however, after much discussion, it was resolved to let the Count down to the street through the front window, by the aid of a pair of sheets. The project was thankfully grasped at by the geggee. The landlord procured the sheets, and the Count having been firmly fixed in their double, the window was raised, the geggee stept out with his white silk stockings, upon the sill-the club seized hold of the ends of the suspending apparatus, and the lowering immediately took place. The gegg was now about brought to its acme-it required only that the poor Count should be left suspended in middle air; and that was instantly done; for no sooner were the geggee's limbs seen dangling over the top of the shop window, than down the geggers rattled the window, and permitted his legs, handsome though they were, to waltz in the air-here he hung, and there his silk limbs dangled like a sign-post, for some time, before he sung out; but, finding that the party that he had left had no intention of allowing him to proceed to the party that was expecting him, he bawled out lustily. The GEGG CLUB roared with laughter within, while he roared with rage without. The neighbours were alarmed, at seeing a man hanging between heaven and earth-and, anxious for his immediate safety, rushed in on all hands, for mattresses, beds, &c. to break his fall. The street was, for a moment in confusion, when no sooner did the geggers see that the fall would be broken, than up they banged the window, allo wed one of the ends of the sheets to go, and down fell the poor Count in a fright, and a plight that rendered his visit to the ball-room, and his siege of the fair fortune, for that night, utterly hopeless. The story soon got wind, it became the talk of the coffee-room, and, though a mighty threat about satisfaction was made by the geggee, to all the individuals who were present, the geggers remained sound and safe, and the gegg, though it occasioned abundant merriment, drew forth neither apology nor bloodshed.

Such is a sample of one of the pranks or whimsies of the GEGG CLUB, which at one time, held so paramount a sway in Glasgow. Its meetings have long ceased, and it is only fair to hope that there be none of the young and gay spirits of Glasgow eager to revive so palpable a gegg as the one we have just recorded. Peace to the manes of the Count and the Club!

MISCELLANEA.

THE design of the Gospel is, to take our hearts from this world. To teach us to lay up treasures in heaven. Not to love the world, nor the things that are in the world. And, therefore, it is impossible, that temporal blessings should be a gospel motive. -Dr. Sherlock.

AN ODD METHOD OF PROCURING PREFERMENT.-Guymond, chaplain to Henry the First, observing that unworthy men, for the most part, were advanced to the best dignities of the church, as he celebrated divine service before the king, and was to read these words out of St. James-It rained not upon the earth three years and six months, he read it thus, It rained not upon the earth one, one, one years, and five one months. The king observed his reading and afterwards blamed him for it; but Guymond answered, that he did it of purpose, for that such readers were soonest preferred by his Majesty. The king smiled, and, in a short time after, preferred him to the government of St. Frideswide, in Oxford.

In the time of King William Rufus, there was a poor priest serving a cure in a village near to Caen, in Normandy, when the king's younger brother Henry chanced to pass that way, and, to make some stay in the said village, who, being desirous to hear a Mass, this Roger, being curate, was the man to say it; which he dispatched with such celerity, that the soldiers, who commonly love not long masses, commended him for it, telling their lord that there could not a fitter priest be found, for men of war, than he. Whereupon, Henry appointed him to follow him, and, when he came to be king, preferred him to many great places, and, at last, to be Chancellor of England and Bishop of Salisbury.

There were three French gentlemen, from different provinces, travelling together, when, to pass time, it was proposed, that he who should make the most extravagant wish, should be treated at the expense of the losers. There was a Picard, Alsatian and Norman. The Picard said, "" I wish I had as many Louis as ther were grains of sand in the sea." The Alsatian, "I wish

as much solid wealth of gold as there are mountains on the face of the earth." "Then gentlemen," says the Norman, (who are reckoned the Yorkshire men of France) "I wish I was your youngest brother and that you were both to be hanged to-morrow."

ORIGINAL POETRY!

THE PALMER'S RETURN.
BY WILLIAM MAYNE.

He look'd, with dim and anguish'd eye,
Upon the ruined pile,

Which once had reared its turrets high,
In heaven's foreboding smile.
Throughout it passed the midnight wind,
With wildly wailing breath,

As if it mourned some dear-loved friend,
Lost in the sleep of death.

Ah! did he think, when last he gazed
Upon its walls, when young,
And life's fresh nerve his bosom raised,
And they were proud and strong;
He never should behold it more
Till age his head had bent,
And time had smit its massive power,
And all its strong limbs rent.

His eye beheld the stones that lay
Around his lonely path,

Which, from the castle's crest, decay

Had hurled in sullen wrath:

And through his weak and shrunken breast
There went a feeling wild-
Each moss-grown stone he could have pressed,
Even like a dear-loved child.

A sudden feeling fired his heart,
And, on the dim moonlight
He looked, which now began to part
The heavy clouds of night-
And vowed he never would appear
Within the haunts of man;
But live beside the ruins here,

Till life no longer ran.

And there a hut his old hands raised,
And there his lone days sped,
And never more his pale eye gazed
On human haunts of dread.
He ate the berry from the tree,
He drank the wild clear well,
And his old blood passed healthily
Throughout its secret cell.

It was his lone delight to gaze
The ruined walls among,
And think upon the vanished days,
When they were whole and strong;
Until his fancy overpowered

His darkly wondrous sight,

And they would seem to have restored

To all their former might.

And he would rise as if the flush

Of youth still shed its heat,
And through the archless gateway rush,
His early friends to greet.
But, oh! the rudely broken stair
Recalled his memory,

And he would sit, exhausted, there,
And weep most bitterly.

I've seen, upon a sunny day,

His but's thin smoke arise,

And o'er the fallen gateway stray.
Up to the quiet skies.
'Twas something like his lonely thought
Abandoning his breast,

And choosing, for a dwelling-place,
The castle's broken crest.

All things around were fair to see-
Soft moss o'erspread the scene,
And on the sky the fragrant tree
Reposed its bosom green.

The brook's glad whispering tones were heard
Amid the stillness deep,

Soft as the murmur of a bird,
When sinking into sleep.

It was a scene where man might melt
Away, nor care for death;

Yet, when that lonely being felt
The soul-unbinding breath,
He hurried to the cheerless gloom,
Where his fathers passed away,
And there he met the mortal doom,
And there his bones decay.

GLASGOW GOSSIP.

Is it not a scandalous reproach upon the taste of our townsmen, that none of the fine arts have ever found a permanent home in this proudly styled Venice of the west? We were indignantly surprised, the other day, in passing up Nelson Street, to see the stucco figures, upon which we had so often gazed in the shop of the Italians Barsotti and Magenti, actually selling off by auction to the highest bidder. Surely, if this emporium of taste had been encouraged with the liberality which it deserved, the clever modellers would never have experienced the fate of unrequited merit, and the admirers of sculpture would have been spared the grief of seeing the classic representations of a Venus de Medicis, or an Apollo Belvidere, knocked down by the hammer to supply the needy hands which formed them.

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

We understand that Mr. THOMAS WEIR, Surgeon of the late ship John, has in the Press, "A Journal of a Voyage to Davis' Strait, in the unfortunate Ship John of Greenock, whaler, in the year 1830." This volume will contain a number of Curious Particulars, connected with a Residence of Eight Months among the Esquimaux, in the Danish Colony of Upernavik, with a Description of the Country and Surrounding Esquimaux Settlements, the Manners and Customs of the Natives, &c.

LONDON THEATRICALS. From our London Correspondent.

Ir is now an age since I wrote you: the fact is, there is but little to communicate worth telling connected with the Theatre. I told you about the opening of the Opera House, and about the great expectations that were entertained by the public from Mr. Monck Mason's management; but, have now to say, that the lessee has already shewn that he is unable to keep, at least, one of his promises to his subscribers, namely, that the same Opera should not be repeated more than twice. Such you know was his undertaking, but at the opening of a season many things are to be overlooked, only it is to be hoped that he will not find himself mistaken in other respects, and disappoint the public in more important particulars. He has pledged himself to much-possibly to too muchbut that remains to be seen. You will remember that I mentioned to you that Mr. Knowles had made an alteration of Beaumont and Fletcher's Maid's Tragedy, omitting entirely the part of Aspatia, and supplying several scenes of his own, and in consequence the playgoing public have been looking for its announcement at the bottom of the Drury Lane bill. It is to be feared, however, that all parties are likely to be disappointed. Mr. Knowles has put the piece into the hands of Macready, leaving him to make a bargain for it with the lessee; and it is said, that Macready, on behalf of his friend, refuses to allow it to be performed excepting on the terms of a new original drama, which, under the circumstances, seems a little unreasonable, inasmuch as all that Mr. Knowles has written does not amount to more than a single act. It has been rumoured, but I can scarcely believe it, that in order to make her play more perfect, and to make success more sure, Miss Kemble has called in the aid of a distinguished dramatist, especially in the conclusion, which was formerly defective.

Serle's English Merchant, a tragedy, has been read in the greenroom of Drury Lane, and excited great admiration among all the performers likely to be engaged in it-Macready will have the principal part. The scene is laid in the reign of Elizabeth, and the interest is strong throughout, rising gradually to the catastrophe. The plot is not only English as a matter of history, but English as a matter of invention, and Mr. Serle is too meritorious a man not to be sure of the good wishes of the public. He is reviving the old practice of our stage, when our best dramatic poets

were actors.

Amongst the Theatrical gossip of the week, I have learnt that Young returns for ten nights more to Covent Garden, before he quits the stage for ever; that "The Self-Tormentor," aunounced at Drury Lane, is attributed to the pen of the Countess of Warwick; that John Reeve is now called "The British Apollo," since he broke his fall by tumbling into the lap of Harmony; that Yates, having declined to do the duties of every situation in the Theatre, from manager down to check-taker, Mathews has at last condescended to share it with him; and, that Mr. Price set sail from New York, on the 24th of last month, in a magnificent vessel, called the "Sheffield."

Before I close, allow me to condole with you on the demise of poor Munden. He made his exit from this world on the 6th of this month, in the 76th year of his age. He was the son of a poulterer in Brook's Market, Leather Lane, Holborn. He was born in the early part of 1758. His father died when he was young, and at the age of twelve young Joe was placed in an Apothecary's shop, but, getting tired of physic, he took to the law. From an attorney's office he descended to a law-stationer's shop, and became what is termed a "hackney writer," to one of which fraternity in Chancery Lane he was ultimately apprenticed. He was at this time a great admirer of Garrick, whose powers he well remembered, and used to dilate upon. This gave him the first inkling to be a performer. He was for some time a clerk in

ance,

the office of the Town Clerk at Liverpool; but his first regular engagement on the stage was in the representation of old men, at Leatherhead. He led the actors' customary provincial round at Theatres, and soon became a partner in the Sheffield Theatre. On December 2, 1790, a few nights after Incledon's first appearMunden made his bow to the Covent Garden audience as Sir Francis Gripe, in The Busy Body, and Jemmy Jumps, in The Farmer. He was the original representative of Old Rapid, Caustic, Lazarillo, (in Two Strings to Your Bow), Nipperkin, Sir Abel Handy, and Old Dornton, besides a host not now remembered. In 1813, in consequence of a quarrel respecting the amount of his salary, he joined the Drury Lane Company, making his first appearance there in Sir Abel Handy; here be remained until the 31st of May, 1824, when he took his farewell of the public in the character of Sir Robert Bramble, in The Poor Gentleman. Munden was born an actor-he was moulded of no common materiel, and of a compound of which not a trace is left us. We have, it is true, Shakespeare, but we have no Autolycus; and we have Massinger, but we have no Marrall; and, as respects our minor dramatists, the man who made their Dorntons and Dozeys having passed away from earth, it is hopeless to expect a revival of their productions.

DEATH OF SIR HUMPHREY DAVY.

THE following account, of the last moments of our celebrated chemist, is taken from Dr. J. J. TOBIN's Journal of a Tour through Syria, Calabria and Italy, whilst accompanying the late Sir Humphrey Davy

"I quitted Sir Humphrey Davy yesterday evening, after having read to him as usual, since we left Rome, till about ten o'clock. Our book was Smollett's Humphrey Clinker,' and little did I think it was the last book he, would ever listen to. He seemed in tolerable spirits, but upon going to bed was seized with spasms, which, however, were not violent, and soon ceased. I left him when in bed, and, bidding me Good night,' he said I should see him better in the morning.

Lady Davy and the Doctor also quitted him, and George went to bed in his master's room, as he always had done since Sir Humphrey's illness at Rome. At six o'clock this morning, Lady Davy's man-servant came to my room, and told me that Sir Humphrey Davy was no more. I replied that it was impossible, and that he probably only lay in a torpor; but I went down to his room instantly, when I found that the servant's words were, alas! but too true. I asked George why he had not called me, when he said that he had sent up, but now found that it had been to a wrong room. He told me that Sir Humphrey went to sleep after we had left him, but that he had twice waked, and that at half-past one, hearing him get out of bed, he went to him, when Sir Humphrey said he did not want his assistance, and poured some solution of acetate of morphine into a wine glass of water; but this still remained untouched upon his table. George then helped him into bed, where he says he lay quite still till a little after two o'clock, when, hearing him groan, he went to him, and found that he was senseless and expiring. He instantly called up Lady Davy and the Doctor, and sent up, as he believed, to me; but Sir Humphrey, he says, never spoke again, and expired without a sigh.

"I had so often, whilst at Rome, seen Sir Humphrey lie for hours together in a state of torpor, and to all appearance dead, that it was difficult for me to persuade myself of the truth; but the delusion at length vanished, and it became too evident that all that remained before me of this great philosopher, was merely the cold and senseless frame with which he had worked."

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

"THE PLEASURES OF AN AMATEUR" will appear to-morrow. "T.'s" communication has been received, and will probably find a place.

In future all communications for the Editor of "THE DAY" are requested to be left with our Publisher, MR. JOHN FINLAY, No. 9, Miller Street.

Having still great demands for No. 33, containing the Article on the "Cure and Prevention of the Cholera," and as all the Editions are sold off, this article, in a separate form, will now be found with our Publisher, at No. 9, Miller Street.

In order to insure this Publication being on the Breakfast Table every morning, it is requested that intending Subscribers will leave their names and addressses at the Publisher's.

PUBLISHED every Morning, Sunday excepted, by JOHN FINLAY, at No. 9, Miller Street; and Sold by JOHN WYLIE, 97, Argyle Street; DAVID ROBERTSON, and W. R. M⭑PHUN, Glasgow; THOMAS STEVENSON, and the other Booksellers, Edinburgh: DAVID DICK, Bookseller, Paisley: THOMSON, Greenock; and J. GLASS, Bookseller, Rothsay.

PRINTED BY JOHN GRAHAM, MELVILLE PLACE.

THE PLEASURES OF AN AMATEUR.

SUCCESS is, after all, the true criterion of merit. Frederick of Prussia always dismissed his unfortunate officers, and when their friends urged their science, their bravery and their merits, he used to say, these are all very good to their possessors, but they are unserviceable to me, unless they command victory. It is the same in the arts. We hear of failures every day, the more astonishing say the critics, when we consider "the fine talents of the artist;" but really talents are only torments, unless success be the fruit of their exertions.

It was probably a very slight compliment, from some one whose opinion he valued, that induced Claude finally to abandon pastry for painting, and our long list of eminent men has, no doubt, been formed, from the approbation of a parent, a sweetheart, or a friend. I must confess, however, that admiration, so limited, was never an object with me: I aimed at the flight of the eagle, and the brightness of the sun; I desired that my name should be echoed through the exhibition room, as well as amongst my private friends; and my first attempt was sufficiently ambitious, as my reader shall presently be informed.

The Third West of Scotland Exhibition, under the patronage of the Glasgow Dilettanti Society, first excited me to handle the pencil. A minute examination of some of the pictures, it contained, convinced me that it required very little skill indeed to paint a landscape. Here, said I, is a daub of colour, representing a cloud, that sweep of brown is a shadow, yon illarranged congregation of green spots, mimics a tree; this mixture, of white and black, forms a lake forsooth: all these would be as easily put on the canvass by me, as by any other person: " from this day," I exclaimed, "I become a landscape painter."

The exhibition in the Arcade at length closed. To wait until the following autumn, when it should reopen, I found to be impossible. I therefore determined to paint a landscape for the exhibition of the Scottish Academy in Edinburgh. I procured from Mr. Finlay all the necessary materials, and viewed my delightfully stretched canvass, as it lay in all its virgin purity in my studio, with feelings of rapture. Oh! canvass, I mentally said, e'er long thou shalt bear upon thee a sunset, which shall be a very volume of poetry and of painting! Steeped in golden light, on this part shall be painted my distant hills. Nearer to the foreground a lordly castle shall peer above a forest, the trees of which shall be tipt by the rays of the declining orb. Here I shall place a long low bridge, whilst a wide and transparent river shall seem to glide towards me. A solitary angler shall convey to the mind of the spectator that the dwellings of man are not far distant, and I shall confirm the supposition by curling wreaths of smoke ascending to the skies. On the foreground, I shall modestly insert myself, and Julia seated by my side, sketching the scene before us.

As I thought thus, I dashed off with chalk, the different situations of the material objects mentioned, and, seized with a fit of inspiration, I grasped the pencil and commenced the sky. I laid it in boldly, with plenty of Prussian blue and white, and really became delighted with its airy and retiring effect. The setting

sun and golden air followed. It was evident I could only imitate these, by the plentiful use of yellow, so I dipped my pencil in ochre, and proceeded; but instead of a golden hue, the whole firmament became a bright and highly incomprehensible green, which, however, did not disconcert me, although somewhat surprised at the circumstance, for I just inverted the canvass, voted what I had intended for sky, to be the terrestrial division of the landscape, and thought of the beauties that I trusted would yet speedily appear.

The judicious advice of a friend freed me from a repetition of my first mistake, and my work went on pleasantly for a day or two, but I could not but remark, that although I had before me, my distant hills, and castle, and river, and foreground, and self and Julia, still, the longer I laboured, the less resemblance my performance had to my first ideas of it. The picture, however, at length assumed a form and pressure, and, although remarkably unlike what I expected, yet there was a rich variety of colour upon its surface, and altogether I considered it a highly creditable performance. During the execution of this great work, I took care to inform all my friends, that I had a picture on my easel for the Scottish Academy, and I acquainted Julia and her two sisters of the circumstance, as well for my own satisfaction, as for arranging a meeting with them in Edinburgh, immediately after the opening of the exhibition. I also wrote to the Secretary, modestly announcing my intention, of sending a trifling performance, which, if thought worthy of a place in the rooms, I should probably endeavour to send eight or ten similar pictures next season.

I now placed my picture in the box, and sent for the carrier; but, an irresistible desire to look at my work once more prevailed with me to re-open it; for I knew it would be purchased by some nobleman, and I should probably never see it again. So, I opened and admired. It then occurred to me that an experienced friend would relish a sight of it, when, who should enter at the very moment, but H., the artist.

"So, you are going to send a picture to Edinbury exhibition," cried he;" "let me see it." I blushed and pointed to the box.

"Weel," said he, for he had a good deal of Scots Doric in his speech, "weel, your picture's like Johnny's wife, we're no sae ill as we expectit-but, man, the clouds are like the Highlandman's hand-saw."

I said I hoped none of my distant hills were so. "Pooh," said he, "ye dinna understand me, or else nane is sae blin' as them that winna see, as our proverb says. Your clouds are like naething in heaven above or in earth beneath." I thought him prejudiced, and felt relieved when he left me. He was just gone, when my friend, the professor of painting, appeared. He, also, had heard of my great work. He examined it with his usual tact, smiled approbation, yet added, as a friend, (I like no such friendship,) "Although your sky and foreground are pretty well, your middle distance is a failure." My neighbour and friend, J. C., now called. He, too, wished to see the picture. He took more time to examine it than either of the others, and complimented me more warmly; "but," says he, (I never liked the word but since,)" but," says he, "it is as bad a foreground as I ever saw."

Most people would have been discouraged by the

opinion of these connoisseurs-to me that difference of opinion manifested the merits of my work. Their observations quite neutralized each other, so I repacked my picture without its being diminished in value by all I had heard against it. I thought jealousy was at the bottom of the whole affair. My picture was sent off by Howie & Co.'s waggon: I taking a receipt for the same.

Julia and her sisters went to Edinburgh about the beginning of February. I learned from a friend, whom I had requested to wait the arrival of my picture, and to see it safely deposited in the exhibition rooms, that they would open on the fifteenth. I therefore left town on the previous day, and on my arrival in Edinburgh, immediately called at the house where my Julia and her sisters resided. There was a large party quadrilling when I entered. I found my name, as that of a contributor to the exhibition, already well known, and, as I passed the dancers, I could occasionally hear these soul enchanting words pronounced, "the young artist"-" the handsome young painter" -"the Scottish Rubens."

The evening's amusements concluded by a determination, that the most of the ladies present should accompany me to the opening of the exhibition in the morning. We accordingly met at breakfast and proceeded thither, and never was there greater homage paid to art. A lovely girl leaned on each arm and listened, with anxiety, as I entertained them with a description of my picture, on our way to the exhibition

rooms.

We now entered the largest room, but I did not observe my picture there, when I recollected being informed, that sometimes the best pictures were placed in the smaller apartment. I dragged the ladies towards it, but neither was my landscape visible there, when I heard a member of the Glasgow Dilettanti Society, who happened to be also in the room, say, that he thought all the best things were beside his own in the Vestibule. I hurried, with my fair friends thither -but no-I could not see my picture. At length, we met the Secretary. I addressed him, and stated, that a friend of mine had sent a large sunset from Glasgow, where is it? He thought for a moment-" sunset, sunset," he said, "a scene with distant hills," "Oh! yes," I cried, "and an old castle?" the same! "and a pond?" "the very picture," I exclaimed, "and two lovers on the foreground." "Yes," said Julia, smiling in my face-but she, her sister, and three young ladies beside us, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, (shame to them) as he added, "Oh! I remember it well, it was the most absurd attempt the hanging committee had ever seen, it was placed amongst the rejected pictures, and christened Colour Mug Park.'

CHOLERA AND CHEMISTRY.

WE have scarcely yet recovered, from the alarm into which we were thrown, by reading in the Glasgow Chronicle of Wednesday evening, a recommendation to throw nitrous gas into the lungs of the unfortunate sufferers from Cholera. This, the scientific contributor of that advice calls a self-evident remedy, and so it is, when the object is to end at once the sufferings of the patient; for a draught or two of that gas would soon terminate both his troubles and his existence.

But Mr. R. J. Hamilton does not mean to poison the puir bodies in the Goosedubbs, whatever the inhabitants of the Bridgegate may think of other learned Doctors, and whatever his own words may seem to indicate. A little chemistry however, is a dangerous thing, unless the possessor can at the same time estimate its amount. By careful reading, it is plain, that he means to give them, not nitrous gas, but nitrous oxide the intoxicating gas-which is fortunate for Mr. Hamilton; because any fatal result from such a

prescription, will produce a verdict, only of manslaughter. Nitrous gas, we must inform the correspondent of the Chronicle, is not "the protoxide of nitrogen," but the deutoxide.

Mr. Hamilton has also discovered a key to the general health of the inhabitants, and therefore, to the prevention of disease. The elixir of life is not oxygen, as some chemists would have us to believe, it is azote. The proofs are these::

Man is a carnivorous animal-so animal food is good for him. But animal food contains "azote or nitrogen :" ergo, "azote or nitrogen," is the principle of vitality.

Mr. Charles Mackintosh mentions, "that when the plague was in London, all those who were employed in working in articles manufactured from horn escaped the contagion;" but horn con. tains azote, and when burnt, it produces "hartshorn or ammonia, or azoted hydrogen:" ergo, "nitrogen or azote is absolutely requisite as a preventative of Cholera, and all low diseases whatever." On the same principle, " nitrous gas" (nitrous oxide,) or protoxide of azote, appears an almost self-evident remedy for Cholera." But, unfortunately,

Nitrous gas instantly destroys animal life, and so does prussic acid; but nitrous gas and prussic acid both contain a trifle of nitrogen: ergo, one would think, "azote or nitrogen" must choose its companions before it can be styled the principle of vitality.

LITERARY NOTICE.

SPAIN IN 1830. BY W. D. INGLIS, London, Whittaker & Co. 1830.

THERE are few individuals who do not feel a more than ordinary interest about all that appertains to Spanish scenery, customs and manners. Whether the feeling arises from the pleasure and curiosity which the adventures of Don Quixote, Gil Blas and the Diable Boiteux, may have excited within us in youth, it is of little moment to enquire, but it will scarcely be denied by most readers-and who in this age does not read-that any tales connected with the land of the cork tree, and the once fearful Inquisition, that any descriptive scenery, associated with the feats of the Cid or the prowess of the Moors; or that any stories relating to the Hidalgos of Castile, and the Dulcineas of Andalusia, have always obtained a species of regard which bespeaks for them, at least, a fair and attentive hearing. The volume which is now before us, and which has been sometime before the public, is one, the perusal of which will well reward its reader. It is replete with many curious historical and political reminiscences, with much information, touching parties and society, as now existing in the Peninsula with many most amusing anecdotes, for the most part told with great shrewdness and great good sense. It is a work, in fact, of no pretensions, and yet perhaps it affords a better key to the realities of Spanish life and feeling, than any publication that has lately issued from the press. As a fair specimen of Mr. Inglis' style and manner of writing, we beg leave to present our readers with his account of the

CEREMONY OF TAKING THE VEIL

"At the hour appointed, the abbess entered the room on the other side of the grating, accompanied by all the nuns, and by several ladies, friends and relatives of the novice. She entered a moment after; and immediately knelt down, with her face towards the grating, so that I had a near and distinct view of her. She was attired in the novice's robe of pure white, and wore a crown of flowers upon her head. She seemed scarcely more than sixteen. Her countenance was gentle, sweet, and interesting; there was an expression of seriousness, but not of sadness, in her face; and a skin, fairer than usually falls to the lot of Spanish women, was sensibly coloured with a fine carnation-the glow of youth, and health, and happiness, yet lingering on her cheek; and connecting her with the world of light, and life, and freedom, about to close upon her for ever.

"The administrator now entered by the chapel, and placed himself in a chair close to where I was stationed, and at the side

of an opening in the grating of about a foot square.

The novice then rose, and walking forward to the grating, presented him with a paper, which he read aloud; this was the act of renunciation of all property, then and for ever; and during this ceremony the novice retired and knelt as before, holding in her hand a long lighted taper, with which the abbess presented her. The preparatory service then commenced by reading and chanting; and this, although monotonous, was pleasing and impressive, according well with the solemnity of the scene that had introduced it; and in this service the novice joined, with a clear sweet voice, in which nothing of emotion could be distinguished. When this was concluded, the novice again rose, and advanced to the grating, and pronounced slowly and distinctly the three vows that separate her from the world,-chastity, poverty, and obedience. Her voice never faltered; nor could I perceive the slightest change of countenance; the colour only seemed to be gradually forsaking her. The lady abbess, who stood close by her side, wept all the while. Ah! if each tear could have told why it flowed, what a history might have been unfolded. Indignation was the feeling produced in my mind. I wished for the cannon of the Constitutionalists, to throw down these most odious of prisons; and even to the priest, who stood by me in his crimson and gilded surplice, I could not restrain myself from saying, half audibly, 'Que infamia l'

"When the vows that could never be recalled had been pronounced by this misguided child, she stepped back, and threw herself prostrate upon the ground-this is the act confirmatory of her vows-symbolical of death, and signifying that she is dead to the world. The service was then resumed-a bell continued slowly to toll; and the priest read; while the nuns who stood around their new-made sister, responded-'dead to the world— separated from kindred-bride of Heaven!' and the nun who lies prostrate is supposed, at the same time, to repeat to God in secret, the vows she has already pronounced aloud. When this was concluded, a slow organ peal, and a solemn swell of voices rose, and died away; and the abbess then raised the nun from the ground, and embraced her; and all the other nuns and her relations also embraced her. I saw no tear upon any cheek, excepting upon the cheek of the abbess, whose face was so full of benignity, that it half reconciled me to the fate of the young initiated who had vowed obedience to her. When she had embraced every one, she again knelt for a few moments, and then approached the grating along with the abbess; and the priest handed to the abbess through the opening, the vestments of a nun. Then came the last act of the drama -the crown was lifted from her head; the black vestment was put on, and the girdle and the rosary; and the black hood was drawn over her head; she was now a nun, and she again embraced the abbess and all the sisters. Still I could not discover a single tear, excepting on the cheek of the abbess, who continued to weep almost without ceasing to the very end the countenance of the young nun remained unmoved. The crown was again replaced upon her head, to be worn all that day; the sacrament was administered, and one last embrace by friends and relations terminated the scene."

"The priest who had led me to hope that I might be permitted to visit the interior of the convent, did not disappoint me. This convent is one of the most complete, and the best fitted up of any in Madrid. No one enters it who cannot bring to its treasury a considerable fortune; and its accommodations are accordingly upon a scale of corresponding comfort. In company with the priest and the porteress, an old nun, I went over the greater part of the building. The accommodations of each nun consist of a small parlour and a dormitory adjoining, and a small kitchen. nuns do not eat in company. The dinners are separately cooked, and the whole is then carried to a public room, where it is blessed; and again carried back to the separate apartments, where each nun eats alone.

The

The little parlours of the nuns are plain and clean; the walls white-washed, and the floors generally matted; but the room is without any fire-place, and contains a table and two chairs. The beds are extremely small, and extremely hard; and upon the table, in every dormitory, there is a crucifix. Among other parts, I was conducted to the chamber of the new-made nun. The bed was strewn with flowers, marigolds, and dahlias, and a crown of jilly-flowers lay upon the pillow. Here every thing was new; yet all would grow old along with the inmate. A new bright lamp stood upon the table; and as I looked at it, I could not avoid

THE OPIUM EATING PEDAGOGUE.

THUS I have heard, that there is a village called Lukhnauty, and a boy was studying with a certain teacher there. Now, his pedagogue was an opium-eater, and, after the opium had been swallowed, drowsiness came upon him, and he began to nod. If, when he was in that state, any one said any thing to him, or a scholar asked a word of the lesson, he immediately became enraged, and having beat the scholar well, he would say, blockhead, you ought first to have studied in the school of good manners; for, from that certainly, many advantages would have been derived."

"O!

In short, he was every day in the habit of giving this injunc tion to the scholar. "If ever again, without being asked, you make any speech to me, or offer to stir me up from sleeping, then, in fact, by continual beating, I will murder you." The scholar testified his repentance by saying, that he would never again do such an action. One day, after it was dark, when the lamp had been placed before him, he was going on causing that same scholar to read, and in the meantime, when the intoxication came upon him, the shawl of his turban fell, accidentally, upon the flame of the lamp, and the turban began to burn. When the heat reached him, he immediately started up, and began to say to the scholar, "O! scoundrel, didst thou not perceive that my turban was burning? Why, then, didst thou not offer to stir me up?" Having said this, he gave him a good beating. The scholar, while crying, replied thus-" Your honour's self, indeed, assuredly gave me this prohibition, that no one should stir you up during the time of sleeping, and that no person should interfere in the matters of great people without being desired, for this would be unmannerly. On this account I did not stir your honour up." The pedagogue replied thus, "there is neither strength, nor authority except in God. I certainly did not give any prohibition in this matter, in order that, when damage happened to any one in your presence, you should not give him any information, but continue sitting looking on."

Literally when it was night.

† A common form of swearing in the East.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

A QUATRAIN FROM THE ARABIC. OUR signal, in love, is a glance of the eye,

And every one tutored by Cupid should know By the eye-lids, or lips, by a look, or a sigh, Although we are silent that love is below.

MISCELLANEA.

RENOWN.-Errors of life, as well as follies of character, are often the real enhancers of celebrity. Without his errors, I doubt whether Henri Quatre would have become the idol of a people. How many Whartons has the world known, who, deprived of their frailties, had been inglorious! The light that you so admire, reaches you only through the distance of time, on account of the angles and unevenness of the body whence it emanates. Were the surface of the moon smooth, it would be invisible.-Eugene Aram.

FIRST LOVE. In the pure heart of a girl, loving for the first time-love is far more ecstatic than in man, inasmuch as it is unfevered by desire-love then and there makes the only state of human existence which is at once capable of calmness and transport.-Eugene Aram.

If a pirate, who robs upon the sea, be hanged for his robbery every body is satisfied with the death of the offender; but, if the action be avowed, and he produce a commission, the state that gave it becomes answerable.-Gordon.

A good magistrate is the brightest character upon earth, as being A bad one is an the most conducive to the benefit of mankind. Where there is the greatest enemy and traitor to his own species. trust, the betraying it is the greatest treason.-Trenchard.