the stag and chamois, consumption is common. M. Rayer found hydatids and tubercles in the lungs of the camel. Sporner found several vormicæ and hydatids in the lungs of the dromedary. Milch cows, particularly those in and near Paris, are frequently attacked with this disease. This is not, however, the case with milch goats; but the she-ass is not entirely exempt. Hence, M. Rayer concludes that it would be more reasonable to prescribe to consumptive patients the use of goats' milk than that of the ass, and the milk of the ass in preference to the milk of the cow. In the pachydermous tribe, Perrault has observed consumption, particularly in the female elephant. Consumption, attended with the ordinary symptoms observable in man, has also been found in the pig, and in the porpoise or sea-pig, aud in a variety of other animals. The relative frequency of consumption in man, in the different races scattered over the world, is, says M. Rayer, but little known. It is, however, certain that negroes are little subject to it in their native climes, although they frequently fall victims to this dreadful disease in passing from one climate to another, especially when they remove into northern latitudes; on the contrary, certain animals, such as the reindeer, when conveyed from north to south, die of tubercles in the lungs and other inflammatory symptoms. This has been particularly noticed in lamas. In the mammiferous animals, the pus which is found in their system is composed of granulated globules, but in their tubercles no such appearance has been observed. This distinction does not exist in birds, as was ascertained by examining their morbid structure by means of the microscope. A chronic disease, with progressive wasting away, and the existence of small brown masses, easy of separation, similar to the small yellow grains in the liver or other organs, are the only character of consumption in the various tribes of birds. The removal of animals from one climate to another, and from liberty to captivity, is, as already observed, according to M. Rayer, the grand cause of consumption. He mentions, among other animals thus affected, owls, parrots, fowls, pigeons, pheasants, the heron, the stork, bullfinch, the blackbird, the jay, and the magpie. M. Gruby declares that he has found tubercles in the lungs of the frog, but M. Rayer states that he has never been able to ascertain the existence of any such lesion in this animal. Mr Harrison pretends also to have found tuberculous matter in reptiles; and M. Rayer mentions that he did find in a boa certain deposits of matter analogous to the tuberculous secretion of other animals. He has great doubts, however, whether any similar morbid changes are to be found in the organs of fishes and insects, contrary to the statement made by Messrs Harrison and Newport. In concluding this part of his paper, M. Rayer says that tuberculous affections are the most common of the chronic diseases of animal life in the classes which he has named. Proceeding to some general considerations on the nature of consumption, he asserts that it is hereditary, but scarcely ever congenital. M. Rayer also further adds, that ulcer of the larynx, of the windpipe, and of the bronchia, are not to be found alike in man and in the lower animals. In the human race these ulcers almost always indicate pulmonary consumption, and occasionally syphilis. As in animals captivity and domesticity are the great causes of consumption, so in man are misery and fatigue. He is decidedly of opinion that the proximate cause of tuberculous consumption arises from changes in nutrition; and hence he concludes that, in relation to tubercles, science, excepting in rare cases, is not only absolutely powerless as regards cure, but also as regards prevention. In winding up his memoir, M. Rayer, in illustration of the exceptions to the general principles which he has laid down as to these pathological changes, cites the case of a fox in a wild state, and the lungs of which were quite covered with tubercles; and also that of a woman in savage life, who died with all the symptoms of phthisical destrubtion.-From a Newspaper. LOCAL DISTINCTIONS. IN Mr Carleton's introduction to the new series of his ་ "Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry," he utters, in our opinion, a most unreasonable lamentation over the settlement of Irish writers in England, thus, as he alleges, depriving their native country of the direct benefit of their labours. "A nation," he observes, "may produce one man or ten men of eminence, but if they cannot succeed in impressing their mind upon the spirit and intellect of their own country, so as to create in her a taste for literature or science, no matter how highly they may be appreciated by strangers, they have not reached the exalted purposes of genius. To make this more plain, I shall extend the metaphor a little farther. During some of the years of Irish famine, such were the unhappy circumstances of the country, that she was exporting provisions of every description in the most prodigal abundance, which the generosity of England was sending back again for our support. So was it with literature. Our men and women of genius uniformly carried their talents to the English market, whilst we laboured at home under all the dark privations of a literary famine. In truth, until within the last ten or twelve years, an Irish author never thought of publishing in his own country, and the consequence was, that our literary men followed the example of our great landlords; they became absentees, and drained the country of its intellectual wealth precisely as the others exhausted it of its rents. Thus did Ireland stand in the singular anomaly of adding some of her most distinguished names to the lite rature of Great Britain, whilst she herself remained incapable of presenting anything to the world beyond a school-book or a pamphlet; and even of the latter, it is well known that if the subject of it were considered important, and its author a man of any talent or station in society, it was certain to be published in London. Precisely in this state was the country when the two first volumes of the Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry' were given to the public by the house of Messrs, Curry and Co. of Sackville Street. Before they appeared, their author, in consequence of their originating from an Irish press, entertained no expectation that they would Thus it was that the publication of two unpretending We are glad of the success of Mr Carleton through the agency of Dublin publishers; we are also glad that Irish booksellers have the spirit to compete with London and Edinburgh houses; but we take leave to say that, as a general principle, it ought to be a matter of indifference whether Irish writers stay at home or remove to England. Mr Carleton, like many persons, apparently wishes to keep up distinctions of country, which it were well if completely obliterated. The three kingdoms of England, Scotland, and Ireland, are now all one; and of what consequence is it to the public at large where a person resides, or where his book is published--whether in the county of Dublin, Mid-Lothian, or Middlesex? Native literature! Native talent! It is with such terms that mankind vex themselves, and keep alive feelings of strife and rivalry that ought for ever to be buried in oblivion. AN EXAMPLE TO COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. ADVICE TO LADIES. Captain Sabretash, in his lately published work, "The Art of Conversation," gives the following good advice to ladies :-" My fair friends, never scold servants. Instruct, reprove, admonish, as much as may be necessary; give warning, or, if need be, turn the worthless out of the house, but never descend to scolding or to the use of rude or harsh language; for there is, in truth, something very undignified in the practice. There are no doubt plenty of bad servants, but there are more bad masters and mistresses in proportion, and for this very evident reason, that it is the object and interest of servants to please their masters; whereas the latter are independent of the former, and need take no trouble about the matter: and as there is effort on one side and none on the other, the result will naturally be on the side of those who make at least a fair attempt. Besides, bad masters often make bad servants, when the servants cannot well influence the conduct of the masters. And even the humble individual who writes these lines can assure the reader that he has known grief, shame, sorrow, and affliction fall upon poor servants, particularly female servants, owing to the undeserved harshness with which they had been treated by ladies, who could be all smiles and blandness to persons of high degree. You do not know, my pretty dears, how much a foolish fit of passion may ultimately give you to answer for. If people could only see the undignified figure they make when in a towering rage, the chances are that they would contrive to keep their temper rather more within bounds. We may excuse anger, and even passion perhaps, where the name, fame, or character of friends and relatives are assailed; but to fly into a fury about broken plates or overdone mutton, is to show a want of mental composure, that few would like to have described in its proper light and called by its proper name. Recollect that servants are made of the same clay, and may possess feelings-kind, generous, and just feelings too-as well as their superiors; and is it not casting a stain upon ourselves to rail, with ignoble language, at those who are made in the same high image of which it is our best boast on earth to bear the faintest impress? Let us hear no more of scolding servants, therefore: if you will scold, my dear lady fair, scold your husband; and if he is a sensible man, he will pat your cheek, give you a kiss, and laugh at you for your pains." DECISION OF CHARACTER. There is a certain constitution of mind, which, of all others, is the most likely to make our fortunes if combined with talent, or to mar them without it; for the characters who have a kind of mathematical decision about them, which dictates that a straight line is the shortest distance between any two points, and that small bodies with velocity have a greater momentum than large masses without it. Thus, they would rather use a cannon ball than a battering ram. With such minds, to resolve and to act is instantaneous; they seem to precede the march of time to foresee events in the chrysalis of their causes-and to seize that moment for execution which others waste in deliberation.—Lacon. errors of such minds are few but fatal. I allude to those THE INSOLVENT NEGRO. A negro of one of the kingdoms on the African coast, who had become insolvent, surrendered himself to his creditor; who, according to the established custom of the country, sold him to the Danes. This affected his son so much, that he came and reproached his father for not rather selling his children to pay his debts; and after much intreaty, he prevailed on the captain to accept him, and liberate his father. The son was put in chains, and on the point of sailing to the West Indies; when the circumstance coming to the knowledge of the governor, through the means of Mr Isert, he sent for the owner of the slaves, paid the money that he had given for the old man, and restored the son to his father.-Perey Anecdotes. Amongst the instances of practical attention to the improvement of the physical condition of labouring classes in the agricultural districts, I may notice the following statement made to me by the late Mr Monck of Coley House, Reading, who had bestowed much care upon the cottages on his own estate. It comprethese cottages and gardens," said he, "affords an excelhends the provision adverted to :-"The care taken of lent criterion of the character of the labourers. I have paid especial attention to those labourers who have displayed cleanliness and order; and I pay the most respect to those who have achieved a situation of the greatest comfort, and keep themselves and their houses cleanly, and their children tidy. Formerly, the cottages were in bad order, their pavements and windows were broken; I had them all paved, and their windows glazed. I told the cottagers that I did not like to see shabby broken windows with patches of paper and things stuffed in, or broken pavements which they could not clean; and that I disliked Irish filth, and all Irish habits of living. I engaged, after the cottages were thoroughly repaired, to pay L.1 a-year for repairing them. I undertook to make the repairs myself, and deduct the expense from this L.1; but if no repairs were wanted, they were to have the whole L.1 themselves. This course has, I find, formed habits of care; and their cottages are now so well taken care of, that very little deduction is made annually from the L.1. Formerly, they used to chop wood carelessly on their pavements, and break them; now they abstain from the practice, or do it in a careful manner, to avoid losing the money. In the winter, I give them two score of faggots towards their fuel. I have found that by this means I save my hedges and fences, and am pecuniarily no loser, whilst pilfering habits are repressed. Since the enclosures have been made, I think some place should be provided for the exercise and recreation of the working-classes, and especially The man who is ashamed of his poverty would be proud for their children. I have set out four acres at Old- of his riches; but though many a hobble-de-hoy blushes worth as a play-ground for the children, or whoever at looking so young, he makes no boast of his years when likes to play. They have now their cricket-matches, he comes to be a grey-beard. To women, whose youth their quoit-playing, and their revels there. Sheep and beauty sometimes form their only distinction, it is and cows feed on it, so that it is no great loss to me. doubly difficult to grow old with a good grace, especially I let it for L.4 a-year to a man, on condition that he which, unless they possess the Medean secret of Ninon as they approach that semi-centenarian bourne, beyond cuts the hedges and keeps it neat. I have surrounded de l'Enclos, they cannot hope to extend the preservation it with a double avenue of trees. The sheep and cows of their good looks. None of them can expect to rival a do good to the ground, as they keep the grass under, living, I might say an undying, contemporary, who will which allows the ball to run. I give prizes to the be known as middle-age Hallam, even when he shall have boys at the school, which is maintained by the cot- accomplished his three-score years and ten. Women tagers themselves, and to which I contribute nothing aspire not to any such medieval celebrity, for to them but the prizes for reading, writing, and knitting. the middle ages are the dark ages. It was said of a lady, Many persons accuse the poor of ingratitude, but I who had just completed her fourth decade, and who find them the most grateful people alive for these played very loudly on the piano, while she never alluded little attentions. And what do they all cost me? Why, to her age except in a whisper, that she was forte upon not more altogether than the keep of one fat coach-her piano, but piano upon her forty. But the trial of trials comes ten years later. To that female, therefore, horse."-Chadwick's Sanatory Report. be awarded the palm of fortitudinis fortitudo fortissima, who has shown that she knows how to bear her fifty-tude with fortitude.-New Monthly Magazine. RAILWAY TRAFFIC. The following calculation of a late weekly return of 38 railways, 1387 miles in length, will be of interest :Number of passengers on 25 railways 315,986), consequently the total for the week must be about 400,000. The receipts for passengers on 37 railways L.68,087, 168. 3d.; ditto for goods on 31 railways L.16,129, 5s. 3d.; total L.84,217, Is. 6d. This is an average of L.63 per mile per week. The traffic, therefore, is certainly at the rate of about L.4,000,000 a-year, and carrying 15,000,000 of passengers.-Railway Magazine. WOMEN OF FORTY AND FIFTY. CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE," "CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c. NUMBER 558. GOSSIP ABOUT GOLF. Ir is curious to observe how even such a matter as sport is determined by local circumstances. Cricket may be said to be a natural result of the existence of the village greens of England. In like manner, Golf exists in Scotland by virtue of the previous existence of a certain peculiar kind of waste ground called links. Links are chiefly found along the shores of the Firth of Forth and the neighbouring coasts, being low undulating tracts composed of sand which has been blown up from the sea, and covered with a slight herbage, varied here and there by patches of broom and furze. They are generally common to the inhabitants of the nearest town, by whom they are devoted statedly to the feeding of a few sheep or geese, and occasionally to purposes of recreation and amusement. Thus there are links at Leith, Musselburgh, and Gullane, on the south side of the Firth, and at Kirkaldy, Dunbarnie, Crail, and St Andrews, on the north side-all of them, but especially the last, being fine open cheerful expanses of ground, albeit of little more than nominal value in the eye of the rural economist. On these prairies of the north, the game of golf, which is said to be of Dutch extraction, has been naturalised for hundreds of years, without spreading to other places, and this simply because in no other places is there ground adapted for the sport. A links (there is no distinct singular for the word) and golf go, it may be said, hand in hand together. Where there is no links there can properly be no golf; and where there is a links, there golf is as sure to be as a public-house by the side of a stable-lane, or the dandelion and groundsil where there is nothing else. But what sort of game is this said golf? Why, to speak of it with a regard merely to its materialities, it is a game played with clubs of a peculiar form, and balls. Holes of a size fit to admit an ordinary-sized tumbler are made in the ground in a series, at the distance of from three to four hundred yards from each other. The player is furnished with a ball of about an inch and a half in diameter, formed of leather stuffed as hard as possible with feathers; and this he plays from hole to hole with his club, he and his opponent contending which shall get it holed by the smallest number of strokes. This is all that a man of no soul and not a golfer would see in the game, and all that he would say in description of it; but it would not be a more correct definition than that celebrated one of the sport of angling, "a stick and a string," &c. To appreciate golf fully, it must be studied in some such school as that of St Andrews, where its whole character is fully developed, in consequence at once of the admirably adapted ground, and the enthusiasm of the votaries. This quiet venerable university town, where literary and philosophical society is agreeably mixed with miscellaneous persons in independent circumstances, happens to be skirted by a links of more than two miles in extent, a fine rolling field, as the Americans would describe it, bearing herbage and furze, and, as usual, open for the recreation of the inhabitants. St Andrews is confessedly the Melton of golf, for no other place presents ground nearly so well adapted for the amusement, or which is the haunt of so many players. The links is entirely composed of sand blown up from the sea, upon a spot where the waves must have once held sway, for the ancient sea-cliff is still distinctly traceable along the inland verge, although now softened down by time, and reduced to tillage, pasture, and pleasure-ground. With this fine slope on one side, and the German Ocean on SATURDAY, OCTOBER 8, 1842. the other, the striking outline of pinnacled St Andrews behind, and in front the distant hills of Perth and Forfar shires, extending from the central Grampians down to the Red Head near Arbroath, the whole scene is something more than beautiful; the very spaciousness of a view commanding objects much more than a hundred miles distant from each other, affects the beholder in an uncommon manner. At one end is what may be called the Golf Settlement, comprehending the Club-house with its flag-staff, houses for the makers of clubs and balls, and lodgings occupied by the more unfailing of the members. At that spot begins the series of holes, which extends curvingly outwards to the amount of nine from the starting one, along a tract which may be easily distinguished from the rest of the ground by its being comparatively feet-worn. Day after day, from a time beyond record, between the hours of eleven and five, have groups of golfers been seen pacing that course, in pursuit of their half-meditative game, equally regardless of summer's heat and winter's cold, of the scorching sunshine and the rain, if, indeed, it be not a fact which is usually spoken as a jest at St Andrews, "that it never rains on the links." Certainly, if it does ever rain there, the wet instantly disappears through the sandy ground, leaving the sward as firm and dry as before. I may here as well mention that the present Club-called Royal in consequence of the patronage of the late king, William IV., who bestowed a gold medal upon it-dates from 1754, and has at all times included the names of the most considerable men of the district, as also those of many of the best players of other places. Four times a-year, the members meet to contend for the various medals connected with the institution; after which there is always a festive meeting. The Club-house is used as a receptacle for the implements and dresses of the members, and connected with it there is a reading-room for such of these gentlemen as choose to subscribe to it. It is about two o'clock of a fine August day, when, after a forenoon of useful avocations, I pop into the club-house to glance at the papers, and be in the way of any agreeable temptation that may arise. All is emptiness and silence within and without, for there are no visiting members, and many of even the resident ones are gone, some to grouse-shooting, some to watering-places, some here and some there. Most of the cadies, as the servants who carry clubs are called, have gone to work at the harvest, in pure despair of so much as one job per day, leaving only one or two to attend to the business of the green-who are to be seen leaning listlessly against the corners of distant houses, as if they thought employment a thing more to be wished for than expected. John Ness, porter to the club-house, and who is also a cady, seated on the low wall near the door, is heard through the open window remarking to a passing acquaintance, that things are most uncommon dull just now. An old gentleman is poring over the Standard; but he has for some years retired from sport, so that nothing is to be looked for from him. However, Colonel Elder has been practising for an hour or two on the green near the house, playing his balls to short distances, unable to get a partner, and, seeing me approach, he sends in to ask if I will come and play with him. This makes two, but a foursome is considered the preferable game, and we wait a few minutes longer in the hope of two more gentlemen appearing. As our good stars will have it, Captain Strong and another gentleman heave in sight, and the match is then made up. There are two skilful and experienced players, and two tyros, I being of the latter description. Each good player takes one of the other kind PRICE 1d. as his partner; and as one of the expert gentlemen is a little more expert than the other, a small odds is allowed to make up the inequality. The first thing to be done is to put on the light scarlet coat of the Club, a cap, and a pair of strongly nailed shoes, the last being necessary to give a firm footing on the green while playing the long strokes. Each man has his cady behind him carrying his clubs and balls. We take our station at the starting hole, and the first thing to be done is to tee the balls, of which each party or side has one. The cady of the gentleman who is to play the first stroke, takes the ball and puts it upon the top of a small lump of sand, merely to give it that prominence above the ground which will make it a fair object for the stroke. This is teeing. He then gives his master the play-club, which is the implement to be used when the ball lies unusually fair for a stroke. The club-part of this instrument is a piece of wood about four inches long, lined with horn below, and loaded with lead behind, having a straight face slightly sloping backwards. Its handle is a slender shaft of hard elastic wood (generally hiccory), thickening upwards to the part where it is grasped by the hands of the player, and where it is lined with strips of thin leather. The handle is of such a length, and it is attached to the club part at such an angle, that the player, having the ball about two feet in front of him, can easily strike it off, having first made the club swing back to his left side, so as to gain a purchase. The first stroke is generally one which tells well in respect of distance, as the ball lies unusually fair, and the club used is that which strikes most powerfully. Some are so great in driving, or swiping, as this feat is variously called, as to make the ball go to a distance not easily credited. I have heard that, on one occasion, in frosty weather, a good player made his ball go two hundred and eighty yards. One of my own acquaintance assures me that he has played one to two hundred and sixty yards. Much of this effect is of course due to the nature of the ball, which, felt in the hand, seems as hard as a stone, but rebounds tremendously under a powerful appulsion. Our game is for a trifle, as is the general practice at St Andrews. For reasons good, the two inexperienced players, who may be called Messrs Rawson and Greene, are appointed to strike off. Mr Greene makes a happy-looking stroke, and thinks he has been doing worthy service to his side; but lo! his ball lights upon a cart-track some hundred yards onwards, where a second stroke will probably be found no easy matter. This, you must understand, good reader, is one of the hazards of the game. A very expert player would fall short or go beyond; but Mr Greene is upon the road-"to ruin," as the St Andrews joke goeth. Well, but what is Mr Rawson about? Mr Rawson is a gentleman excessively anxious to do great things. He plays as an insane steam-engine would do. See how he musters strength, how he straddles for a posture, with what frenzied anxiety he eyes his ball! Gemini! what a swipe he takes there he is down upon it-and, behold.... the ball runs some ten yards, and stops! The undisguisable fact is, that Mr Rawson has topped his ball; that is, he has hit it on the crown of its head, and his force has been mostly squandered in vain. Captain Strong, his partner, is too much a gentleman to make a single remark. He asks for his long spoon, which the cady hands to him. This is a club in all respects resembling the driver, excepting in its face being slightly curved, and more angular, so as to catch up a ball lying in grass. The captain is unerring and powerful, and his stroke almost repairs the disaster of his partner. He is said to have played the odds; that is, one stroke more than the stroke on the other side. Club has a lithographed plan of the course, in which | forehand, and very difficult to be effected after it has The ball of this side being propelled farther than the all the bunkers, as well as other features of the ground, been calculated. Sometimes, as we have seen, he point where the other is lying, it is now Colonel indicating sand-banks and sunk rocks in a mariner's sometimes, hitting too low, he strikes what the wit of are laid down by name with all the care exercised in tops his ball, which is not favourable to its progress; Elder's turn to play: he is said to play the like; that chart. Here, too, of course, the holes are all duly the links calls the greater ball (namely, the earth) is, the stroke which makes the one side equal with the noted, each having its appropriate name, as the Bridge without touching the lesser (namely, the golf-ball), or, other. The ball being found deep in the loose earth Hole, the Heathery Hole, the Hole o' Cross, and the at the best, raises the latter high in the air, without of the cart-track, he calls for the iron; that is, a club Hole o' Shell, while one, where an old woman some- sending it on any considerable way. Then he may with a comparatively short handle and a heavy spoon-is called the Ginger Beer Hole. An exact knowledge send the ball off the course, which is one of the most times waits to sell refreshments for bethirsted players, stand unfair, or he may draw his stroke, and thereby like termination of iron, designed for exercising great of the topography of the links may well be supposed fatal of misfortunes. There is a space between holes force upon a ball lying in a difficult situation. The to be of the greatest consequence, where the ground containing ground of an unusually rough character, colonel uses the tool so dexterously, that the ball is is so various and in general so difficult. which bears a name not to be freely mentioned to ears sent a good way onward, and laid in a good place for Mr Rawson now plays, and makes so good a stroke, polite. Some powerful players there are who can, in Mr Greene's next effort. But ah! see a little in front, that the colonel remarks, in his dry way, that he pro- the words of a clever local poem, send a ball "smack mises ere long to be quite an artist. Mr Greene strikes over at one immortal go;" lighting upon a fine good reader, a treacherous trench zig-zagging across next, and, eager to avoid a bunker right in the centre, expanse beyond called the Elysian Fields. But the the green, the channel, to wit, of the Swilkin burn, or sends his ball into the long deer's grass which skirts penalty of failure is so great, in consequence of the rivulet, which has chosen to make its exit into the the course. The colonel plays it out with his iron at vast sand-pits lying below, that most players, even of sea in this most improper situation. The law of the the odds, when, being still behind the position of the good skill, are content to take a somewhat less rough links is, that when a ball is sent into the channel of opposite party's ball, Mr Greene has to play it again, by-course, which they generally pass over at two thus counting two more, or an excess of two over the strokes, or three at most. There is another hole, this burn, it must be lifted out and laid on the rear strokes of the adversary. Captain Strong now, play- from which the first stroke sends the ball over a hil bank, with the loss of a stroke in the reckoning. Mring one off two, gives his ball one of those vigorous and lock in front, with numerous pitfalls beyond, which Greene is most anxious to carry his ball over this dif- well-managed strokes which distinguish him so much, are only to be escaped by mere favour of fortune. ficulty, and for that purpose uses the long spoon, and causes it, clear flying over all dangers, to alight Then there are furzy places, where, when a man which is calculated to raise it well off the ground. It about ten yards from the hole. Following up this ad- sends his ball, his antagonist asks if he designs to vantage with good putting, the captain and Mr Raw- go a-bare-hunting... and, in fact, there is a tradigoes over... he breathes again . . . but who can son are triumphant. "Dat is one hole in my side, as tion amongst the cadies, of an errant player having calculate at golf? See! as it rolls onward along the the Pole said," remarks Captain Strong, referring to a one day killed a hare with his ball. Too often, when grass, it meets a back-sweeping angle of the deceitful foreigner who was a player at St Andrews some years a ball falls in such a place, it is never more seen. Swilkin, into which it disappears. Mr Greene is in ago. This is one of the established jokes of the links. There are also rushy places most easy to be got into, despair, and the colonel looks grave. But there is no On inquiry, I learned that, when his opponent jocu- but most consumedly difficult to get out of, the stalks larly asked him "which side?" the countryman of of that herbage blunting the strokes of the heaviest avoiding accidents, and one beautiful moral feature of Kosciusko very smartly replied, "De right side, to be clubs: here an antagonist, if too polite to fall a-laughgolf is, that you never come by any misfortune without sure." ing, is sure at least to whistle up the first bar or two having tolerable hopes that an equally great one will of "Green grow the rashes O!" for a gentle joke is befall your neighbour next minute. Mr Rawson, dearly loved at golf. There is one hole placed only at however, has been more fortunate this time, for he the distance of one full stroke from the other, but with tremendous bunkers between, into which inexgets over the burn splendidly, and has laid his ball perienced players can scarcely avoid falling. It is amongst the marvellous stories of the links that a deceased professor of the university once holed his ball here at one stroke, an event against which the chances must have been very great indeed; yet he, after all, lost the hole, as he could not find his ball till it was too late. A tolerably good player would be glad to do it at three, and a tyro, if unfortunate in the sand pits, would perhaps take so many as half a dozen. It may here be observed, that the generally done by good players at from 100 to 105 whole round of the course-eighteen holes in all-is strokes, though there are instances of its being done at so few as 90, and even, if cadies speak truth, at 87. I must, by the way, remark of cadies, that they are generally a faithful and zealous class of servants. They take the keenest interest in the play of their temporary master, carefully directing him if unskilful, gently counselling him if otherwise, and always feeling deeply both his successes and his failures. I have heard a cady sigh with genuine grief at a false stroke of his employer, and often observed that those against whose masters the game is going, walk along in as dispirited a condition as if the loss were their own. Some of them are extremely good players, having perhaps had the advantage of learning the game in their earhest boyhood. There is a ball-maker, Allan Robertson by name, who, besides having the highest character for his wares, is reputed to be the best player at St Andrews, and consequently in Scotland-I may as well add, in the world! This is an eminence which golfers must needs admire; and in the little world of the links, men of estate and title will be heard speaking of worthy Allan as if he were a kind of king amongst them. near the hole. When balls have advanced to this situation, a new kind of play, called putting (u being sounded as in lull), comes into requisition. It is performed with a short light club, with a straight and vertical face, and consists in slight careful strokes, designed to bring the ball close to the hole, or into it. Some men are good putters without being good drivers, while others are good drivers, but fail in putting, having perhaps more strength than nicety. It is a feat requiring great calculation of forces, and of the amount of friction which the nature of the ground to be passed over will occasion; and no man without good mechanical faculties can possibly excel in it. It is often amusing to see how a good player is disconcerted by a false step in putting, and how eager he is to find palliations for his failure. "That blade of grass turned me aside !" "I was disturbed by your moving." "Your shadow on the green put me out." Such are the excuses daily heard wrung from men who putt amiss. In fact, the exigency of the moment is, like oppression, sufficient to make a wise man mad. Well, the colonel and Mr Greene have as yet rather the worst of the hole. But the colonel is a capital putter, and a surprising hand at a steal; that is, a holing of the ball from a considerable distance. By one of these feats he makes up for the misadventure of the burn, and leaves the hole even with the antagonist party. Tee again, and now it is Messrs Rawson and Greene's turn to strike off. Let them take care, for there are two small but dangerous bunkers exactly far enough off to receive a ball at the end of a moderate flight. Mr Greene escapes the peril for this time; his ball is seen lying clear on the sward at a very fair distance. Mr Rawson does his best. As there is a breeze at the time, he drives straight for the bunker, expecting that the wind will carry him the necessary distance aside. But the breeze lulls for a moment, and the ball takes a low course, where wind does not much affect it, and accordingly he proceeds in the line of danger. Some think he has gone in, some not, but we shall soon see. He is in-snug at the base of the little sand-cliff, of the opposite party is the first to ascertain the fact, where scarcely any club can reach. The cady of one and the gentlemen of that party give an "Ah, indeed!" with an air of concern as seeming sincere as could reasonably be expected. Strong takes his iron, and, making the best of a bad case, brings the ball spinning into the bottom of the pit, where it lies somewhat more fair. Rawson plays it out at two more, and at three more Strong gives it one of his famous strokes. The colonel now plays one off three, and even excels the last stroke. Things look rather bad for Strong and Rawson; but nil desperandum. And truly may this be said; for observe Mr Greene, in endeavouring with his short spoon to cant the ball over a bunker, so as to make it fall fair on the green beside the hole, has-oh! ye stars-gone in. Elder eyes the ball ruefully, but thinks he may repair the calamity. He takes his iron, and, striking deeply into the sand beneath, not only gets it out, but places it within a yard of the hole. That stroke was one off two. Captain Strong has now to play two more from a grassy place about ten yards off. For this he takes a short club not yet adverted to, called the cleek, the striking part of which consists of a thick slip of smooth iron, with its We tee again, and the colonel and captain play ward. It is useful for tilting a ball out of a rough face inclined at an angle of forty-five degrees back off for the next hole. There are no more cart-place near the hole. He plays like an adept, and tracks, no more burns, but no want of difficulties for all that. All along the golfing course there is every here and there to be seen a yawning sandpit, called in the technology of the links a bunker, which a stranger would suppose it a piece of gross negligence in the club to leave un-filled-up for a single day, but which is in reality valued as amongst the most important features of the ground, bunkers being hazards from which only skilful players may have any hope of escaping. Right in front of the teeing-place in this case, there is one gaping in the hither side of a knoll, which is sure to catch a ball not well raised, at once stopping short its career, and placing it in a situation from which it is difficult to strike it out. Our two players are over this; but Messrs Rawson and Greene, who have to play the next strokes, see others at convenient distances before them along the course. The bunkers are in fact a sad annoyance to the novice. The holes in some cases are "Twere long to tell of every hole in the round; but planted in the midst of a set of them, calling for very yet, if this were done, there would be novel circumpeculiar skill in bringing up the balls. But to a true stances in each, for there is no space between any two player they are the principal charm of the game. As a holes exactly or even nearly like another, and conseproof of this, it was lately mentioned in the Fife news- quently every step in the player's progress gives occapapers that a set of natives of the district, resident at sion to something peculiar in his play, and probably Bombay, had begun to golf on the government espla- allow for the wind, sometimes for the dryness or wetsomething new in his fortune. Sometimes he has to nade, and enjoyed their sport greatly, although, it ness, as well as for the roughness or bareness, of the must be confessed, they found the ground very defi-sward. Sometimes he must, in putting, allow for cient in the proper irregularities-meaning, chiefly, swelling or sloping ground, and approach the hole by bunkers. I may here mention that the Royal Golf a sort of sweep or curve, difficult to be calculated be places his ball right between the other and the hole- I have here chanced to advert to a day when only one match is out; but often there may be seen five or six playing along after one another-occasioning such a pell-mell of balls, that quiet promenaders are fain to give the course a wide berth. Some men of leisure are out every day, and never make less than two rounds before dinner, often three, each round being a walk of four miles, to say nothing of the exercise of playing, so that it may well be supposed the golfers are a healthy people. Generally, they are quiet country gentlemen, or retired officers of the To judge from the perseverance of its votaries, the army or navy; but several of the professors also play. game is a most fascinating one-only, perhaps, too much so, if it be true, which the non-golfing world allege, that genuine denizens of the links can converse during the evenings upon no other subject; but this I am inclined to think something of a calumny. They usually continue to enjoy it to an itself favourable to longevity; and there is at least advanced age, the healthiness of the exercise being one authentic instance of a gentleman playing till considerably past eighty. When unable any longer to play in the usual manner, they resort to what are called the short holes a series placed in a small circle near the golf-house, where, of course, the play consists of putting alone. This breaks the fall from the high estate of the long-hole play; and one regards a couple of seniors at the short holes with and satisfaction with which he sees a set of good old something like the same mixture of melancholy hunters turned out into a comfortable park. They can also pop along the green for a hole or two after their juniors, and make remarks on the play of modern times in comparison with that of the great hands of a former day. Thus, with whist in the evenings, pass the latter days of a golfer, until his old friends have to break short their rounds some pleasant forenoon, to attend him to some shady nook beneath the crumbling walls of the old cathedral, whence they retire, remarking, perhaps, that, though never very much of a swiper, there was not once a better putter on the green. "NEWFOUNDLAND IN 1842."* THE observant and industrious officer of the British army, who lately published the fruits of his inquiries into the state of the Canadas during a residence there of some years, has just produced a sequel to that work, under the title of "Newfoundland in 1842." His two volumes on Newfoundland contain a careful and well-written statement of facts respecting the island and its inhabitants. The account given by Sir Richard of the fisheries and oil-trade is at once interesting and instructive. The extent of these branches of commerce is very great. In 1841, upwards of 1000 sail of good-sized vessels entered, and more than 950 left the ports of the island, leaving out of the reckoning the numerous schooners and small craft engaged in the actual fisheries, which amount, during each season, to somewhere about 4500. In the British fishery, each year, are ongaged never less than 30,000 sailors, with 10,030 boatmen and curers; and 140,000 tons of produce are annually exported, Britain and her colonies receiving the largest share, while continental Europe and the United States also take great quantitios. Cod, mack erel, herrings, capelin, cods'-tongues and sounds, salwith staves, constitute the chief items of export. Much mon, train-oil, seal-oil, seal-skins, some little poltry, of the whole produce is found near the island, or on its immediate coasts. The traders in this branch of commerce are ar Newfoundland is the largest of the islands lying in ranged as follows:-" First, the British merchant, or the mouth of the St Lawrence. It seems to have been owner, residing most commonly in Britain, but in formed, not as great rivers usually form deltoid tracts some cases remaining in the country till he has of land at their outlets, but simply and directly by the amassed a fortune, and more rarely remaining altogether there. Next, the middle-man or plantor, as bursting of the St Lawrence stream from some pre- he is most absurdly called, probably from all the existing inland lake, thus isolating the present isle for original English settlements in America having reever from the continent. The island is situated in lati-ceived the official designation of plantations; but the tude 50 degrees north, and between 50 and 60 degrees of Newfoundland planter has had, in reality, as little to west longitude. It is of a triangular shape, measures do with cultivating the soil as an Esquimaux. Thirdly, about 1000 miles in circumference, and is nearly 300 the working-bee, or fisherman. The merchant finds miles broad at some points. The coasts, and many the ship or vessel, the nets, and the provisions-in fact, parts of the interior, are elevated and rugged, and deep the means of carrying on the fishery-which he supbays and creeks indent the shores. The present popu- plies to the planter. In some few cases the planter owns the vessel. The planter agrees with his crews, lation is estimated by Sir R. H. Bonnycastle to amount and superintends the toil of catching and curing." to 100,000 persons, of whom between 80,000 and 90,000 The actual catching of cod is thus described: "The are of British descent, the remainder being composed fishery commences usually about the second week in of French residents, and a hundred or two individuals June, and is carried on in boats manned with two, of Indian blood. The capital of Newfoundland is St four, or more hands, according to size and the disJohn's, a city placed on the east of the island, and tance required to go from shore; most of these are surrounded by a district containing in all 18,000 inha-worked by girls or boys. Most of them have, howmere open boats, and many have no sail, and are bitants, the civic population included. There are ever, four men, who have each two lines placed over several other towns of rising consequence on the each gunwale of the boat, and armed with double hooks. The bait, according to the season, being capelin, entrails of fish, herring, mackerel, lance, and cuttle-fish, or squids. island. Newfoundland is chiefly famous for the rich codfisheries on its coasts, and for its dogs. Regarding the latter, Sir Richard Bonnycastle tells us enough to show When once favourable ground is reached, which is that the practice of sending for Newfoundland pups very often near the mouth, or even in the mouths of to the native land of the race is now a very vain pro-and the lines thrown over so as to reach the bottom. the bays, harbours, and coves, the boat is anchored, ceeding. In the time of the Indiana and early settlers, Then begins a most laborious operation if the fish are the island-dogs were noble and valued animals, being plentiful; for as fast as the man hauls up one line, he the only beasts of burden in the region. The breed, disengages the fish, or gaff's him if heavy and not well however, has now degenerated; and it is "well for the hooked, throws him into the boat, and then hauls upon poor spurious descendant of the famed Newfoundland the other, having first rebaited his hook, if necessary, dog," says Sir Richard, "that he is so rapidly yielding and let the first line down again, and so on for hours in utility; for of all the ill-used animals in creation, together. When the boat is full, or there is no pronone are worse treated by capricious man than these spect of more fish, she proceeds to her stage, or curing station; and this admits of little delay, as in summer patient and forbearing creatures, which, in winter, may the fish soon require salt to make them fit to pack. be seen toiling harnessed in pairs, or with two and a leader, to low sledges called catamarans, from before daybreak until the evening sets in, hauling firewood and fence pickets, at the mercy of boys, and the very lowest class of the population; beaten, jaded, ill-fed, and occasionally wounded and killed when their overexerted strength forbids their further progress. In summer, they swarm at every poor man's door, lying idle, listless, and basking in the sun, feeding on the offal of the fishery, hunting manure heaps for the garbage of the seal, and becoming perfect adepts in the art of breaking fences to get access at night to the yards of houses, in order to carry off bones. These dogs have also another propensity common to the whole race of Newfoundland dogs that of worrying cattle and sheep; and have been known to make an entrance under an outhouse where sheep have been stalled, and to commit serious devastation. In short, half the mischief said to be performed by wolves, which are very rare near St John's, is done by their starved congeners." The Labrador dogs are still fine animals, however; and even of good Newfoundland dogs, compared with these, our author says, "I think, from having kept both kinds, and also the spotted, mahogany-coloured, and short-haired Labrador dog, that the short-haired kind are the most faithful friends of man, and the best guardians of a house; and that the other variety, with his bushy and curling tail, is the best water-dog, although both are able to endure the most severe cold in that element, and would, if left alone, sleep in the snow in preference to having a more sheltered bed. I have known the mahogany-coloured Labrador dog, an animal of immense size and power, to follow my sleigh during a long journey upon the crust of the snow, until his feet became so chafed and sore that he was unable to proceed. His affection was unbounded, and the whole race appear to be particularly fond of children; but perhaps, from their originals having been of the wolfish nature, which manifests itself in those of the colder regions of Labrador and the Esquimaux country, they are all sheep-biters, and, if not very well-fed, most dexterous thieves." "Newfoundland in 1842," being a sequel to "The Canadas In 1941. By Sir Richard Henry Bonnycastle, K.N.T. Henry Colburn, London. 1812. A chapter might be written upon the construction of stages, which I have already concisely mentioned the modes of splitting, salting, and packing; but it would not prove very interesting, and the process has been often described. The most serious drawback to the successful accomwhich the fish must be often separately turned and plishment of this tedious and laborious process, during shifted by hand, arises from the fickleness of the weather in the autumnal months, heavy fog and rain being very prejudicial, until the fish is finished and placed in heaps, which resemble in shape the twopenny sponge-cakes of the confectioners. These heaps are formed by placing a row of dried fish, with the tails outwards, circularly, and so continuing to pile, until a circular mound is raised, whose upper circumference, from the varying sizes of the fish, is larger than the lower; after which a semi-conical top is raised, and the whole covered with bark, fastened down, if intended to remain long, by stones or withes. The fish is split, and the liver, tongue, and sounds collected into separate receptacles, and the entrails and heads pitched through a hole on the stage, when they fall on the beach, or into another stage placed to receive them, as this offal is now universally sold or used for manure. Thus constant and heavy labour is required; and what with the seal-fishing, the collection of bait, and the catching and curing the cod, perhaps in no country are the labouring population more incessantly and toilfully employed than in Newfoundland; whilst the migrations of the fish themselves in pursuit of food will sometimes render one station productive, and again in another season poor." The seal-fishing, which begins about the 1st of March, is a much more dangerous occupation, being followed on the ice. At the season mentioned, "the sealers are seen coming in from all parts of the country to St John's, with their bundle of spare clothing over their shoulders, supported by a stick six or eight feet long, which is to serve as a bat or club to strike the seal on the nose, where he is very vulnerable; and also to answer as an ice-pole and gaff, or ice-hook, with which landing is effected, as well as for drawing the spoil over the floes and fields. He has likewise his long sealing-gun, if he is intended as a bow or after gunner, or, in other words, as an expert marksman, to shoot the animals where they cannot be otherwise readily destroyed. These gunners rank before the mere batmen, and have some trifling remuneration in the way of a remission of the charge of berth money, which the sealers pay to the merchant who supplies the vessel and stores, for permission to go the voyage, the outfitting being defrayed by the receipt of one-half of the cargo of seals, the other half going to the adventurers, with these and other deductions for extra supplies. Nothing can exceed the dangor and hardships of such a life, yet nothing in the commercial marine pays so well as the scaler whon successful. It would be needless to expatiate upon the horrors and constant danger of running to the northward in small brigs and schooners, of from 50 to 150 tone, and in large docked boats of half that size, in the month of March, land and Labrador, with a constant set of ice from in such seas and on such coasts as those of Newfoundthe frozen ocean, driven southward by a powerful current, and in a most variable temperature, with the total uncertainty as to where to find the seals. The seal casts its young, or whelp, as it is called, about the middle of February; and as the young animal grows very rapidly, and contains a purer oil than the old ones, it is chiefly sought after. These whelps remain about the ice near which they were born for a considerable time, and about three weeks after their birth are very fat and in perfect condition. In a favourable field, hundreds of them are soon deprived of life by the batmen, who merely strike them on the nose. Five or six kinds frequent the shores of Labrador, and are found on the ice; of which the hooded seal, the great seal, the harp, and the rough seal, with the common kind so like a waterdog when swimming, are the best known. The principal object is to secure the animal's skin with as little damage as possible, and therefore firing at them is not resorted to, except in case of its being otherwise impracticable to kill them, the large seals often being so pugnacious as to require the gun, and the hooded seal having, moreover, a membrane like a hood, which he can draw over his nose, and inflate so blow, unless he is fast asleep. This seal is very fierce. as not to be destroyed like the others with a mero The reason why it is requisite to skin them soon after death is obvious, as they soon freeze; and because the pelt, with the fat adhering, occupies very little room in comparison to the whole body. Some of the flesh of the cub seal the heart and liver-is also eaten by the men." The blubber is cut from the skin, and melted for its valuable oil. Upwards of half a miladventurous trade. lion of seals are said to fall victims annually in this The fishermen of Newfoundland form a large part of the lower or third order of the population, a first class being composed of the judges, clergy, and other officials, while the resident merchants and small proprietors constitute the second class. "The fishermen, formerly, during seven months of winter weather, had no resources but idleness or drink. But a change is coming over the nature of society here. Temperance has made great progress where it is most requisite, and that is among the industrious poor. Agriculture is patronised by the government, and no man presumes any longer to assert that the necessaries for a poor man's existence-potatoes, hay, and oats-cannot bo successfully raised, whilst, with common attention, every tilt,' as the wretched dwelling of the extremely poor is here called, might be supplied from a small and herbs." Though a portion still remain in a miser garden with cabbage and all other common vegetables able condition, the majority now reside in substantial dwellings of native wood, and enjoy comparative comfort. Their disposition is hospitable. After mentioning that, in place of hams and bacon, the ceiling joists of the Newfoundland peasant's house sustain sealingguns, fishing-apparatus, and some kind of fish, Sir R. H. Bonnycastle continues-" But the good things of this world are not wanting. I never walked into one of these kind-hearted people's dwellings (and I very often did so during my rambles last summer) without immediate and silent preparations for the stranger; for they do the same to all respectable persons; and in my instance, very frequently at first they did not know me. The good wife puts some tea in the pot, spreads a clean cloth, if she has one at hand or time admits, boils some eggs, produces a pat of fresh butter, and a large jug of milk, with a loaf of homo-made bread, or, if that is wanting, white biscuit, and without saying a word during the preparation, expects her visiter, whether he is hungry or not, to fall to, being perfectly satisfied if you drink three or four cups of tea (luckily the cups are usually small), and eat a good deal of bread and butter, and two or three eggs, which she always takes good care shall not hurt your digestion by their hardness. They never offer fish, of which I daresay, from experience, they think you have daily enough; and of course fresh meat is seldom seen, but on rare festive occasions, when the fatted calf or the household lamb graces the board. They have usually, however, a store of flour, and of salt beef or pork, which, with their poultry, would afford at all times a good table, were it not that the latter are too profitably employed in producing eggs for the market, and the former too dear to eat much of." Sir Richard, it may be observed in conclusion, is of opinion that Newfoundland, being the key of the St Lawrence, and possessing many natural and other advantages, must attain, ere long, to great importance. "It is," he says, "to British America what England is to Europe and to Asia, the sea-girt fortress in which the destinies of those immense and wonderful regions must hereafter be regulated and We give our hearty thanks to Sir Richard for this work, and can safely commend it to the public. controlled." A PARISIAN INCIDENT. In the year 1822, the Marquis de Marigni, an Italian nobleman, inhabited one of the most splendid hotels in the Champs Elysées. The marquis had in early life been sent to Paris in order to complete his studies; and while there, had imbibed the principles of the revolutionary party, which at that period was silently but surely at work to undermine the monarchical government, whose power was then vested in the per son of the unfortunate Louis XVI. The education of the young marquis being completed, he returned to his own country, where his republican spirit was not allowed to remain long inactive; the French army entered Italy, and its numbers were soon augmented by the followers of the Marigni family, headed by the youthful marquis, who soon attained great distinction in his military capacity, and, in the subsequent campaigns of Napoleon, became one of the most successful of his officers. When the examination commenced, the marquis told the events of the preceding night, which excited no small astonishment; and it was resolved to bring in the man and confront him with his accuser. Utterly unconscious of the dangerous position in which his troubled dream had placed him, he entered the bureau of the prefect in high spirits, no doubt thinking that everything was in proper train for the condemnation of the marquis; but who shall attempt to pourtray his horror and dismay when accused of being himself the murderer! The effect was so startling that he lost all presence of mind, and, in an agony of passionate apprehension, threw himself upon his knees, crying for mercy, offering to confess all if he were only insured pardon. Of course no promise of this kind could be made; but on being told that it would be better for him to state at once all he knew of the murder, he confessed that he had been hired by Philip Hurcan to assassinate his brother; that the act had been perpetrated while the unfortu nate youth was returning to his lodgings, immediately after he had parted from the Marquis de Marigni. The murder was committed in a retired part of the Champs Elysées; and Philip assisted in concealing the body until the following night, when, having gained an entrance over a low part of the wall adjoining the Hotel de Marigni, they severed the head and arms from the body, and concealed them in the in terior of the court-yard of the marquis's hotel, by which they hoped that, in case of any discovery taking place, the owner of the mansion would at once be suspected, having been last seen alive in his company The rest of the body was buried in the garden, to which they had ready access, the hotel having been shut up on the day following the murder. Philip he supposed to have been actuated by jealousy of his brother, who was about to be married to a young and beautiful girl, to whom Philip had previously paid his addresses. The unhappy man, having finished his tragic story, pled in the most piteous manner for mercy, and his senses seemed almost deserting him when ordered back to prison as a culprit. The courtyard was examined, and the remains of the head and arms of the hapless young Frenchman were found in the precise place mentioned. to have eluded, and who, without farther ceremony, measures for bringing the guilty parties to punishconveyed him before the prefect of police. The un- ment. The advocate soon obeyed the summons; and fortunate Marquis de Marigni was here informed that in whispers it was arranged between them, that, at the he stood charged with the murder of M. Jules Hur- second examination which was to take place that day, can, who had never been scen alive since the night a charge was to be preferred against Philip Hurcan on which he left the hotel of the marquis, who was and his wicked accomplice; but, then, some further known to have accompanied him on his way home; proof was necessary than the mere assertion of the that subsequent discoveries had led to a still clearer marquis, founded, as his testimony was, upon the degree of proof against him, as part of the body had vague murmurs of a dreaming man." been accidentally found in the garden attached to his house; and that these suspicions had been confirmed by his sudden departure from Paris on the morning of the day on which his unfortunate friend was missing. The marquis confessed that appearances were very much against him, but at the same time brought for ward, in exculpation, the absence of all motive to the committal of so heinous a crime; the unfortunate gentleman was his most intimate friend; he had informed him of his intention to leave Paris for a time, and on his return it was his first object to find him out. But these palliations had little weight with the stern functionaries before whom he was now arraigned; he was ordered to produce some stronger evidence of his innocence, and in the meantime he must submit to be sent to the prison of La Force, there to await a farther investigation of the affair. Here, then, in a gloomy chamber of La Force (whose name carried along with it terror and dismay to the hearts of thousands of poor wretches, who, if When the discord which had spread throughout once lodged within its walls, had little hope of escape), the whole of civilised Europe subsided, and when the sat, in no very enviable mood of mind, the Marquis excitement of war was over, the marquis found him- de Marigni. He was so deeply engrossed by his own self again in Paris, an exile from his country, pro- thoughts, that it was some time before he discovered scribed, banished from kindred and friends, shattered that he was not alone; and on glancing at his comin body, and wearied and exhausted in mind. Never-panions, he was not long in coming to the conviction theless, he had, by dexterous management, contrived that they were spies, who were placed beside him in to save some portion of his wealth, which, although the hope of finding out, either by accident or stratatrifling in comparison with his original fortune, was gem, whether or not he were really guilty. This was yet sufficient to enable him to keep a good establish- a common practice in France; but we will not stop ment in Paris, where, in 1822, our story introduces to inquire how far it was in accordance with the prinhim to the reader. ciples of honour, as in this instance it will be found to have defeated the object it had in view. The marquis had been too long accustomed to dangrief arose, not from personal alarm, but from the loss of his friend; and as he sat absorbed by his own bitter reflections, it was in vain his fellow-prisoners endeavoured to draw him into conversation. In the apparent consciousness that in a prison vice or misfortune levels all distinction both in classes and feelings, they from time to time presumed to address him, sometimes expressing sympathy with his misfortunes, and at other times giving way to invectives against the authorities by whose orders they were confined; but their unfortunate companion was proof against their arts, and he maintained, evidently to their chagrin, a most imperturbable silence. At length the night closed in, and the voluntary captives in the dungeon dropt, one after the other, asleep; but the excitement in the mind of the principal inmate was such as prevented him from enjoying repose, however much he stood in need of it, after a day of unmitigated distress. At this period the marquis enjoyed the acquaintanceship of two young Parisians, named Hurcan, who, although brothers, were as distinctly different in cha-ger to dread its approach in the present instance; his racter as if they each had belonged to a different race. Jules, the eldest, was exceedingly frank and amiable in disposition, possessing all the gaiety of heart and liveliness of manner peculiar to his countrymen. He was also accomplished and well-informed, and had both intelligence and observation, which elevated him above those whose fortunes enabled them to aim at gaining a more distinguished place in society. The younger brother, Philip, was, on the contrary, gloomy and distrustful, and the dark shades of his character served only to bring out the bright joyousness of Jules's nature, whose only source of unhappiness seemed to be in his brother. Philip, morose and jealous, looked with feelings of envy and dissatisfaction on the ripening friendship of the marquis for Jules. One evening the Marquis de Marigni communicated to his friend Jules Hurcan, that he was obliged, on account of some matters connected with his family, to leave Paris for a time, during which his house would be shut up, but that, on his return, he hoped to be able to resume his friendly intercourse with him. M. Iurcan, in return, confided to the marquis the change which he expected would soon take place in his condition, and he expressed a wish that his absence would not be prolonged beyond a certain time, as he was desirous that he should be present at his marriage, which was shortly to take place; but this the marquis could not promise to do, as he did not then know where his wandering fancies might lead him in the interval. The last evening on which the friends were together was spent by them in the most agreeable manner, and it was late before M. Hurcan rose to take leave of his host, who begged permission to accompany him on his way home. They sauntered out together; and after an hour's absence, the marquis returned home, apparently very much depressed. The necessary orders having been given to his servants, he retired to rest, and at an early hour next morning he quitted Paris. can, Twelve months elapsed before the return of the Marquis de Marigni, for, having no home ties, he had extended his travels much beyond his original intention; and no sooner did he arrive than he made his way to the lodging formerly occupied by M. Hurin hopes of there obtaining some clue by which to find out the new residence of his accomplished friend. The first answer made to his inquiries was an exclamation of surprise that he should not have heard that M. Hurcan was dead; then followed the dreadful intelligence, that he had been assassinated twelve months before; that part of his body had been found concealed in the garden behind the hotel of the Marquis de Marigni in the Champs Elysées ; and that the marquis was supposed to have been the murderer, as be had quitted Paris on the very day on which M. Hurcan was missing. Fortunately, the person of the supposed murderer was unknown to his informant, so that the agitation he manifested was attributed to horror at the recital to which he had just listened; and having questioned and cross-questioned the loquacious keeper of the Conciergerie, he, in a state of the utmost perplexity, prepared to retrace his way to his lodging. He had not proceeded far on his return, when he was arrested by two of the emissaries of Vidocq, whose vigilance it would have required superhuman efforts In the middle of the night, the stillness of the gloomy dungeon was interrupted in an unexpected manner by the murmurs of one of the supposed spies. His words were at first unintelligible; but the marquis, whose curiosity was excited by hearing something, as he imagined, relative to his unfortunate friend M. Hurcan, listened attentively for some further elucidation of the mysterious hints involuntarily offered by his sleeping companion, and was thus in his turn forced to become the spy. The name of Jules Hurcan was distinctly mentioned in a tone of regret, accompanied by a half-suppressed groan and a convulsive movement of the body. A few moments' quiet slumber followed, and then the soliloquy was resumed. "Ah!" he ejaculated, "tis lucky that the prefect does not know that I had any concern in this affair; the Italian may take his chance; Philip knows better than to say anything of it; so I am pretty safe. The head! ah! it will not be covered enough under the wall! The eyes! how they stare! Ah! Monsieur Philip, he was your brother!" Here the sleeper made a sudden pause, and he moaned, as if in agony of spirit; but notwithstanding the vigilance of the person most interested in this confession, nothing further was heard. When the officers of justice entered the dwelling of Philip Hurcan at Versailles, where he had been living for some months, he, having obtained previous notice of their arrival, shot himself through the heart. Need it be added, that having lived unloved he died unlamented; in fact, such was the horror excited in the public mind by the knowledge of his crime, that it was found difficult to restrain the populace from taking vengeance upon his body. Ilis villanous accomplice made a more public expiation of his crime, while the Marquis de Marigni came out in triumph; but his feelings had received a shock which rendered him almost insensible. To the congratulations which were offered to him on every side, the loss of his estimable young friend, at a period of life when the most agreeable prospects of happiness were opening up to him, caused the warm-hearted Italian a desolation of heart which no personal or external circumstances could altogether alleviate. A few months after these events took place, the beautiful Mademoiselle D——, the betrothed mistress of Jules Hurcan, entered upon her noviciate in the convent of L, and endeavoured by her zeal in holy things to induce forgetfulness of the hapless fate of her earthly lover. A WORD TO RAILWAY DIRECTORS. Much as we admire the great and excellently conducted system of railways in this country, we feel bound to say that the directors generally have proceeded on a too nar row principle as to charges of conveyance and accommodation. We might pass over the charges as being perhaps what prudence dictates, but there is something The broken sentences, however, which had escaped, indescribably mean in the accommodation of third-class were sufficient to rouse the dormant energies of the passengers, who are turned into a waggon without seats, Marquis de Marigni, and he felt as if inspired with new and are there hurled along like so many cattle in a pen. life. Here, in a most singular manner, he had been The class of persons whose means limit them to the choice put in possession of facts which, if true, were concluof this degrading method of locomotion, jocularly call the sive as to the assassin of Jules Hurcan; and he had waggon the Tub; and as such we see it referred to in little doubt that the deed had been sanctioned, if not the following passages in a late English newspaper. The participated in, by Philip, who had always appeared ways: "There are four classes abroad: La Berline, La writer first adverts to the practices on the German railas the evil genius of his light-hearted brother. The Diligence, Les Chars-a-banc, and Le Wagon. The Berline only difficulty now lay in bringing his evidence for- corresponds to our first-class in all respects, and is the ward so as to be credited; and turning his gaze, which, most expensive: the Diligence has stuffed seats (without even in darkness, he felt to be riveted upon the place the division into chairs), windows on the sides, and is where the dreamer lay, he directed his thoughts to the open from end to end like our second-class: the Charsuse he might be able to make of his acquired infor-a-banc, or third-class, differs from the last-mentioned in mation, so that it might be the means of accomplishing his own liberation. As soon as it was day, he, by bribing his jailor, got him to send a note which he prepared to his friend M. de P―, one of the most celebrated advocates in Paris, stating the circumstances which had come to his knowledge, and begging him to hasten to him, in order that they might consult upon the adoption of not having windows, and being less convenient, but there are blinds at the side, and you sit upon stuffed benches; class, and is equal to it in every respect. The first-class and the Wagon, or fourth-class, resembles our secondis used by the directors of the company, the aristocracy, and families on travel; the second by the gentry and the middle classes; the third by a somewhat similar descrip tion of persons, though it is more common' (to use at Anglicism); and the fourth by operatives, peasants, mar ་ |