known to the ancients, the very clothes from off their own backs, and have still continued dry! Yet we are told, forsooth, about Xerxes and his army!

There are different ways of viewing this matter. Michael Cassio, to whom, as he says, nature had allotted "very poor and unhappy brains for drinking," wishes exceedingly that "courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment." Now, if drinking is to be regarded as an act of courtesy, then are the English and their descendants, contrary to received opinion, the most courteous race of people on the face of the earth. The national character becomes invested with a new recommendatory quality, for in this sense, there is no bounds to their practice of this minor virtue of courtesy. A stigma is removed from them. They have, heretofore, been regarded by other nations, as a violent, self-willed, contumacious set, doggedly bent upon the indulgence of their own mad freaks and humours, with small consideration about the discomfort and annoyance of others. But taking the polished Florentine's view of the subject, never was there such a complaisant, self-sacrificing people, for daily are they engaged in acts of courtesy, from the rising to the going down of the sun, and considerably afterwards. Nay, to such a height has this habit of mutually yielding to the wishes of each other arisen, that it almost amounts to an amiable weakness, and many thousands of them annually sacrifice both fortune and constitution, in consequence of an unremitting desire to oblige their friends and acquaintances, or indeed, any one that comes in their way, by taking "another glass”—" another, and another" -when asked to do so. They cannot, for the life of them, be so uncourteous as to refuse.

Still, I, for one, am uncharitable enough to think that the habit of extreme drinking partakes more of the quality of a physical complaint, than a moral virtue-it breaks out with such extraordinary virulence. The virtues generally manifest themselves in a much more sparing and equable manner. But in times and seasons the most incongruous and unseemly will.this intolerable thirst manifest itself. It much excited the wonder and admiration of an intelligent foreigner, whose vessel, laden with Oporto wine, had been wrecked on the English coast; to see the people of the neighbourhood knock in the heads of such casks as were thrown on shore, and

on the wet slippery beach at seven o'clock on a raw and gusty November morning, (enveloped in fog, so that every breath they drew was half air, half moisture) quaff out of earthen mugs and old tin pots, the chilly, muddy port, with an untiring assiduity, that at once evinced the dryness of their throats, the delicacy of their palates, and the capabilities of their stomachs! This was pretty fair; but this, and all other instances of extreme thirst in unlikely situations, must yield to one recently recorded to have taken place in that very delectable region, Davis' Straits, among the crews of two of the whalers, imprisoned by the frost. It appeared that one of the ships was in an utterly hopeless situation, and that a portion of the men of another vessel, made their way, with extreme difficulty, for fifteen miles across the ice, in order to endeavour to save some of the stores. All hands proceeded in their laudable work, with much alacrity, rescuing divers barrels of beef, pork, flour, and biscuits; until, unluckily, they succeeded in rescuing a considerable portion of distilled and fermented liquids. Instantly every man amongst them experienced a strange sensation. They were simultaneously and most unanimously dry! The remedy was obvious; and zealously did they set to work to quench their thirst, insomuch so, indeed, that they efficiently succeeded in quenching their understandings at the same time, and inadvertently set fire to the ship! This would have been an overwhelming calamity, and an effectual stop to merrymaking to some. Pooh! it was but a trifle to them. The burning vessel, in fact, in a measure, rendered them more comfortable, by warming their hands and toes; so there, most literally,

"Mid thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice❞— amid bears, and seals, and leviathans ;amid the most fearful desolation conceivable by the mind of man,-hundreds of miles from home and country,-with a blazing ship before them,-with death, in his most awful form, almost visibly staring them in the face (and doubtless marvelling very much, as well he might, at their conduct), did these jovial youths sit down for a carouse ! Now this, under all the accompanying circumstances, is perhaps the most extraordinary piece of social enjoyment, ancient or modern, on record. Were I an artist, I would paint that picture. What a perfect specimen of the sublime and ludicrous it would be!

No wonder, after this extreme case, that people on shore find such an infinity of reasons for drinking. Yet many of them are amusingly paradoxical and curiously dissimilar. They drink at festivals, and at funerals ;-at marriages, and at births;-when they are depressed with grief, or elevated with joy ; when they meet a friend, or take leave of one; -in hot weather because of the heat; in cold weather because of the cold; before dinner to provoke an appetite, after dinner to stimulate digestion; because they are working, because they have nothing to do;-because they are ill, because they are well ;-because they are in company, because they are alone; -to keep them awake, or to set them to sleep. Is a great public measure to be discussed?-discussion is dry. Is an election about to take place why then the health of the candidates, with flowing bumpers in the cause of liberty or loyalty. In short, in all affairs, commercial, literary, scientific, political, or even ecclesiastical, people must dine and drink, or drink at least. Thirst is an evil to be got rid of at all events. It is not to be tolerated under any circum

stances.

Yet are not all alike. Some are more bibulous than others. There are degrees. Indeed, it has been affirmed, and believed by some, that there are men, even among the English and Anglo-Americans (two driest of nations) who do not drink anything but water, tea, coffee, milk, lemonade, and such like simple and innocuous beverages! Who resolutely

"shut their teeth and ne'er undo 'em, To suffer wet damnation to run through 'em."* Nay, many respectable persons are ready to make oath or affidavit, that so far from this being fabulous, they have actually seen and conversed with many of those people! It may be so ! These

are wondrous times in which we live. Many things are brought to light. We are not therefore justified in a blind and obstinate incredulity; yet still, such strange, and seemingly incredible assertions, ought to be received with caution. Like unto sea-serpents, mermaids, patriots, unicorns, and other marvels, a degree of mystery hangs over such beings; their existence is yet apocryphal. Return we from such dubiosities. Particular classes or professions are specially distinguished by their bibacious

Cyril Torneure. How singularly forcible and felicitous are some of the off-hand expressions of the old dramatists. "Wet damnation!" It is fully equal to the famous Indian designation of "fire-water."

qualities. There are, it is true, exceptions among all: but generally speaking, sailors, pilots, fishermen, and all who have to do with water on a large scale, have a singular dislike to it in a small way, unless adulterated with some more potent liquid. Many of them when labouring in their vocation far away from the odoriferous" Mermaid," or "Ship," or "Hope and Anchor" taverns, or similar "green spots on memory's waste," though they may never have read Coleridge, sadly and unconsciously exclaim (as they lean over the vessel's side) with that singular navigator the "Auncient Mariner"

"Water, water, every where,

And not a drop to drink !" meaning, of course, water in a sublimated state, for otherwise they wish for, or take no more than necessity compels them, in consequence of their great repugnance to that fluid in its natural state, it having, as they allege, "no taste." Perhaps this may in part arise from their palates becoming, as it were, "salted," in consequence of their constantly inhaling the saline particles of the ocean carried off by evaporation; and "smoked," by the frequent use of a herb termed tobacco, in which they much delight. By such means the said palate becomes changed from its primitive state, so that it is quite unconscious of the presence of watergruel, sago, chicken broth, or any other such meek and innocent nutriment. But be that as it may, it is an undoubted physiological fact, that those sort of people, except for cooking purposes, very much prefer rum without water, to water without rum.

Soldiers, actors, draymen, innkeepers, country squires, and sometimes artists, generally delight in a heavy quantity of moisture. Poets are often imaginatively great drinkers, but frequently physically defective.

But of all creatures that the blessed sun looks down upon, a coachman (that is a public one) is possessed of the most extraordinary powers of absorption. An Arab sand, that "drinks and drinks, and still is dry," is but a type of him. He is like unto an enormous swamp, into which pearly streams flow from a thousand sources and disappear. He is irrigated from all parts, and his visage is ever in full bloom. He is a singular animal. Though born and reared in the matter-of-fact and incredulous nineteenth century, yet his superstitious faith in spirits is unbounded. With him liquor hath innumerable medicinal properties. He recommendeth it for all complaints,

ABOUT two leagues from Boulogne on the Paris road, turning a little to the left, is an ancient formal-looking mansion called the Chateau de Haut Medun. Its situation is desolate; and our wonder is often excited as to why any one should have fixed upon such a spot to erect a country house; but tastes differ in France as well as in England, and some one must have thought it possessed attractions, though we could not see them. The view from the window sweeps along the desolate downs, which are somewhat more wooded than is generally the case in France; but there is a total want of the busy scene of life so often seen in England. The shepherd follows not his flock-the cattle graze not on the pasture the cosmopolite crow scarcely hovers over, or if pausing for a moment, swiftly wings its way further a-field ir. quest of food, and nought seems to shew it the scene of life. And yet was this very mansion chosen a short time since by an English gentleman and his wife for their residence. They were recently married-had still more recently left London, and fancied that in this dull, dreary spot, they could pass away their time to their hearts' content, as the poet says, "Loved and loving, a world unto each other." All went on well for a time; the gentleman hedged and ditched, planted cabbages, culled cauliflowers, grew botanical, and talked about arable and pasture land, love, friendship, and the delights of a country life-the lady grew sentimental, admired poetry that was highly figurative and romantic, talked about rural happiness, with a half-suppressed yawn, thought her husband never looked half so handsome as when covered with mud he came in from his brocolical labours; wondered where in the name of fate the neighbours had got to, and seemed surprised at the easy familiarity of French servants.

less so then-the husband of an evening read his papers (generally a fortnight old), plans for doing without manure, or elaborate disquisitions on the nature of marl, as used by the Ancients instead of manure copied out the accounts of wonderful cabbages cut near Cork, and grew learned in the different natures of hollow draining and tile draining; all which, of course, was vastly entertaining to the wife, who sat half-asleep working the elegant fac simile of a pug-dog in worsted, or a pair of turtle-doves, meet emblems of affection and constancy; but still all wouldn't do, for the lady yawned and the gentleman grew sleepy, and the pug-dog ceased to maintain his fair proportions.

'My dear," said the wife, "haven't you anything amusing to read me?"

There are some copies of the Quarterly Review, with well-written articles!"

"I hate the Quarterly; it's so dreadfully heavy and intolerant; besides, it abuses the French novels, and it's clear the author of the article never read anything but the reviews of them in the Constitutional; but, my dear, perhaps I can find something amusing, after all: you know that old chest in the lumberroom; well, I turned out all the things the other day, and found, what do you think ?"

"Why, some receipts for raising meJons, or grafting pears, or the method of making champagne out of gooseberries, or how to fatten pigs, or how to ——

"Neither one nor the other; but a manuscript full of strange stories, written by an old French lady, who lived here very many years ago. If I bring it down, will you read me one of them?"

"With all my heart," said the husband, yawning.

The book was brought, and the husband began to read much after the manner of a barrister, reading aloud a brief in an English court of law, translating as he

went on:

"The Countess of Vandreuil possessed all the charms, but not all the tastes of her sex, since she was passionately fond of the chase, boldly mounted the most spirited horses, and equalled in hardihood the most daring men. She preferred travelling always without a numerous suite, since she had little dread of any adventures that might befall her. She had left her country seat once accompanied only by her waiting woman, named Dupont, and the coachman, who drove the four heavy black horses that drew

the ponderous berlin. In order somewhat to shorten the distance, she determined to pass through a vast forest, but the roads were so heavy, they found themselves unable to finish the distance intended for the day's journey ere nightfall, and they were obliged to stop at a miserable hovel in the wood, dignified by the name of " Hotel des Voyageurs." The Countess descended from her carriage, armed with a conteau de chasse, and a brace of pistols, and the waiting maid looked no less warlike, inasmuch as she was the counterpart of her mistress. The only person to be seen about the house was a woman of forbidding aspect, who, in reply to the Countess's queries, informed her that she could have some hay for the horses, and some bread and cheese for herself and servants; and as for bed-rooms, she had but one. The Countess desired to see it; the hostess replied that her lamp had only sufficient oil to last about half an hour, and she must be sparing of it., The Countess, nevertheless, insisted upon its being lighted, and made the woman precede her to the chamber. It was a miserable room, but there was no opportunity for choosing a better, so she made arrangements for herself to lie on the bed, and her servant was to have one of the mattresses, and sleep in an adjoining closet, and the coachman was to have the interior of the berlin for his apartment, perhaps, after all, the best of the two. The Countess desired that a fire might be lighted, when, after some time, the woman's husband appeared, bringing some bundles of wood: he was a scowling-looking person, with much ferocity marked in his countenance; he threw down the wood, and left the room without speaking a single word.

"A good fire was soon blazing on the hearth, and their meagre repast being finished, the Countess and her servant without undressing lay down on the beds sleep under such circumstances was not likely to be courted, or if courted to be won. The hours of the night passed onward, dragging their slow length along till midnight was past, when the Countess fancied she heard a slight noise, but evidently not proceeding from the door: she arose silently, and listening in the direction whence the sounds seemed to arise, found there was a secret door in a corner of the room where she had least imagined such; it was gently opened, and two men entered: the Countess had just time to hide herself behind the door as they came in;

one of them was armed, whilst the other carried in his hand a dark lanthorn; the Countess had courage, as they were advancing, to strike the last who entered with her conteau de chasse; the lanthorn fell from his hand, and he uttered a piercing cry, the other villain instantly escaped through the door; the Countess and the waiting-maid immediately threw themselves upon the bleeding wretch, and threatened him with instant death if he dared to make the least resistance, they then bound him strongly to the bed, and remained until morning, pistol in hand, watching their prisoner. As soon as dawn appeared, the Countess opened the window, and calling to the coachman, who still remained dozing in the berlin, ignorant of what had taken place, told him to bring some of the leathern straps belonging to the carriage. The coachinan's amazement was great to find the room deluged with blood, and a half-dying man fastened to the bed; he however assisted his mistress in binding the prisoner securely behind the carriage, and they instantly set off for, the nearest town, which they were not long in reaching. The police were instantly on the alert, and though the house was found empty, they were able to track the rest of the villains. case was too clear to admit of any doubt, and the hostess and her husband expiated their crimes on the scaffold, having previously confessed the commission of many atrocities. The villain whom the Countess had wounded, though condemned with the rest, survived not to meet the fate so justly merited by him; his wound had been so severe, and the loss of blood so great, that he could not recover.

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The

The hovel exists no longer; a small chapel erected by the Countess supplies its place, and the wayfarer who repeats his prayers before an image of the Virgin, is reminded of the above circumstance by a tablet relating the events.

"But my dear," said the young wife, "look if there be not some story with a little love in it, for you know they are more interesting to ladies than hair-breadth escapes."

"Well, let me see," said the husband, as he ran his eye over the pages, "here is one called 'woman's vengeance, or a king's mistress.'"

"Oh yes, let's have that."

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Willingly, but my dear as it's rather late suppose we leave it till to-morrow night."

"Well, as you like, then let it be tomorrow night."

[The writer of the following sketch is indebted for the outline of his narrative to an anecdote of Sixtus V. and the architect Domenicho Fontana, as related by Waschmann].

ROME!-mighty queen among the nations, proudest of all dynasties earth chronicles!-what irresistible majesty encompasses thy imperial city! Worthy art thou, by pre-eminence of ages, the adscription of thy founder's boast of

those endearing epithets so lavishly be stowed by those who knew thee in thy zenith-power and beauty," urbs urbium," "templum antiquitatis," "portus omnium gentium,"-Rome the Eternal!

Matchless for magnificence-"Rome," observes Montaigne, "is a map of the world in relievo, presenting to the eye

the united wonders of Asia, of Egypt, and of Greece; of the Roman, Macedonian, and Persian empires; of the world ancient and modern.' "" The deep tints that age has thrown over it only contribute to raise its dignity, and aug. ment our veneration; and the traveller' enters its portal, through which twice twenty generations have flowed in succession, with a mixture of awe and religious veneration. Yet the brightest emanations of human intellect, the most glorious imaginings of etherial fancy, transmitted to matter, even in its least perishable forms,-to "blazing bronze, or shining marble," share alike the doom of all things earth-conceived; and those noble features which it was believed would bloom for ever, and confer immortal beauty on the city fondly entitled the Eternal, have each in its season, flourished and faded away.

But from antique Rome, and all the thick-coming associations engendered of her very name, we tear ourselves with remorseless abnegation (for our tale dates sempiternity-the sway of her pontiffduring a recent phase of her vaunted