|i vol. XMM. LITERATURE. _ ~ THE EXAMINE SANCTUS Fol SPIRITUS n the shadow, Mingling in the vere of friends— Mid the turmoil of the etty, «xprestered glens ; atili And in Present {2 my 4 aking hours Sil! beside we in my dreaniw Glides an unseen heart that loves me Glows a love that on me beams Heard above the rush of waters, Iv life's never-ending storm, Whispered in the faintest echo, That of loving words is born. (‘omes a song of deep devotion, Frem the voice I always bless— Calming all the troubled sources Of my weary beart’s distress. Farth withholds her sunshine from me— Fate decrees that I shall bear Gyves and fetters on me alWaya, Chaining life unto despair Bat this spirit that abideth With ‘me in my joy and pain, Hides the darkness with her featurea— With her smile lifts up my chain ! Ne’er so dark the night and lonely— Ne er so hidden be the stars, But those eves that love me only Shine within my prison bars. Sweet is rest from painful watching— Sweet the calm that follows storm— Sweet the reconciliation After heart from heart is torn. Bat unto my storm-toased being Sweeter far the bliss I know, in this #pirit's sacred service, Loving me through weal or woe. M. C. 8. cmrenemcinentelll pecans WOMEN'S RIGHTS. You eannot rob us of the rights we cherish, Nor tarn our thoughts away, From the bright picture of a “ woman's mission,”’ Uur hearts portray We claim to dwell in quiet and seclusion, Beneath the household roof, From the great world’s harsh strife, and jarring voices, Te stand aloof ;— Not in a dreamy and innane abstraction To sleep our life away, But, yuthering ap tae brigltuess of home sunshiue, Te duck our way. As bumble plants by country hedgerows growing, That tresure up the rain, And yield in odours, ere the day's declin’: The gfe meme ; Wy So let us, unobtrusive and unnoticed, But happy none the less, Be privileged to fill the air around us With happiness ; To ‘ive, unknown beyond the cherished circle Whiek we can bless and aid; To die, and not a heart that does not love us, Kaow where we're laid. ( From the North British Reviac.) ~ SCOTTISH HUMODR, Kentiniseences of Scottish Life and Charaster. By E.B. Kameay, M.A., LL.D., F.R.S.E., Dean of Edinburgh. First and Second Series. Familiar Iljustrations of Scottish Character. By the Kev. Charles Koyers, LL.D., P.S_A. Scotland. Though net yet admitted into the ‘Society for taining Justice to Scotland,’ and not very sen- sitive nor ‘sudden and quick iu quarrel’ in regard the proeise heraldic position of the Scottish , We are pevertheless sincerely and profoundly attached to our native land. We are proud of Scotland—of her history, ber seenery, her charac- wr, and her institutions. We relish the smacie of A Wee Orne? ly ~~ Hournal of “This is true Liberty, when Preeborn Men, having to advis rue lindeed, like all human fhreulties, liable to abuse, and capable of being perverted to evil; but it is essentially a good gift, and ought to be turned to the 1 , and to manife increase of the cheerfulness, | the happiness,and the aflection of secial and funaily Hlife. We might go further ;—we adduce much evidence to support that, as humour is discerned only by ' can, to some extent, catch the ithe humouriet, so the sense or } humour is one phase or department of sympathy, and thus the springs of mirthfulness and of kind- | ness are not far distant: aod many a heme, amid | the alternations of joy aad serrew, that darken or | brighten the course of life, has found an ever fresh | gladness in the comic vein and jocund humour of some merry and mirthful member of the family. good account of which it is sus veptible st itself in the wiigat RAY, AG } those who discernment of Many of the best men we have ever known—the | | best in the highest sense of the term—with the | best heads and the best hearts,have been men who | thoroughly appreciated, and heart&y enjoyed, true | j humour. There are, indeed, some men whe, to jthe jocund and genial aspects of life, present a j front so cold and hard as to be quite unimpres- | | sible; over whom the brightest flashes of merri- | |) ment pass unheeded, ‘as o'er th’ impassive ice the lightuings play.’ There are others, with small aud narrow minds, self-seeking and selfcomplacent, sormpromise their diguity or peril their reputation, will not descend from the grave dulness of their deeorous walk, or permit themselves the pleasant relish of a wholesowe jest, or the innocent enjoy- ment of a hearty laugh. In this they greatly err, as much so as those who, in the midst of bright scenes and sweet sounds, would close their eyes lewt they should see evil, or their ears lest they should hear folly. by nature—that it is a source of great enjoyment, and that it is consistent with werth, and truth,and purity,—caunot be denied; and therefore the part of wisdom is, not to stitle, but to guide it, Humour is described by Addison as the offspring of wit and wirth, descended from good sense, and closely allied to truth, It may also be added, that humour is the co-mate of liberty,and thrives only in a free soil. As Sir William Temple truly says, ‘We have in ovr country originals, and more that appear what they are. because every mat Is free tu follow his owl hu- mour, and takes a pleasure, perhaps a pride, to show it. There may ve humour amid poverty aad rags—humour amid toils aud dangers—ii- mour evea amid ignorance, and recklessness, aud folly ; chains. The heart must be free before the springs | of true humour can be opened,aud then the streat | will be free, full, and gushing, in proportion as | Wit and mirth abound. It is the peculiar quatity of humour, that it cannot be forced, er bought, or artilictally stimulzted. More aptly and truly than of the poet, may it be said of the humeourist, ‘ vas- jcitur noa fit.” As we have already said, it is a } | gift, to be recognized, develuped, and guided,—anot | | an art to be learned, or an accomplishment to be acquired, aere are many things within the reach of aim, | | attainable by effort and industry, or capable of being unparted by instruction. Distinction in ; Many departments—wealth, power, learning, wis- | }dem—are generally within the reach of these | modes of acquisition ; and even those aceomplish- . . e | } ments which imply somewhat of the aglatus divi- | #us, Which we call genius, and which Cicero de- clares to be indispensable to greatness—such as | poetry, music, taste, eloguence—demand and re- quire the aid of assiduous culture. But humour is beyond the reach of art, the sphere of aim, or | the scope of acquisition. Not ouly is it impalpable to search, and unattainable by etiort, se and it should seem to be seized and retained, it dies in j the capture: its charm, its spirit, its very life, dissolves under the grasp; * And every touch that wooed its stay, Had brushed its brightest hues away.’ Of this humour —clothed in Seottish tongue,and illustrative of Scottish character—the volumes be- fore us contain mauy specimens. But no collection of anecdotes, uo repository of jokes, from the factize of Hierocles to the reminiscences of Dean Rewmsay, can adequately iustrate the humour of a country, or faitafully represent that delicate and j subtle influence which, floating over a free and | Joyous society, awakes the wit and the mirth of which humour is the offspring. The buniourous anecdotes of our country cannot be comprehended | ' or even represented in a volume. Seattered amid | all classes in all parts of Scotland, treasured in | countless memories, and told by countless tongues, | the good things of the Laird of M‘Nab and the Laird of Logan, of Harry Erskine, and Jolin ) Clerk, and Patrick Robertson, and many others, | | cannot be so gathered together as to be presented in a combined form. All that can be done, and all that is attempted in these volumes is to‘ sainpl them;’ and by no selection of samples can the spirit of the whole be adequately expressed. Those <: . . “i veeu the rails; | who remember Sir Walter Scott and Dr. Andrew sy iene than acd oie head out; eh, Dex | Thomson—those who knew Lord Cockburn and | @Y 's*? fle os Se | Sir Thomas Dick Lauder—those who now enjoy the social privilege of a night with Mr. Daniel the proposition, | feeling and spirit ot | who pass through life in the bondage and gloom of subservience ,to the opinion of some clique er| coterie around them, and who, lest they should That a sense of humour, and | an appreciation of fun, is implanted in many of us | I ) We have more humour, | but there can be no genuine humour in | Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, Monday, February ning with the letter P without stammering A neighbouring gentleman, seeing him diy to make him ridiculous, naid, ‘What do you call these things you're digging !’ ‘Sir, says poor Pat, ‘1 don’t call them; when | want them I feteh them.’ A nobleman and his lady, walking through a magnificent avenue in one of the finest parts of Ireland, were accosted by a poor woman as fol- lows : ng pota- toes, and wishing I dramed adrame abou U dramed your lordship gave your gracious ladyship you both last night. me a pound of tobacco, and your ladyship a pound of tay.” ‘Ah, my good Woh,’ says the peer, ‘dreams go by contraries.’ ‘To be sure they do,’ says the woman; the tobacco. A poor old Irish cripple sat begging at a bridve, urging his appeal to the charity of passengers with the eager and versatile eloquence of his country. A gentleman and lady—young, gay, and handsome, | with that peculiar look of gratified and compla- | cent cousclousness Which indicates the first tew weeks of married lhie—crossed the bridge. They regarded not the petitions of the beggar; so, just jas they passed hin he exclaimed, ‘May the bless- | of your lifes’ a pause; the couple passed heed- lessly on, and the beggar, with a fine touch of caustic humour, added, ‘and never overtake you.’ Dean Ramsay tells us of a Scotsman whose ten- der toe was trodden on: the offender said, ‘J’m | tual fight. very Sorry, SIT; sir.” To our mind, there was come not much humour in this, The Lrish beggar who, on being refused alms, swung his cruteh on the toes of the gouty gentleman, whom his prayers moved not to charity, bad more humour, when hi said tothe enraged owner of the suffering foot, |‘ Bless your honour, if your heart was aa tender | #8 your toes, you'd have given me the tenpenny.’ i In all these anecdotes, we think that net a eca- jsualcomie ineongruity, or mere blundering j fun, but a vein of rare humour, can be discerned, j the purer and rarer frow its natural simplicity Art is fatal, and premeditation is unfavourable to j humour. Sheridan was a wan of brilliant parts | aud of sparkling wit; and the exquisite wit of the | School for Scandad is searcely equalled, aud cer- | tainly not surpassed, by Cervantes or Moliere. That he was also a man of genuine humour can- not be doubted ; but whik of his writings, | his wit gained in terseness and polish from the | elaborate care with which he was went to prepare | his favourite passages, the fresh and racy charac- ter of his humour is sometimes marred by the same careful preparation. *, 1 SOIé j like blunders, are perhaps the finest specimens ot | true humour, in which there is no greater charm | than that of uasephisticated sunpbeity. This is the key to the peeuliar kind of humeur sometimes found in the remarks of persons of weak intellect, of which Shekespeare’s clowns and fools, and | Walter Scott’ “Wamba’ and ‘Davie Gallathe,’ afiord geod illustrations. There are many speel- j mens of such remarks in Deen Ramsay’s book :— ‘A miller, laughing at the wiflessness of a poor weak lad, said he knew nothing. “Na,” said the lad, “ there’s some things I ken, and some I dinnn ken.” On being asked what he knew, he said, ‘ ] ken a miller has aye a gay fat sow. “ And what d'ye no ken?” said the miller. “Oh,” said he. “I doa’t ken at wha’s expense she is fed.” | ‘The congregation of Lunan, in Foriarshire, | had distressed the minister by their habit of sleep- ing in church. One day Jamie Fraser, an idiot, Was sitting in the front gallery, whey many were slumwbermg around him. “ Louk,” said the ininis- ter, “ you see even Jamie Fraser, the idiot, does not fall asleep, as 80 many of you are doing.” plied, “ An’ I hadna been an idiot, 1 would have | been sleeping too.”’ ’ The clergyman of a north country parish, on | coming into church, found the pulpit occupied by the parish idiot. ‘Come down, sir,’ was the per- lemptory and indignant call. ‘Na, na, minister,’ says the idiot, with a confidential wink, ‘just come ‘ye up wi’ me. This is a preverse generation, and | taith they need us baith.’ | The following anecdote of Rab Hauuilton. ‘the daftie of Ayr,’ as he was called, is not, we think, jembered it in our youth. In the doys of Rab, the Newtown Kirk in Ayr, under the niinistry of the Rey. Dr. Peebles, wis supposed to be attend d by the most devout part of the population; and puir Rab followed the multitude of those w ho preferred the preaching of the good man whom Burns mev- tious as *‘ Peebles frae the Water-foot,’ to that of the ‘auld-town minister.’ One day, however, was induced to go to the *Auld Kirk” Behind the magistrates’ seat in the gallery, opposite th pulpit, there were iron rails, between two of whic! Rab’s head was inserted, and got fast jammed. The poor mau called out at first rather quietiv, then louder and louder on each successive appeal ‘Oh! my head! Eh, Provost Cowan, take tu} eh, Bailie M‘Taggart, Rab con Convener, take out my head, afore it comes atf; eh, pious congregation, uy head will be aff; . : . *h, god! inister, help ime, aud take ead.’ the old Seottish tongue, and enjoy the dry pawk-| M‘Nee, or our friend the author of the Hore ©! So's minister, help ime, aud takeout my head mews of the native Scottish humourist. yet not lost, in the union with her sister England, Seutlaud has distinet and peculiar claims ou our | r memory, our convictions, and oar affections,which | their stories with effect. we gladly and heartily recognise. It is, therefore, | with much cordiality, though not in a spirit of warrow or illiberal nationality, that we welcome | toese ustrations of Seottish life and character, | aod express our admiration of the patriotic spirit whieh prompts and pervades them. That the Rev. Dr. Edward Ramsay should have | Written a work on ‘ Scottish Life and Character,’ which his countrymen eagerly read, and heartily admire, ean be surprising to none Who know him. de man in more inighly, generally, and deservedly edeemed aud beloved, than this rev. gentleman. fascity much affected by political and denomi- | tational differences, where conflicting opinions are Mrougly entertained aud keeuly expressed, ke has —_ a loug, useful, aud honvurable life, without in ga friead or making au enemy; and in iis posed to think, that in genuine eel character the venerable is so gracefully | of the mirthfal oy the ended with the loveable, that all classes regard bie with feelings at ouce respectful and affection ale The Reminiscences are very entertaiving, avd, Sheaever the views and seutiwents of the author espressed, they are full of his own good sense aibeuevolence. We do not mean tosay that all tte stories are good, or that, in every instance, “ehumonr has been effectively brought out; it Would be easy to point out some aneedotes that aight well have been omitted, and others that Might be somewhat improved in narration. Bat, eenetally, they are well selected and well teld,aud there ix that about the anther and the book which Ms critica. We enjoy the stories, we feel the truth and aptness of the comments,we become Hore intensely, yet not less liberally Scuttish, as We read; and we feel that the best Ulustration of “Seottish Life and Character’ is to be found in sound sense in the quaint aod simple Scottish wour and janguage, in the kindly and genial tien, and the stedfast yet graceful and gene- us vationnlity of Dean Kausay. Dr. ogers’ Familiar IMustrations of Scottish \aracter is an amusing bouk, with some good Mories, and much good intention, and breathing a kindly and plesaant spirit, thenugh itis not, we think, equal in any respect to the Meméiniscences by Dean Ramsay. ae Object of both works is the Ene : the eol- and — Saeedotes Hustrative of the life,ebaract: r henwent* of Scotlaud—tmore especially in ite all Nesting ot Phe stories are, accordingly, humane severally ¢ laracteristic, and frequently them it io a + alway 4, however, lor in sume of iedoad t cult to diseover the humour. T wed, may be the fault of the reader, not of the Writer; for humour ix feeee prodigal to her favourites, yet verling her ured trom those she favours not. Tue per- Ceiving ; Wing of humour ig a gift, as well as the pro- | <a ty aad Ssuie lies e dueat as of production. colour-blind, and cannot discrimiuate between red, g = aud blue: and many persons are humour- a and cannot discern, or understand, or enjoy, ouch af fun or 4 stroke of humour. For our Part, We think such persous are to be pitied. To jo m the spring of much hearty and innocent en- at it dried up, aud they are not the better, gh much the duller , for want of it, power of discovering a comic poiut, of ap- it is os difficult of dis- Preriating & humorous hit, and enjvvi > fun of : 4 hum shit, eying the fun of eg Position, is a gift not to be Teaasd, At ia vain, silly, or unbeewning thing, as sowe owls aud grave dulucds suppose. It is, Merged, } | the basket, went on his way, and delivered the That, | strange and perverse | Some persons are | Subsecicva,—know well how impossible it is so to catch the spirit of true humour as to do justice to it by narration at second hand. No oue can repeat | Whether it is the fact, that our countrymen are deficieut in humour, while Englishmen excel in humour, may admit of doubt. We are by no means prepared to acknowledge that the fact is so, hotwithstanding the high authority of Sydney Sutith, who was himself a man of humour, rieh and rare. But of this we are satisfied, that the attempts toexplain aud account for the deticiency | assumed as a fact, have totally tailed. No satis- factory or even intelligible reason has yet been ; suggested, why Scotsmen should be inferior in | humour to Englishmen, Such an explanation as, that the Scottish people are poorer than the Euglish, caunot be reasonably accepted. Riches | do not create or even stimulate humour. The | Irish peasantry are poorest of all; yet we are dis- humour, whether | satirical order, they are su- | perior to both English aud Scoteh. An frishman | 3 . } , 18 not, as is often supposed, a mwcre blunderer into | }fun. Noman ean seck occasions for hwnour. But whea occasion comes, the poor Irishman is | prompt and ready. There are some Irish anec- | dotes, the point and pith of which are generally | supposed to be a blunder or bull, but which really | turn on a stroke of five natural humour. : An Irishman thus describes his cold reception by an old friend: ‘T saw Pat Ryan t’other side of the way. I thonght it was Pat, and Pat thought it was me; aud when 1 came up if was neither of us.’ | | A lad was sent with a note, and a basket con. j taining some fiving partridges. On his way, | tempted by curiosity, he peeped into the basket, | wheu the partridges flew away. Mach perplexed was he; but after a little consideration he reclosed } j letter with his best bow. * Well, my Ind,’ said the gentleman on reading it, ‘I see there are some | | live partridges in this letter.’ ‘Oh, by the powers,’ | j says Paddy, ‘I'm viad of that, for they flew out | the basket.’ Au English gentleman had an Irish servant, whom he took as his attendant toa Highland grouse-sheoting. ‘The expense of the sport to the | Englishinan had been very great: a large rent | for the muir, new guhs, and muniments of war on | grouse, high-bred dogs, a fashionable shooting tuine, anda countless number ofiucidental charges. | Unfortunately, the sportsman was less expert than | extravagant. Like a friend of our own, of whom we have heard old Willie M speak, ‘he was grand at the shooting, but ne very gude at the killing ;’ so, after the first week of the war, as the master and man were seated on a rock consoling themselves wader the fatigue and disappoinuucut of unsuccessful pursuit, the Eugtishiman says, ‘Weill, Pat, this 1s expensive work. I’ve been calculating that every one of these birds cust me jabovs £0.” ‘Faith, your houour, says Pat, throwing a dash of lumour into the sy inpathizing | simplicity of his reply, ‘ I’m sorry for that, buat it’s i CORB- | lucky there’s no were of them.’ | A traveller iu Ireland, having been inclined to , deny that the peasantry were humourous, was tuld | to ask any question of the first labouring wan he | met on the road. Accordingly, on seeing a sturdy fellow breaking stones, le says, ‘Now, my mau, | if the devil were to come here just sow, whether | would he take you or me? ‘Me, to be sure,’ says | the mau, ‘ for he’s certain of your honour at aay | time.’ , ‘ A poor Irish labourer had an impediment in Lis speech, aud could put prououuce words begia- jing togi }was asked, ‘ What is the Rab was at length reheved by the removing of a rail, when, rubbing lis head, and looking mourn- fully around him, he groaned out, ‘This is a judg- j ment from the Lord for leaving gude Dr. Peebles.’ Next Sunday, Rab was in his wonted place in the Newtown Kirk. He was asked how he liked the | Auld Kirk, and replied, ‘It’s no the best, it’s ne gude ava: Vi never leave Dr. Peebles; but, on | being pressed to state what the sermon was about, or what was the text, he declined to speak, saying, with a knowing wink, ‘J never tell in ae house what I hear in anither.’ This Rab Hamilton, though certainly daft, had # curious readiness of humour. Mr. William ’ , of D——, who was a clever mimic, was green of Ayr, bs once amusing some friends on ths j imitating Rab’sfeeble and rambling mode of speak- ing. Rab came up bebind him, unscen, and, as the mimie concluded, clapped Lim on the back, saving, ‘It’s nu me that; it’s po me, Mr. William, it’s yoursell.’ Rab was once met on the road by a stranger, who asked, * Llow far is it to Ayr?’ Rab, ‘ you'll be come from Kilmarnock!) ‘What ou earth is your business where I come from?’ ‘Very weel, sir, as little is it my business where ye gang to.’ ' Rab met the late Mr. Ramsay Maule (after- “The Lord bless vour noble lerdship and | ‘so it will be your lordship will | give me the tay, and her ladyship will give me | ing of the Lord, which brings love, and joy, and | wealth, and a fine family, follow you all the days | urtiness and | they did. The poor Trishiman’s | conic hits, so sunple and natural that they leek | eluding pursuit; bat if, by some bold adventurer, | Jamie, not liking to be thus designated, coolly re- | quite as well given by Dean Ramsay as we rem- | olities, Litera t e the Pubtie, t muy speak free.”---Euripides, 10, IS62. nee, and slews, Oe eee Rhine all alike present the features, not of; had returned to its bed, tranquil and slum-' the other circumstances we have described : those douce, temperate and somewhat slug- gish streams which Englishmen call rivers, but of the torrents which in the tropics shift, change, and throw up new territories, as if they own, made of Holland a swamp, through which the German rivers would have wandered slowly and sluggishly towards the sea, losing themselves en route in the sands, and sometimes fighting harmlessly with the storm- | driven rush of salt water. The Dutchmen, however, not approving of an arrangement which involyes among other things the life |of a wild duck for themselves, haye banked in the rivers, a work in itself of some mag- | nitude, but a trifle ta the wark it produces. These rivers carry down silt, which in the na- tural course of things they would slowly de- posit in their own beds. These rise, there- ture, steadily every year, till at the present moment the traveller who veatures upon the trackboat finds himself crawling along on rivers suspended jn air, and looking down on the plains as men look down over a precipice, | Naturally, as the rivers rise, so do the dykes, which, as they rise, become weaker, and but | that there is some compensating cause, man | would one day be vanquished in this perpe- M. Esquiros does not assign this I beg your pardon ;’ and the only | cause ; but, he says, the dykes as they rise acknowledgment was, ‘and you've as muckle need, | undoubtedly hold the river in better than The reasoa is sufficiently simple. ‘The bed of the river is not rising through its /whole length, but only through its length | in the delta, Consequently every rise dimi- | wishes the difference of Jeyel between the | great outflow through the Ardennes, and the [outlet of the river, and the velocity of the | Waters, though not their volame, is lessened. ute | It is quite possible that this process may go /on till the rivers are in the delta almost as - | sluggish as canals, and man will not be called | upon for that improvement in his faculties ‘| in which alone M. Esquiros, sees hope for the future. During the transition period, however, the danger is very great, and we }cannot better illustrate its extent, or M. | Esquiros’s style, than by extracting his ac- | count of the inundation of 1855: ‘- It was in the month of March, after a hard winter, which had suspended the course of the Rhine andthe Meuse. Spring arrived suddenly for that portion of these rivers to the south, while the northern part remained petrified beneath the ice. ‘Phe solid surface | of the Rhine being broken up, the thaw met in Holland a mass of the sti}l frozen river. A motionless river and moving ice-blocks came in a fearful collision. The foree of re- sistance being opposed to that of expansion must necessarily entail a catastrophe. There was a solemn and terrible moment, during which the-river, coutending with itself, utter- fed a hourse roar. All at onee the Ded of ice rose and burst, and the tumultuous strength of the waters, exasperated by the he avy clashing ieo-masses, no longer knew obstacles or res'raint. “The river roared and rose jike } a sea, and vyerflowed its banks. bough the dykes were so strong and tall they were ecar- ried away, cut :wander by the ice as by a razor-blade. The whule coantry becume a sheet of water; it was no lenger a breaking up of the ice butadeluge. The ice-lumpe were burled on ice-lumps3 and these ruins of the thaw destroyed, tore awty, and j crushed everything they meton their pass- age. Lofty oaks fell shattered in the constant- ily rising waters. On all sides the floods jrushed up like a peck of howling wolves. | The Rhine had already seized upon one- fourth of Gelderman and the provinee of | | Utrecht, and a portion of North Brahant | had disappeared beneath the waters of the Meuse. It was hopeless to search for the fat prairies, the smiling polders, and the splen- didly cultivated Duateh farms; ali that was beneath the level of the two rivers disappear ed, and was covered by the angry, secthing waters. In some places they rose above roofs of the houses, and frail boats, surround- ed by a belt of moving and floating rocks, ulone struggled against this tempest of ice. + “The ramparts and bridges were swept ‘ Ay,’ says | | Village. wards Lord Panmure) and Lord Belhaven, walk- | ther on the race-conrse of Ayr. ‘I’m a Hatnitton, your honeur; I’m a Hamilton,’ says Rab, approaching his Lordship. ‘Give him a) sliiling, Belhaven, he is a cousin ot yours,’ says Mr.Maule. ‘My mither’s name was Ramsay,’ says Rab, slipping reund to the other side, and getting another shilling as his reward. In like manner, there is frequently humour iv the observations of very young persous; aud these derive the charm of their pleasantry from their artless simplicity. A very litle girl at school, in the course of tuition by 4 particularly ugly teacher, | meaning of the word flattery?’ Her reply was, ‘Gin I were to say ye were bonnie, that would be flattery.’ ( To be concluded in our next.) oe = THE DUTCH Most educated Englishmeu are aware that the Dutch have to maintain an incessant | o fight with the sea, the stake being uo less than the right of their country to exist, but they du wut realize quite so fully that the {same warfare, only differing in its degree, is carried on with a deadly internal foe The sea, of course, is the atctiman’s most ‘dangerons antagonist, and appeals to the | Unagination all the more strongly becaus: | science has demonstrated the precise extent }of the peril. The local hydrographers, fo facilitate inquiry, have invented, or rather defined, a water level, which they call the iisay be described ag safe. wind bluws from the north-west, the ten- ‘dency of the water is to exceed this level, and during a storm the tide rises at the Teast ex- yosed places ten feet six inches above all lolland. Those who know most of the power of water will best understand the re- sult of precipitating ten feet of the German | Ocean over aa inha ited plain. menacing. The Meuse, the Scheldt, and the fragments of masonry, heaps of ruins and | bricks in a nameless medley. ‘our emotion at the sigit of these habita- away. From steeple to steeple the tocsin rang out, and the alarur guns were heard along the menaced line. An infinite desola- tion tell with night upon the villages and farms. The words ‘The dyke is burst !’ could be beard in all the tones of horror. Men were afraid for their homes, their rural riches, their winter stock, their eattle ; they feared for themselves, but before all for their wives and children. Before the foe who ad- vanced, stern, irresistible, and inevitable, the abodes were abandoned ; the inhabitants | sought shelter on the hills, and on buildings standing on an elevation, such as churches | and mills. From these spots the terrified | pecple surveyed the sabmerged fields, and | the villages in which they had left firiends., | Do you see down there that house in which a faint light is burning? A female shadow | is designed on the window panes, That wo- | man refused to take to flight. An enormous! ice-iass dashes against the house and carries | it away. Each moment roofs, furniture, corpses of domestic animals pass in a whirl- | pool of water and ice. Alas! doe you not ses an empty cradle floating along?) What | has become of the infuut? What tas become of the mother ?”’ M. Esquiros went himself to one scene of desolation : ‘It was a sad und painful excursion, for, | truth to tell, we went but to reconnoitre a) bat I know you laugh at these ignorant fan- |Mr. B. * You will he mere sight of the localities cies; and you know me too well to suppose concert by-and-b could furnish no idea of the ruin the villagers that | would treat them otherwise than with | spit and swear with ‘had sustained. At each instant along adeep pity and contempt. Tel) me at once what) ‘ Swear away you ditch which had formerly been the highway, we met with roofs from which the tiles had been stripped, beaten-in doors, broken win- dows, and barns suspended sadly on the ex- posed piles, in a word, the skeletons of houses. Elsewhere, there was nought but The further we advanced in the village, the greater grew tions without inLabitants, this littie ehureh which have served as an ark amid the deluge, bering like a lion in its den after a successful foray.*? Man will win, neverthcless,as he wins | everywhere, except in the tropics, where the y had a creative volition of their | energy of one generation is exhausted in the | Nature left to herself would have | effort to repair the losses time has inflicted | upon the works of the last.— Review of Es- | quires’ ** The’ Dutch at Ilome.”? ee An architect of Vienna having occasion to Visit the country-house of a nobleman of that jcity, accepted the hospitable invitation he received and determined to remain asa guest for several days. The first day wae in business and he retired exhausted, but bis thoughts were still occupiedwith the improve- ments in the house that were contemplated. | He could see, however, that the room allotted | to him was handsome and commodious, though not large; and at length he suffered his head to sink upon the pillow with the sigh of satisfaction with which we take leave of the world for the night, ‘* And draw around a wearied breast The curtain of repose.” But when he was just sinking to rest an un- easy sensation, he knew not of what nature, stole over him. He persuaded himself that the air was close—that he perceived a faint smell—and he lay for some time considering whether he was not suffering from fever. ‘Che question was speedily answered, for the bed began to move. Presently it was near the window~-so near that he could look out, could see the trees in the garden below and could observe the out line of asummer-house which had attracted his attention by its | classical proportions in the forenoon. He /was of course surprised, nay terrified; but when he stretebed toward the window in order to ascertain that all was real, the scene grew dimmer and dimmer and at length dis- uppeared. And no wonder, for the bed was receding tu its old position—and did not stop there. Ile was presently at the door—be might bave touched the panels with his hand. ile telt bis breath come back and the air more confined ; he would have got up to ring for | assistance but persuaded himeel! that he was | too weak and would fall down before reaching i the bell The bed agam moved and this time it took | Up its position in the very middle of the fire- ‘hish’ again, emphatically, and threw his_ place. This was the sheer frenzy of fever, | for the fireplace was of course nut a fourth , part of the size of the bed itself. Yet he saw distinctly the walls of the chimney sarround- ing him,and he even felt that one of the feet , of the bed rested upon a dog iron so as to dis- jturb its level. Bat he had no time fer more ‘minute observation, for presently the bed emerging from the chimney begun to rise with slow undulations towards the roof and there it continued to awing, as he imagined, for hours together, till his alarm sunk grad- 'aally inco lassitude, and he fell into a deep though short and unfresbing slamber. | The next morning the visitor appeared at the breakfast table pale, wearied, and dis- pirited. He was not weil. jwatter? What could be done for him? \** Nothing,’ be replied to all their inter- ‘Togateries. He had not slept but the air | would revive him. fle would take healsh- ‘THE CHAMBER OF MYSTERY.) What was the! proved to be the solution of the mystery ; for | mephytic gas engendered in the garret, pene- | trating through the mouldy wood work of | the antique ceiling intoa place where it found no egrese and, where it could mingle only with the foal air ,was in reality the nucternal specire which haunted the room. The effect of this gas upon the brain in exciting a temporary delirium is well known ; and in the present instance the result of what was done to remedy the evi! left no doubt. The door and window were opened, the chimney was cleared made and two opeuings were, in the roof. During the last mentioned operations it is worthy of note that when the tools of the workmen penetrated for the first time into the garret,the mephiy tic vapor which escaped had such an effect upon one of them that he must have fallen from the roof had he not been caught hold of by his comrades After the alterations were made, the architect retired to bed for the fourth time and enjoyed an excellent sleep, together with a great art of the arrears of the preceding nights. rom that moment the room lost its repu- tation asa Chamber of Mystery. > + am -o A VENTRILOQUIST AND CATS. A ventriloquist travelling, put up over night ata country hotel, and getting into a room with a fidgety old fellow, he thought he'd get up a little fun by treating the old gent to a catserenade. Valentine, the yen- triloquist, on having his bed pointed out to him, darted between the sheets in the of a minute; for, as Mr. Junes Beagie face- tiously observed, he had but to shake him- self and everything came off. He then turned the thing seriously over in his own mind, while Mr. Beagle was quictly undressing, being anxious for that gentleman to extin- guish the light before he commenced oper- atiuns, ‘ Now for a beautiful night's rest," ob- served Mr. Jones Beagle to himself, as he pat out the light with a tranquil mind, and turned in with a great degree of comfort, ‘Mem--men !’ cried Valentine softi y ,throw- ing his voice under the bed of Mr. Beagle. ‘ Hish! confound that cat!" cried Mr. Beagle, ‘we must have you out at all events, my lady.” Aud Mr. Beagle at once slipped out of bed, and having opened the door,cried breeches towards the spot, as an additional |inducement for the eat not to stand on the jorder of her going, when Mr. Valentine re- | peated to ery, and made itappear to proceed | from the stairs. Mr, Beagle thanked heaven she was gone, closed the door, and very care- ‘fully groped his way into bed. , | * Mew /—mew !—mew !’ cried Mr. Valen- tine just as Mr. Beagle had again composed bimself. ‘What, are you still here, madam!’ in- quired that gentleman, in a high and sarcas- }tic tone. ‘1 thought you had been turned out, madam, Do you hear this witch of a /eat?’ he continued, addressing Mr. V., who lreplied with a deep heavy snore, and began to mew again with additional emphasis. ‘ Well, i don’t have a treat every day, it 18 true, but if this isn’t one, why ven out of my reckoning—that's all,’ observed Mr. Jones Beag!e, as he slipped again out of bed ; | New Series.---No, 5, confound her! I wish from the bottom of | my heart, it was the last spit in her.’ | |‘ Who's there? what's the matter ?-— | cried Valentine at length, in the coolest man- her imaginahie, although his exertions made him gras ie a tinker, _* For Heaven's sake, my dear you | friend,” said Mr. Beagle, ‘ do assist S L turning out these cats. | * Cats! where are they? ‘Hish !’~cried ' Valentine. * Ob that's of no use whatever,! bave tried the hissing business myself: All the hissing in the world won't do. Tbhev must be beaten ° out; you're afraid of them are you | * Afraid of a few cats!’ exclaimed Valen-. | tine, with an assumption of some consider- able magnanimity, * where are they ?” | * Under my bed,’ replied - *That's |a brave fellow, break%their necks!’ and Va. lentine leaped out of , and after strikin. ut the imaginary animals very fu the bolsters tn biened pineaanned came ioguingt the boards in hamble imitation o ose domestic creatures ing out of @ room, when he rushed to the door’ and proceeded to make a very forlorn mewing oo gradually away at the bottom of the stairs. : ‘Thank Heaven! they are all at c cried Beagle, ‘we shall be able {5 get « httie rest now, I suppose,” and after minutely sur- veying Sane _ tae room in which it was ible for one of them to he Valentine good night. age te Valentine assisted Beagle to make his bed; and when they had qoemnaliabed this impor- | tant business with the skill and dexterity of two thorough bred chamber maids, the light was again extinguished, and Mr. Beagle very naturally made up hie mind to haye six hours uninterrupted sleep. He had, how- ever, scarcely closed his eyes, when the mew- ing was renewed, and as he had not the slightest disposition to listen to sounds so fa~ wiliar to his ear, he started up and exclaim- ed, ‘I wish I may die if they are out now. Here's one of them left,’ he added | Valentine ; but Valentine having taken « deep inspiration answered only by respiring with @ prolonged gurgling sound. ‘He's off again!’ continued —tT never heard of one sleeping so sound. Hallo, my good fellow, ho! Fastasa four year old! Won't you be quiet you witch? “Are you determined not to let me have a wink of sleep to night? She must be in the cup- board ; 1 must have overlooked her; and I don’t yet see how I could. Oh! keep the thing up, my dear! Don't let me rest,’ and he fumbled about for his box, and havi taken a hearty pinch of snuff, began to turn | the thing seriously in his mind and to make | # second person of himself,by way of having, under circumstances, a companion with whom he could advise, and if necessary re- monstrate. * What is to be done now ?, inquired he of the second person thus established, * What's to be the next siep, Jones? It's of no use to go to sleep: we may just as well try to gel a kick at the moon—nor must we again disturb — Hush you—Jones, Jones, | keep your temper. Don't let a contemptible eat put you out'—and Mr, Beagle took an- vther pinch of snuff, from which he appa- rently derived @ great consolation. ‘Ah! at it again!’ he continued. I wish I had the | full exercise during the day and that would |*I don’t like much to handle you, but if Ido, | ringing of your neck off, madam! You want | be better than medicine. ‘expectcd. He recovered his spirits; be was | delighted with his hosts and they with him; and he was thankful that he haa been pre- fancies by which he had been beset during jthe night. At the usual hour he retired | | jeight hours of soand repose. ments of the bed—these were his portion | during the night; and in the morning The ‘sume dead eyes, the same colorless cheeks, | the \Sympathizing friends that he had pas<ed! janother wakeful and wretched night. But) | he still preserved silence as to the details. vented by shame from mentioning the absurd anaes | the disturber of his It turned out as | lll of course give you physic?’'—and he to ‘hished’ again with consummate violence.and continued to thish’ until Valentine scratched | the bedpost neon icat which inspired conviction of its being — in the actof de- r camping: then he threw the pillow towards again to bed, comfortable in mind and body, | the door, which he closed, and returned to. but feeling the want of sleep, andflooking | bis bed in triamph. CF, | " | forward gratefully by anticipation toat least | he bad comfortably tacked himszlf up again, and in the | he missed the pillow he had converted into blanket, and a sheet over his shoulder, when od ile did not enjoy one. The same fever, | 40 instrament of vengeance, and as that was | tucking a pillow the | The moment, however, tie same fancies, the saine inexplicable move- | #0 article without which he could nog even, he said,;we'll leave hope to go asleep, he had of course to turn out again and fetch it. ‘ liow many more times, I wonder,’ he ob- same listless attitudes betrayed to his | served to himself, ‘shall I have to get out of | ____ MISCELLANEOUS, this blessed bed to night? tainly a comfort, and very conducive to ‘health, but such exercise as this—why,where | Exereise is cer- | put me ina passion,—~that you won’t,you eaa't do it! therefore, don’t the flatter- in unction to your soul * Weil, Jones ,how | are we to act? Shall we sit bere all night, | or take up our bed and walk, Jones, eh ?’ Jones was taken so much with the i- _eney of the latter course, that he a urged its immediate adoption ; for Mr. tu the first place Laif dressed himself in bed, next, threw the counter ,a and a buleter under bis arm you and your conserence, madam ; good night ;* and left the room,with & view of seeking repose elsewhere. — | Ite was thoroughly ashamed of his absurdity. | bave you got?’ he added, addressing the pil- | IMPENDING BANKRUPTCY OF THE The impressions of the first night had doubt- | less remaind to scare him on thesecond. He | had gone to bed thinking of his former suf-|* Oh, here you are, sir, are you?’ and he have reached a fering, und they had been renewed in his im-| picked up the object of his search, and gave | without the danger of nondiasing, the pl agination. In this way be accounted for the | Continued illusions that bad Beye him, | and he determined at a third trial to grapple | with them mantully, and compel repose by | the aid of reason. | All was unavailing; and on the third) morning his entertainer, alarmed by his! ghastly locks,determined to bring him to ex- | planation. low, which, with all the sweeping actions of his feet, he was for some time unable to find ; it several severe blows, when, having rein- | stated himself between the sheets, he -) claimed in a subdued tone, * Weill, let’s try it again.’ | Now Mr. Jones Beagle was a man who prided himself especially upon the evenness | of his temper. His boast was, that nothing | could put him in @ passion, Ile did, however, feel, when he violently FEDERAL STATES. affairs of the Northern States point which cannot be ederal Government bankrupt and heipless. That disagreeable pili ** taxation.”’ and that too of the heaviest and most offensive kind, must bo swallowed at once, or there is no hope for the country ,or its institutions. Upon this eub- ject the Boston Courier has the owing :—~ TAXATION, The word taxation is ove of the most disa- The financial ‘You can no longer conceal it,’’ said he ; smote the pillow, that the little ebullition gtecable words in the English language. ac you have found something disagreeable in | partook somewhat of the nature of passion, | 40d it is a disagreeable word, because it re- ; : . : ‘ disagreeable thing. There was the room,and I reproach myself with having | and just commenced reproaching himself for | pass Bre 7 3 rane to's be pat int an apartment! having indulged in that ebullition, when Va-/ Dever yet @ man who paid his taxes cheerfu'- which certainly bears a bad name in oa | house.”’ ae What do you mean by a bad name ?’’! asked the guest. ‘**[ mean that it is famous for its sleepless | lodyers,for its waking dreams and worse than | . ° . ,’ | that, there is nut a servant in the house ~ho harmony of the evening ? would enter it alone after dark fora year's, wager.” ‘That is all very well for the servants ; you believe , but first listen to my adven-_ tures,’’ und the guest related to the host at nights. ** I cannot tell you whatI believe,” re-| plied the latter, after musing for some time, | ** for in point of fact I do not know what to | believe ; but your experience tallies strangely | with what I have heard on the subject before | from more than one of my friends. 1 am) now more preplexed than ever." and these streets which were now a stream. Our boat stupped,and we entered a few | the Architect, that a minute examination of | the premises should take place,and the whale | lentine cried, ‘meyow ! bit! meyow !" ‘Hallo!’ exclaimed Mr.Jones Beagle, ‘here again ?” . s ] ‘ Mew ?’ cried Valentine, in a somewhat. higher key. , } * What, another come to contribute to the, * Meyow !—meyow !’ cried Valentine in a key still higher. a < * Well, how many more of you !’ inquired able to get up another ;’ and Valentine began to reat felicity. uties !" cried Mr. B., as he listened to this volley of feline oaths ; ‘lL only wish 1 was not so much afraid of you, blessing. Don’t you hear those eats?’ he) cried,anxious not to have all the fun himself ; but Valentine continued snoring very loud. ‘ Well, this is particularly pleasant,’ he continued as le sat upin bed. * Don’t ou hear? What a comfort it is to be able to, sleep soundly!’ which remarkable observation | was doubtless provoked by the no less remark- * What’s to be done? My breeches | rate. = I can’t) are right in the midst of them all, bouses in which the least badly treated of | family proceeded in a body to the chamber get out now; they’d tear the very flesh off) the poor people were busied in repairing vhat eould still be saved of their furniture | ; n ; . Pas» | ae inetrectiall of labour. An undulating | was that the chimney was choked up with | hear cate? now they're going it! THEIR DYKES. | line marked on the inner walls the height te which the water had risen. where before us desolation, destruction, and misery. « The boat we had freighted started again, | bedded that no force could raise it. 1t ap- served to fill up the intervals exceedingly well. and proceeded toward the adjoining fields. It was one large sea, above which rose the | defeet; that the servants had at length given | began to évaporate—for the hostile forces of dacks swam | up all attempts to move it, and that the wood | coutinued to noisily round our boat, and by their joy in-| work had swollen so much, through the | desperation. crests of trees. <A flock We had every- | | Of maystery. . | ‘Lhe first thing that struck the examiner | rubbish so that no current of air could take | place through a channel on which so much | depends. Proeeeding to the window, he! found it heavy and massive,and 80 completely | | peared on mquiry that this was its original | my legs—and that fellow sleeps like a top. Hallo! do you mean to say that you don't Valentine certainly meant to say no such | thing, for the whole time he was not mewing | and spitting, he was diligently occupied in| snoring, which a had very good eect, and) i At length the patience of Mr. Jones Beagle battle apparently with great} He therefore threw a pillow | ly and with aiacrity. —— your taxes as you will, they will surely light upon a sensi- tive place. And yet, with the single excep- tion of death, there is nothing that is so uni- versal as taxation. Every wan must die; aud every man must pay taxes; that is, every man ina civilized community, By taxes especially is a civilized state distin- guished from a barbarian tribe. The Indian upon the prairie—the Bedouin in the desert, —do not pay taxes. Nappy men! to that extent at least. And the relation between war and taxce is just as close and as inevitable as the rela- tion between a tavern dinner and the bill, When the bottle is circulating. and the wit full length the story of his three ill-omened | for your sakes. Atitagain! Well, this isa is sparkling from fluent lips, no one thinks of that grim piece of paper. But it corace sooner or later, and it must be paid. And by some exttaordinary fatality it always proves to be a great deal larger than we ex- pected. “Surely,” the guests say, -«we didn’t dritk all that pe > we didn’t smoke all those cigars.”” But they did. The clerk who made the charges was y sober it was agreed, however, on the proposal of able fact that the spitting became'more des-| all the time, and knew what he was about. We are now at war. We have six hun- dred thousand men in arms; and e man of them costing mach more than ever soldier did before. We have a considerable navy, and many thousands of sailors. Our ex- pense is terrific. When all comes to be told, including State expenses for national objects which the government will assume, we shall be agreeably disappointed if it do not tura out that we are spending not far from three millions a day. ‘Thus far we have lived by berrowing ; bat this is a resource which can last but a short time. And in spite of all our li , our ink-valor, our speeches, our utions, our ; i wi i i f his - boasting, our menaces, our self-giorification, sulted the melaneholy cbaraeter of the land- | effeets of damp that the whole window, so far wita great violence into the bed of his com Dg. ’ But danger- | ‘yus as the sea is, the rivers are not less, ‘ous strength of nature. Asfur the Rhine, it door or window. This, in connection with | is im a passion 1 kavw from her spitting, | ture is losely even in her ravages. ' the curiosity to see the spot where the dyke ‘of the Rhine burst; ‘which the river had shed its waters was) scape. As far as the eve could see, water. nothing bat water, was visible. A sunbeam spread like a smile of reconciliation or of irouy over this valley, once dug up by the pick and the plouglshare, but now furrowed by the oar. Could we have forgotten ian, | towent the person who entered removed his | like two and | Amsterdam level, and at which the country | we should have fouad pieasure in the contew- W heuever the | plation of this lake, beneath which the crops and hopes of the year were buried, for na- We had the wound through closed by temporary walls. The sight of | us the access of the external air was concerned | | merley prolongation of the wall. The door) | Was ia like manner found to be singularly ‘and close fitting, and in addition it was heavy | eonstructed so us to shot spontaneously the | vhand. In fact the room, however elegant in appearance and furpitare, was contrived” throughout iu the most elaborate manner so as to be as unwholesome as possible. Still this did not account for the iilusions with. which it was baunted,and the architect ascend | ‘It's all very’ fine to say let’s go to sle>p, | ed to the rovof of the house, Ilere he found that the apartment in ques-_ panion, and shouted so londly that Valentine feeling it would be perfect nonsense for him | to pretend to sleep any longer,vegan to yawo- very naturally and cried —* who's there ? *’Tis 1?’ shouted Jones Beagie, * more | twenty, I've turned out a do- striking a light than a fool.’ the people have taken not quite fifty millions of the loan contracted by the government ; in other words, the people have thus far eon- tributed not quite enoagh to pay three week's expenses of a war whieh we suy is waged for the very existence of the goverament. So zen myself. There's a swarm, & whole co- much bluster aud swagzer, and so litte d I know no more about | money! lony of them here, and I kno | Soatl-ebte seit But one haifpenny worth of bread of sack! In our ‘Oh, never mind,’ said Valentine, ‘ let's judgment this is a bamuiating fact; but at go to sleep, they’ll be quiet by-and-by.’ who's to do it?’ cried Beagle, emphatically. Blast the cats! I wish there warn’t a cat . tant | wa ered wi assi _ i ll my soul. sis sear cicatrized in the flank of the giant | was covered with a massive work of tiles, under heaven T do with a ce well "anata to inspire a grand “lea, wood and lime, so as to leave a small garret They're such a spiteful varmin, too, when beth of the works of man and the tamulta- ‘into which there was no epening either by they bappen to be put out, and one of them and we must look it in the face. i ao needed nut this experience to tell us that war cannot be carried on without ‘taxation, and that @ great war cannot bs learried on without heavy taxation. Aad to ' this complexion we must come ; and we must come to it atonce. The resources to be de- rived fiom tariff om imported artils are *