nbeve ye, jubilant, '-hot with delight my soul yearns to renew The gentle trammels" that constrain" my feet; To walk with Love and with Contentment sweet SELEOTBD. THE ELECTRIC LIGHT. SrXHZAS SUGGESTED BY MR. W. E.

SIAISB'S EXPEBIMBKTS. True science is a prophet of the Lord, His uttributes unfolding day by day, In works so corresponding with Hie. Word, That lo at length, in one BUblime array, One i hieroglyph shall all things made display love and wisdom without let or bound Lightning 'tis thine to symbolise the way In which the whole in harmony is found, Held, moved, dispersed, united, lighted, orown'd We eaw thee rend the olond, and shrank with fear We heard thee strike the oak, and dumb became We knew thee only in thy. terrors there, And marked not ase and mercy in thy flame, But leai nt to tremble at thy very name Yet soience finds thee now of love the sign, With thunder for thy tnusin; to proclaim Thy presence and thy march when thoti dost shine, Tolling mankind thy use and origin benign Still, Bilent and most gentle art thou here, Held and applied by Staite'B ingenious hand, While sima aud rainbows at his thought appear, Bise, Bet, move, stay, concentrate, or expand, More beauteous than a dream of fairyland, And yet no dream for there, with eloquent eye, But voioe subdued and modest, does he stand, Teaching in tones that to the soul oome nigh How unto man are given the treasures of the sky And on his light we.gaze withlovoand awe As all those lesser lights it turns to shade, And think us of the universal law By which the.bright must in the brighter fadB, Till God's Great Spirit, which doth all pervade, Shall all outshine ant! be onr only light. Truth of the Universe be-thoo display'd, In thy absorbing and triumphant might, Till all that Thou'dost seek in Thee be pure and bright Sr-KxcKB T.

Hah. Lizars' Scottish Tourist. Edinburgh London: Highly, Every day the press gives to some new -work, often attractive and gay, and not unfrequently dull, heavy, and stupid. Their' natal day is, according to custom, announced in the public prints; but those bantlings of the latter description, after an ephemeral existence, breathe their last and are heard of, no more. Others again oome forth full-grown, vigorous and strong, well fitted to stand the buffeting of the world.

While again, although immature, are nevertheless spirited and healthy, and as they grow in years gain strength and increase iu bulk, beauty, and intelligence, until they reach maturity, and deservedly are destined to exist a long' series of years, appearing year after year in a fresh and fashionable aflire. Such last has been the destiny of Lizars' Scottish Tourist," now in its eighteenth edition. This work was first ushered into existence attractive above all other Scottish guides of its time most assuredly far removed above many others, as Dr. Syntax says, "who neither lead nor point the -way;" consequently was always an especial favourite with all to whom it was known. Since it -was first put forth, things have altered and improved, and the spirited publisher has not allowed a favourite to be less well informed than the age in which it lived.

He has had this celebrated Tourist entirely remodelled, by a well-known author and naturalist, Mr. William Ehind, of Edinburgh, who has faithfully and graphically described the most interesting and picturesque routes, interspersing them with many an interesting historical reminiscence of the olden time together with the geological character of the- cduntiy through which he wanders, and likewise with occasional notices of different objects of natural history. Besides this, the work has been illustrated by 91 views, engraved'on steel from drawings by Mr. William Bank's, an artist too well known to require any commendation of ours. These are engraved-in the first style of Mr.

Lizars. Indeed, the illustrations alone would be cheap at the.price of the hook. It also contains two large maps, and a coloured geological map of Scotland, and five charts of tours. In short, this is the most perfect, and cheap tourist's guide which we have seen; and independently of its value as travelling com-1 tasteful manner in which it is got up, renders it a most appropriate and amusing accompaniment to the drawing-room. i Report of the Agriculture of, the Oounty of Lancaster.

By William Roth well, Win wick, land agent, London: Groombridge and I. Sowler, Courier Office. We have delayed our notice of this work, not from in attention to, its claims, hut from a desire to find time, amid the general pressure of business, to give it a careful reading, and to compare the matter which it con tains with personal observation and inquiry in some of the districts which it describes. Erst of all, we may explain that this is one of rer ports or essays written for the Eoyal Agricultural Society ofEngland in 1849, and sentin for competition but haying been received some days after the time appointed for the reception of the essays, was not allowed to compete. The author states that he would not have published it had it been submitted to the judges for competition, and been set aside but that he bad reason to be dissatisfied with their treatment, and with their long delay in.

returning it, into which matters we are not disposed to inquire, neither would we institute a' comparison be tween Mr. Eothwell's report and that of the successful competitor. But of that before us, we at once say that had it not been published, Lancashire would have lost a valuable contribution to its industrial history which it now possesses. Not that this is all that the' collector of agricultural statistics, the student of economic science or the historian of industrial progression could be satisfied with. It is deficient in omitting, except incidentally, prices of land, rents, rates, cost, of labour, buildings, drainage, and the like yet there is much in struotive matter in the work, presented in a simple, clear style the style of an intelligent, practical man, rather than that of a professed author.

Mr. Roth. well, we gather from his pages, is old enough to compare his present experiments, and his observations of what others do, with his experiences of ah! what a period of change forty years ago. Butt judging from the; employments of land agent, surveyor, and valuer, in which he is still actively engaged from the fresh healthy good sense, the occasional gleams of humour, the sunshine just observable through the leaves jt is deducible that there is a green summer spirit under neath the autumn years of this veteran farmer. May his be a late harvest We say this knowing nothing personally, nor even by hearsay, of Mr.

Rothwell. But his little work now be fore us suggests a greater, one that should embrace a review of agricultural progress over a period which only an elderly person can recollect; with all the exactness of detail as to prices of land, rents, parochial and general taxes, farm-stead and fireside customs, records of change. and markings of the very barleycorns of progress, which only a practical agriculturist, accustomed to the inquiries and figures of valuation, could Such a work, including Cheshire with Lancashire strictly adhering to the-agricultural development of the two counties-would be a valuable work of reference both now and long hence. But of what is not done, enough. Let us glance briefly at what this present effort is.

The author first gives the legal divisions of Lanca shire; next the districts as distinguished by variety of soil. Those varieties he in detail, relating the present manner of culture or pastural management, or mis-management, as the case may be. So far his de scriptions are assisted by a map of the county. Then he carries the reader to the high moors, shows what might be done there, in draining and sheltering; then down to the sea-side from Liverpool to Furness, Bhowing what the drifting sea-sand is doing, what it has probably done in ages past, and suggesting what may be done with it. At Ormskirk, the best potato growing district in the county (he does not quite say this, but we do), he gives us a minute: and interesting.

account of the potato culture. Soon after Christmas the sets to be first planted are cut, the nose of the potato selected These noses I are laid upon a floor whieh is first thinly covered with ashes, or saw-dust; The sets are then laid hpori stbis: side by side, together, but only one set deep, a -HB 0OBKIBS9 d'ARBODVILLE, VILLAGE AUTUOHES8 OF THE St (Continued from last Saturday.) Brother Karl said lie, resting his arms upon the table, a looking M- Van Ambers in the face, before proceed- to business, and at risk of offending- you, I must relieve 1Df? heart Here, all fear you, and counsel, the salutary man. is denied you." 0f man, is denied you William," coldly replied M. Van Amberg. uit irl vou treat Auuunoiata very harshly.

God coro- die before vour eyes, withoutcarinir for her fate. should sustain the weak. In our native land, The stromf ialiaiid owes protection to her he has chosen for his Fur all tliese reasous, brother, I say you treat Anuun- ciata 'piic's she said M. Van Ambers, fillintj liis Vn brother; only the strong resist and complain. A with a crash, the reed bends noiselessly to the niinil slic siive silence and' by constant and passive obedience, like that of a nl i'lrss' automaton.

You have deprived her of the woman One day she will cease to move and breathe; Ins lft CBasei to livcl" Brother, there are words that should not be inconside-atelv sjiokon, judgments that should not be hastily passed, Dii I imt know your whole life, Karl, as well as my own, and 110 tnererore apcan. uumiuvuwy, us one well Van Amberg inhaled the smoke of his pipe, threw him- in his arm-chair, and made no reply. IS i'ijiiuw you us I know myself," resumed William gently, our hearts were made to bve and not to resemble 'i, When you found our father's humble dwelling no small, 1 slliJ nothing; you ambitious; when a man turn with that misfortune or blessing, he must do like the birds ffl'u have wings to soar; he must strive to rise. You I pressed your hand, and reproached you not it la that each man should be happy his own way. You much gold, and gave me more that I needed.

Yuu returned iiirried, and I diil not approve your marriage. It Hjin- tu sock companion in the laud where one's days are to end; issoniething to love the same places and hiniM ami then it is only generous to leave one's wife a fauiih! friends well-known objects to gaze upon. It is counting greatly on one's self to take sole charge of her hamiiiii-ss. Happiness sometimes consists of so many thin''! Often an imperceptible atom serves as base to its for "iy part I do not like presumptuous ex-aerimwits tlie hearts of others. In short, you married a foreigner, iv'ho perishes with cold in this country, and sighs, amidst our fogs, for the sun of Spain.

You committed a itill greater fault forgive me, brother 1 speak plainly, in iruVr not to return to this subject." 1 am attending to you, William; you are my elder brother." "Thanks for your patience, Karl. No longer young, you married a very young woman. Your affairs took you to There you 'met a needy Spanish noble, to whom you reinlc ed a weighty service. You were always geuerous, and increasing weal did not close your hand. This noble dad a daughter, a child of fifteen.

In spite of your apparent coldness were smitten by her beauty, and you asked hcrofiier father. Only one thing struck you; that she was poor, ami would be enriched by the marriage. A refusal ofvuur would have been ingratitude to a benefactor. They gave you Amiuueiuta, and you took her, brother, without looking whether joy was in her eyes, without asking the child whether she willingly followed you, without interrogating her heart, la that country the heart is precocious in its awakening perhaps she left behind her some youthful dream some early love Forgive me, Karl; the subject is difficult to discuss." "Change it, William," said M. Vain Amberg, coldly.

it so. You returned hither, and when your business again took you forth upon the ocean, you left Annunciata to my care, she lived many years with me in this house. Karl, her youth was joyless and sad. Isolated and silent, she wore out her days without pleasure or variety. Your two eldest daughters, now the life of our dwelling, were then in the eriille.

They were no society to their mother 1 was 3 very grave companion for that young and beautiful creature. 1 ive little reading and knowledge, no imagination; I like my ijuiet arm-chair, my old books, mid my pipe. I at first allo.veil myself to believe because I loved to believe it tltitt Annunciata resembled me, that tranquillity and a somtbitahh: dwelling would suffice for her happiness, as they sufficed for mine. But at last I understood what you, brother, I fear have never comprehended that she was never intended for a Dutch housewife. In the first place, the climate tortured her.

She constantly asked me if finer lumiwrs would not come, if the winters were always so rigorous, the fogs so frequent. I told her no, Unit the year was a bad one; but I told her a falsehood, for the winters Mere always the same. At first' she tried to sing her Sevillian rom nues and boleros, but soon her song died away, and she wept, for it reminded her too much of her own native land. Silent and motionless she sat, desiring, as I toe read in the Bible, 'Tile wings of the dove, to fly away and be at re Brother, it was a melancholy sight. You know not how slowly the winter evenings passed in this parlour.

It was dirk at four, and she worked by lamp-light till bedtime. I endeavoured to converse, but she knew nothing of the things I knew, and 1 was ignorant of those that interested her. I saw at last that the greatest kindness was to leave her to herself. She worked or was idle, wept or wan calm, and I averted' my eyes to give her the only consolation in my power, a little 'liberty. But it was very sad, bio'ilier!" There was a moment's silence, broken by SI.

Van ":ll.idnni) Van Amberg was in her own dwelling-," said he, severely, with her children, and under the protection a devoted friend. Her husband toiled in foreign parts to increase the fortune of the family she remained at home to luep house and educate her daughters all that i3 cry natural." And he filled his pipe. "True," replied William; "but still she was unhappy, nasi; a crime? God will decide. Leave her to his justice, Karl, and let us be merciful! During your long absence, chance conducted hither some Spaniards whom An-omiuaiu had known in her childhood, and amongst them the son of an old friend of her father's. Oh! with what mingled joy and agitation did the dear child welcome her comitrym.

ii! What tears she in the midst of her for she had forgotten how to lie happy, anil every emotion made her weep. How eagerly she heard and spoke her native tongue She fancied herself again in opun for a while she was almost happy. You returned, Mother, and you were cruel; one day, without explaining-your motives, you shut your door upon the strangers. Tell rat, why would you not allow fellow-countrymen, friends, a coiiiiauioo of her childhood, to speak to your wife of her iy ami naiive land? Why require tt complete isolation, auiU total rupture with old friends She obeyed without a murmur, Imt, she suffered mure than you thought. 1 ratcaed her closely her old friend.

Since that fresh rigour, she is sadder than before. A third tune she oeeame a mother it was in vain her unhappiness continue i. Brother, your hand lias been too heavy on this reeble creature." rose, and slowly paced the room. "Have iu tu er I i not abuse the licence I give you 1 nave yet more to say. re to say.

You are a cold and severe "oi an you are also an unjust father, aff tl'ini daughter, is denied her share of your "'is partiality you further wound the heart i i.iunciata. Christine resembles her she is what I can out I no i.ll your it sht Irw 1 111 a Kvey charmingSpaniard; eultv hV lastL's Her she lives with aita- Of 111 Brothev th- "i ll 01,1 as Annunciata sutlered. atom -hmni-li hiirn ill ir. Iiv i.tmi'ino i 'sy to manage: muepenuent, nn- m-, ilU she has a love of habit' ilt Is nMdl il! "'ees with our Terutar it vol lart. 'd by appealing to 7,.

1 "ave tamed her wild spirit. For iuue "'ore nor less than a pittiless Wo iosi long grief. And thus, far he abroad i "lu 'f'sness, slie loves more than ever looks 1,1 ilheny she goes out at davbreak; sho Jn vail' 0 whose bars hurt her, and "ouhl brf 1Vsta ller- Brother, if you we'l 61 lu.L:e sll0w affection. It is a power that i. she "ve in filil- hernmrrj-hw the student, is not rich, nor is 31 Van Ami 5 they luve eacl I'S(1 short -m ''ni 0 lia(i eontinued his walk, now to his brother's accusations; foolisli i- 1 do my duty hv curbing the JOU to what.

v. eniatui-ely disturbs her reason. As re explained it your- Yun ivlln scvcrclv. Ullnes, beware yourself of judging too all thin, according, to his internal pereep-our glass, Vi(ji, in'e, I.H,t 0U(J 10 ''0 spoken. Empty Dot begin aii lS i'oi have finished your pipe, do "1 liteo Lin business I had to discuss with you "iii-i mil ir.

lu I mic, rtlll, ail! incu. It is alo up the memories of the past. 1- tu ueave me, ana ten iviauame van "Wliv 1,1 a of an ulna i sweet name.never nassed vour litis "'is jxi iiiinninrn Why, for so long a 1 speak with her, and ri'llied Karl, sternlv. i i. ipir ir.

1... .1 lki y'suininst K.nn vai) Amberg's patience fooloftliesta -s -m 111113 k'ft the room. At the soualit. "loment, then ascended, and u.i V.1,nse chamber. It was a narrow si.iss,-s aim comannng a tew flowers it, and with chaplets of beads haug-y) (it was her foot of i '5 and the willows.

Christine ping: her mother was f3 11, wih wliioli Christine's 'wii A'inuiiciata kww.i "'uiy i uuumm-i a tvts, auu fti. "luiuci ts William stoo I'ure. mourllfully contemplatiu. fcclrtldf Annnneiati i- own avail 'wf heart i yv.iyer iiu ooe- bin "Ulllig, for 'Cr and her tears she niunmirs i.n.l ve null'. "oiii t0 hwof duty.lnd give her happ Go, I will re- Krj "HV brnil.o,." niirror n1 Approaching ifta er eNe le she washed the in.

11 and when her v1' Colhoi, "foinposure, she descended tr 1 her 0,1 loer steps. Gmi ft'l tTlj sh.e roughlto.her mis- had i'" been in wo'us. Xous' 'e arrival of You spoil her. unciata, and ner master as the Van A I uever acknowledged. But 'linill illlfl iUe mistr3S- tliedi, uiltii- icmameu stanumg more gloomy than ever, w.im Human is, you auouiu solicit subscriptions lor a poem." He had done so; and one man said, "Damn yon! uat wrile 80metbiug gentleman can read Another, "Well, I suppose I mnst patronise your vanity, or yiease iu call ill Wutlcins Lle of MUlOlL Advice to the Wipe.

A wife must learn now to form her husband's happiness by seeking to know in what direction the secret of his comfort lies she must not cherish his weaknesses by working upon them she must not rashly ruu counter to his prejudices. Her motto must be, never to irri-tate. She must study never to draw largely upon tbe small stock of patience in man's nature nor to increase bis obstinacy by trying to drive him never, if possible, to have scenes." I doubt much if a real quarrel, even if made does not loosen the bond between man and wife, and sometimes, unless the affection of both be very sincere, lastingly. If irritation should occur, a woman must expect to hear from most men a strength and vehemence of laiiiriiaRe far more than the occasion reouires. Mild as well stern men are prone to this exaggeration of language nor a woman oe lemptea ever so say anytumg sarcastic violent in retaliation.

The bitterest repentance must needs follow such an indulgence if she do. Men frequently forget what they have themselves said, but seldom what is uttered by their wives. They are grateful, too, for forbearance in such cases; for, whilst asserting most loudly that they are right, they are often conscious that they are wrong. Give a little time, as the greatest boon you can besiow, to the irritated feelings of your husband. The English Matron.

Robbers. Ofpbessios- of the Government. On leaving Ladik, we continued our route over the bills for some time, till we met two men armed iu a very irregular manner, who began to regale us witb the tidings that a large baud of robbers was abroad, in consequence of which they been placed there by government to escort travellers as as the limits of the plain of Amasia. Their protection, however, was not likely to prove very efficient in case of attack, as one of their muskets wanted a lock, and the other, from its rusty appearance, seemed likely to do its owner more injury than anyone else. Still we deemed it advisable accept of them as a guard, not knowing whether, in case refusal, they might not have thought fit to bring the robbers upon us.

It is generally believed that tbe authorities iu these parts have a secret understanding with banditti, aud give them information of the movements travellers. In case they are not to attack the person caravan, one or more individuals ktiown to the robbers accompany him or it, and thus guarantee a safe pussage. similar practice exists among the Bedouins in some parts. was not unlikely, therefore, that ourguidesmightbe themselves members of, or couuecied witb, the band of depredators from whom they were deputed to guard us. At all events, there had not been some mutual good uuderstaudiug, their number and their arms were ill qualified to afford us any solid proiectiou.

While ou this subject I may remurk that most of these banditti have been driven to a course of violence crime by the grinding tyranny -of the government. The heavy taxation and the vexatious measures resorted to for exaction will often, iu a few days, make desolate a whole villuge, iiud compel its inhabitants to take refuge in the neighbouring woods and mountains. The peasant quits the mud cottage of his fathers with his wife and children, procures either by craft or plunder some weapons, aud, preserving a tacit good understanding with bis fellow-villagers remain behind, be employs them as spies on the movements of travellers. For a time be pursues a hazardous aud wandering life, till he bus.eiiher secured. enough booty to be to make his peace with the pasha, or has rendered himself too obnoxious to be forgiven.

In the latter case, he is often hunted by the savage Albanian irregulars to bis mountain lair, where he meets death resolutely with arms in his bauds, or is overpowered and taken olive, to be reserved for most exqniaite and refined tortures. Writbiug in agony tne staxe, oe not untrequenuy maintains nis courage unbroken to the last, and maddened by torture aud despair, he invokes with bis last breath the curses.of Heaven on the bend bis oppressor. I have often, in the course of a day's ride, encountered several of these deserted villages, abandoned by whole of their unfortunate inhabitants, who bud chosen rather to brave the perils and hardships of a robber's life, than submit to the grinding tyranuy of their governors. Notes from Nineveh. Mn.

CAaLYLE's Political Wbitikos. If we treated of these works as to their literary merits as the productions our greatest literary man, we should, speak with admiration of their wouderful force aud reality their magnificence style, notwithstanding the frequent occurrence of a strange jargon, a dialect of many broken languages of the boundless wealth of imagery, the beautiful poetic forms, and the grand illustraiions ever hew and living of the grim humour and uncouth wit all combining iu the richest strains poured by any living writer. But for such praise Mr. Carlyle cures nothing; nor indeed for any praise. He is too sincerely intent ou the thougbt he has to speak, too terribly earliest." For the sake of his compelling convictions has come, with his reputation in his into the held of conflicting political aud social doctrines; williug peril all he has won on the bearing be gets this time for opinions obnoxious and antagonistic as' be knows, them- to be.

That be speaks half-truths and no truths, and he is perversely and proudly wrong, that he is cruel and contemptuous at times, we must believe; that most ot ins vaticinations will oe rejected by calm reason, unless, history can be blotted from memory aud the light of fnitli extinguished, is our irresistible conviction; but if we can exact any truth from him, and can retain for him a humble and reverent are glud and thankful to the Heavens and to him." We have, in noticing these pamphlets, freely pointed out that which we conceive to be-their radical falsity, and to use a word we have frequently employed, iutense one sidedness. We have expressed our weariness of their monotonous lament and sustained exaggeration, and our disgust at the conceit of their denunciations and predictions. But we cheerfully admit that they contain many deep truths; and we are grateful to Mr. Carlyle for asserting much-needed truth, although not new, fined to cheek prevailing mischiefs and injurious tendencies iu our religious and social life crusted over as we have become with conveutioual plausible falsehoods. Tbe concluding essuy of his series is by far the most truthful of tbe whole; in many respects one of the most solemn and profitable lessons which-has been read to onr modern English society; and certainly one of the most eloquent, honest, and powerful of the many great and wise productions of the genius of Carlyle.

Like all other of bis writings, it is most successful in the luminous and impressive conveyance of thought glows and burns with sincerity and earnestness, lis majestic thuuderstones long echo to the ear. In the light of its fitful flashes things around us get a. prominence aud wear a look never to be forgotten. Yet dimness and uncertainty oppress us; we want the quiet light of day to tiiuke tbeir forms and hues more truly known; we may clierisn tue memory of these visions by storm light, they, too, are truth aud nature; but how partially so. Allowing, then, somethiug of moditication for the general mpression obtained under the influence of these Kloomy tempestuous splendours, something of tbe excessive shades, aud the wild irregularity of such views as we here get, we tuke thein to reveal much substantial trull).

1 here is torcible exposure ot the tiollowness and cor ruption to be detected muon ot our social Hie, ay, ami our religious me, too; mere is mucn penetrating aud skilful hiving bare of the spirit of fraud aud iusiuceritj which too certainly una oaietuiiy uas spread am-oau, uuu infected our domestic relations, made us formal and artificial in society, widely deceptive and dishonourable in commerce, and, worst ot all, hue given to Heartless turms and conventional hypocrisies, both of thought and art, a patent and recognised right, so tnat tne practical, wrougnt-out life of men seldom is, seldomer is expected to be, the true type of tbe inner life, the spiritual reality, but is a convenience, a pretence, a service of the divinities of society and not of God, profanation of manhood, and a lie against the spirituality and sacreduess of life. The Nonconformist. ESCAPE FROM A SLAVER. There was but little occasion to' wake Mantis. Felix had risen the moment there was an opportunity of doing so with impunity, put in the very same instant Mantis had also risen.

Felix stood astonished. Tbe black glided over to him. Now saiil he, grasping Felix's urm "now is the time cool and firm! Remember, you leave certain death We can but meet it where we go. The chance is in our favour." Without waiting for a reply, he glided among the shroiida, and disappeared over the vessel's side. No noise indicated his fall into the water a feather could not have dropped more lightly.

Felix hesitated a second. Below on the waters rested the darkness of death; but, as the black said, there was death to be left behind. He followed into toe snrouds; mere was a moment when be thought he would return and await the worst that could beful him, but he shook off tbe feeling he was over the side among the chain plates he let go his hold, and in the next instant the waters closed over his bead. Wheu he rose attain to the surface, it was with all the animul excitement and confidence of one who is as much at home in tbe water as on the dry lend. He cast up one glance at the darkened sky, to ascertain wtietner me cloud wmen was uassius; over the moon would obscure it sufficiently lone to enable him to phice such a distance between himself and the brie ns would insure Dim against observation 1 rom its deck one glance at the dark side, which frowned over his bead like castle wall, aud whose lights aiid noises were now objects of such terrible interest then he held his breath to cttich the trace of then he laid his breast upon tbe waters, and struck out to rejoin him.

ij; very sound n-om tue nrigwas Dome along tue waters to tbe anxious swimmers with painful distinctness; but there was nothing beard to give them cause to apprehend that their flight had yet beeu discovered. The cloud stilt continued to befriend laem and spread darkness over their path. Mantis led; and Felix, guided by the sound of his strokes, steadily followed some yards behiud. Not a word was exchauged between them each knew bis part, and neither had breath to throw away upon vain discourse. With silent determination they fought their way onwards, bow.

husbanding, now laying out their Btrengtb, with the judgment of practised swimmers. While things were thus progressing steadily, and with that confidence of a successful issue which so generally insures it, all at once Felix felt something brush against his leg. He had sufficient presence of mind to repress the exclamation which rose to his lips; but he could uot master the shock within. That which had before been forgotten now ttaslied across his mind. In the eagerness to escape, it had not occurred to him that the sea was swarming with sliarfta.

a moment his strength was gone a cold horror overspread his frame, aud he was on the point of sinking: the sound of Mantis still steadily struggling on ahead recalled him to he struck out ins nuios vioienuy ui uw insisted to himself that it was imagination, or sorae floating fratimeiu. that had caused his alarm and without allowing i all hit. wninht the a of that that be for the and was the yell. that iu both. iu his to were Felix saw and a we aud of she to uwu in of for of Now mark what they do and say (by parenthesis) at Ormskirk: "The sets are carried, and carefully laid side by side on a board, or sometimes the wife's tea-tray (this is said to be the most profitable way of using it), being laid with care upon the dung, about nine inches distant every way they are then covered with the soil from the intervals vvith the spade.

When just appearing above ground, another light covering is given from the intervals." or the general crop of early potatoes which follows, the management is much the same, the exceptions being, that the noses of the potatoes are not now preferred, while the tea-tray gives place to a wheelbarrow or hand-cart. As those crops are removed, and sold at Liverpool or other early potato market, the ground is not left a day not an, hour, if hands and spades be ready until another generation of potatoes are set to grow. These' are got out in autumn and then the ground, you would think, gets a rest. A dose' of sleep No dose of manure. There is no rest for land at Ormskirk.

The markets of Liverpool, Wigan, St. Helens, and all round those busy haunts of men, are crying for more food for spring greens as well as winter potatoes. The land, bountiful mother of men, is, for the third time in oneyear, bearing crop Talk of tho precision and economy of manufactures, and the misuse of the lari'd of Lancashire The economy of tirne material, and skill in a cotton mill, is not more exact or exigent than in the Ormskirk cabbage fields. This is rather, more than Mr. Rothwell gives us; but we have been.

there, and have seen the prodigies of those old baxon delvers. It has been' and with some truth, that they grow potatoes so' fast, throw them out of the ground so hot at Ormskirk, that the plague which rotted them everywhere else in years just past hardly had time to touch them there Mr. Rothwell takes us to the Eylde, and glances at the Scotch farmers who have besu induced to come from Scotland. He does not say, but we happen to know, that 1 some of the foremost of them came from the driest climate on the east coast, which may explain the difficulty which he says they: have found in the moist climate of Lancashire. He makes some judicious remarks about1 the very expensive bu.ldings and dwelling houses erected for those farmers landlords going from an extreme of meanness to that of excess.

He thinks that had farmers of intelligence in Lancashire, who knew the soil aud climate, had as much, or even less done for them, as has been done to introduce the system of these strangers to the climate, they would have done more for the land lords in return. We are inclined to believe this. He says of the farming of noblemen and gentlemen, through agents or bailiffs, it generally turns out to be unprofitable. We say always; for if there be not always pecuniary loss, there is disappointment or disgust at The cause is on the surface. The agent is farming with capital furnished for a time to buy toys.

lor large spoiled, children. He spends, and they tire, of the fun. The reclamation of the mosses, Chat Moss, White and some others, is related, and forms an exceedingly interesting narrative. But we miss some of the figures of cost which readers of a practical turn naturally look for. Altogether, this Report of the Agriculture of the County of Lancaster" cannot fail to be interesting to most ordinary readers, and highly instructive to those who seek information in the delightful science and pursuits of agriculture.

Mr. Rothwell does not omit to notice that greatest drawback on the progress of tenant farmers, namely, the insecurity of tenure de pendeuce on the capricious will of a landlord or agent, or, we shall add, even the will or ill-will of a gamekeeper. But as landlords must now rely on the skill and productive' capital of their tenantry for rent, it is likely enough that they will afford protection to that productive capital and skill by the laws of justly-framed leases and probable that they will concede to the tenantry the right to kill all called game found feeding on their crops. Until they do ooth, neither high skill nor productive capital will go freely into agriculture. Makiho Use of Melchisedek.

While verv bus-ilv en- gnged oue furenoon in his study, a imm entered, who at once piopitiatea uini, uncler tue provocation ot au unexpected interruption, by telling him that he called under Ki-eat distress of mind. Sit down, sir; be good enough to be. seated," snid Dr Chalmers, turning eagerly and full of interest from his writingrtable. The visitor explained to bini that he was troubled wun doubts about Hie divine origin of the Christian religion; aud being kindly questioned as to what these were, he gave, among others, nlmt is said in the Bible about Mel-ebisedrk being without father and without mother, Patienily and anxiously Dr. 'Chalmers atitmht to eleur away each successive difficulty as it was stated.

Expressing him self as it greatly relieved in mind, and nnugimng that he had gained his end, Doctor," said the visitor, I am in great want of a little mouey at present, and perhaps yon could help me in that way." At once the object of his, visit was seen. A perfect tornado of indignation burst upon the de ceiver, driving him in very quick retreat from the study to tne street-door, tnese escaping among xvot a penny, sir, not a penny! Its too bad! us too bad! Aud to haul in your hypocrisy upon the shoulders of ftlelubi-sedek!" Tail's Magazine. ARTBUilG UABTLE, THE ASYLUM OW L.DTHEB. A Small wooden staircase leads to the room where be resided when first conveyed hither, forcibly, and in secret, by the devices of his friend, the elector, from the dangers, bidden and open, which at that time threatened his life. He called it his Patmos, and here he wrote several works, aud completed a gieat portion of liis translation of the Bible.

The room he occupied'remtiins, in all its principal features, unchanged. wnettier a nnm he a Etonian ist or frotestunt whether tie rejoice iu the Reformation or hate it- memory, its historical importance no one can deny. There is, therefore, a deep teeling ot interest awakeneu vismug the chamber once occupied by this great man: there is something peculiarly gratifying in handling ihe furniture once used by him in silting 'down' upon his three-legged stool in looking at his ink-stand and' upon the rough old oaken table whe re he otibe wrbteA those words of lire which provoked the Greatest religious revolution the world has ever known and all this at the hand, humanly speaking, of a single monk, who, in those dark and dangerous times, dared to oppose aiid defy the collective powers of the emperor, and the whole Romish Luther's chamber is of very small nay, insignificant dimensions; Worm-eaten buards miserably put togetuer, cover me wans, i wo ueepiy- recessed windows, small, and filled with lend casements, scarcely admit the necessary light, iiud the tout ensemlile is so little invilitiK that, in tuese luxurious aays, lew Ciiigusumen woum iuiuk oi ottering it as a sleeping apartmeuttor a man-servant. I tie. bookcase is formed of a simple boarding, and looks like a shifting closet thiit has beeii thrown aside in the lumber-room of some old house.

Some Bibles of various dates, and he-neiith fragments of the first edition of -the Lutheran triin'slntioi'if'are here preserved, as idso a piece of ihe beech which Luther was arrested by the rough though friendly emissaries' of the elector, who brought him hither and on the wall, framed and eltized, baoKS ti quarto leaf in bis own firmVaiigulur, and vigorous haudwriting. The trees above mentioned, which stood in the neighbouring forest, was' known as Luther's beech, till it was at length struck by lightning, and destroyed during a violent thunder storm. Beiitley's Miscellany. Topography and 'Temperance. The fact is, sir, public-bouses are the creati -laud-marks of the country.

Whether sou are benighted in a Northumberland moor lost in a Devonshire lane (the one thing in -nature which it is wen Known nas no enn) wnether yuu are cast away in a river, left without a clue1 upon Salisbury or reduced to a state of topographical despair iii Warwickshire wood, uie nrst person you meet oe it he or she, gentle or simple, old or young, a'geuiua or an idiot will assuredlv eouvinee you that the only rural, means of directing you are the names and signs of places of public entertaiuuieut. Go on straight till you rcoine to the Green Lion, then turn to the left rlose to the Uoatand Uompasses, and afteryou have passed the Plough, bearofi'to tbericrlit, and, opposite ihe Jollv Gardeners, von will Bee a'luue go down that lane till you lnive ib cross a brook by the Bide of ihe Bottle and Bagpipes, and when yon have got to the Three Whistles and Cockchufer further down, get over -a stile next to the Tinker and Tnrkeycock, tuke the first to the leftiiiid that's it." Such were the directions by whiob I found my friend; Groggles. last Mondav. Without the signs I have mentioned; uevpr should have found Goggles to this'day. Unless, sir, they wish the topography of our native land to be utterly confused, and desire to make-viiliintarv loco- motion iinposaible (I call railways compulsory travelling, for you must go where they choose to take yor.i.

I do entreat of. them to leave lis their signs, whatever thev do with the inns. Whynot move the torjiier to sf.nri sponsors to their new-tangled watering places? Take Ur Pnimheon'of RuuY from whttt used.to be the -posting-ho' Hse (before steam blew post-horses off the road); and stic'K the parish pump. Let. wayside wells be ornamented effiiies of Topers' Heads transfer the Barrel of Beer" lhe village inn to the tillage fountain, jolh-Foll Bottle" from the alebouse, the conduit.

The when a man coinea to the picture of. three drunken soW lier8. und lue Rendezvous, he wilbkuow (l reiMjrvoh5 0r regular meeting of the. waters. ltael puilch Bowl," in gold letters, will mdioate; a waiertroiv the Blaok J.

ck" would give a smiuhcant for ater tj be drnuk ou the premises; and the "bui Jthu tuat-a-good' supply qfthe ale of o'ar first parent is not far a up, as iei or had far to of the of or A. It if and its who able the on of the of of out in he to resided in the Roman States until the last summer, after tr surrender of Rome to tbe French army of invasion, wbf they deemed it expedient to migrate to Florence, both havi ag taken an active part iu tbe republican movement which resulted so disastrously nay, of which tbe ultimate resrx' is yet to be witnessed. Tbeuce in June they departed, an a sei sail at Leghorn for this port, in tbe Philadelphia brig beth, which was doomed to encounter a succession of disasters. They bad not been many days at sea when the apmiu was prostrated by a disease which ultimately exhibit itself as coufluent'smull pox of the most malignant type, un ter. rninated bis life soon after they touched at Gibraltf ir a(ter a sickness of intense agony and loathsome horror.

t-n'e ve6sel was detained some days iu quarantine by Teas' jn 0f tkjs affliction, but finally set sail again on the 8th ut ja season to bring hereon onr coast on the night storm between Thursday and Friday, when darkness ram an(j a violent gale from tbe south-west (the most dunp et0U3 qarter possible conspired to hurl her into the very j( t'ws of destruction. It is said that the mate in command Bit' Ce the cantain's death, mistook the Fire Island light for that the higlaads of Neversmk, and so fatally miscalculated coursPB. bnt it is hardly probable that any other than gr8t cia8s fnnv manned ship could have worked off that coast UDder 'ch3a gale blowing him directly towards the raj rinK breakers She strnckt during the night, and before nxt eveuin; Ehzabetl, was a mass of drifting stieii and pauits hile her passengers and part of her crew jogt In her intellectual character Marge puiier answered in our own country to ber distinguish contemporary, Elizabeth Barrett, of Eimlund. Sheh-Ai deucies as regarded criticism and speculation, which belonir to Elizabeth Barrett, hub su htn vpmn n.D the extraordinary poetical writ-: w)ict hft7e singular eminence in the pot ry ot our lime B6 and fearlessness of their pu t)liB comp08itioI18. notf in years; many respectf alike intpersonai fortune.

both passing their early marrie. 4 of lenb in the same distant country these two mo8t if eng the two countries and tf tbeir own fa firme TtiTJts 1 -r1 eacfv te-u Bow deep svmnathrbow'nTofo. learn.og-an experience and wanderers niJ melancholy Both exiles and must beUeve "lie, -'f land not driven forth, but, we ol that generon bu.JT bme' pverv of thp s3'U)Pathy which should have accompanied which hit bee maIl A Publi0 Jwnd woman XouP and supporter of our country- tZTa coiled'; s' hr tJa thepeopU, Wf ld ber wb ving, writing UuVe BU8tainea in her 8ndl3en a.h. These 11 low.a range and variety of -power in "hibit'our departed on -a wmmiindmg light, as one who thought, hoped, WW nimseii so uiiiik, bwoiu uiiugiuniiuu, 'However; was not sufficient to account for after 'a 'minute, be again; feU sowethirj'g brush roughly against' und he beard distinctly a strange gurgling, 'sound'clbse to him. 1 At this momeut the tB09ibV4J3tou', from behitidth? clouds, Raphael had painted.

'and Aui'elo- time, visions of sybils and prophets Heiobt Impudesos. Callitnr. street, opprobrious 4icJuiRme fromtJHjfc;.