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SPENCER T. HALL, THE SHERWOOD
FORESTER.

WE are always glad to make our pages the vehicle of
conveying to the world the history of merit and per-
severance struggling against and overcoming the
obstacles of fortune. What we most desire to see is
the working-classes adopting for themselves-taking
into the economy of their lives-a virtuous and patient
endeavour to extract the greatest possible amount of
good out of the toil and privation, more or less severe,
which is the lot of their existence. We want to teach
them that they can do infinitely more for themselves
than any outward aid can accomplish for them. We
want them to feel their responsibility to act with
energy and forethought under their circumstances
to accustom them more and more to meet the hard-
ships of life by virtuous and patient resolution-to
bring them to think and reason correctly-and to
induce them to cherish as patterns those of their own
class whose lives attest the power of virtue and effort.
"Diligent self-culture" is a phrase which must become
a household word, and must be understood as prac-
tically as the commonest household duties.

And when ye to their arms return,
Fresh flowers of promise bringing,
No weed of vice be theirs to mourn
Among your virtues springing.

Oh! ever love them, and obey;

For as through life ye wander,
Most true you'll find this lowly lay,
Which oft and deeply ponder :
Hard hearts and false we meet and rue,
That rightly ne'er regard us;
But parents still are kind and true,
Though all beside discard us.

Farewell, then, for the days of youth,
Ye cannot spend more cheerly,
Or nobly, than in wooing truth,
Which, winning, oh prize dearly!
For learning's joys will round you glow,
When ye through life have striven;
Since only blossoming below,

frame, we amused ourselves at night by rolling the barley field.

At this time I had, through the kindness of a pawnbroker, the privilege of reading such books as had been pledged with him and not redeemed, of which I make this public acknowledgment with thankfulness. I had also access to the library of the national schoolmaster, Mr James Jennings, a highly respectable and kind man, who is now dead. I mention his name with gratitude and reverence. My leisure hours were often spent at a candlemaker's melting-house, where a merry and intelligent exciseman, of the name of Helston, who had seen something of life through his residence in various parts of the country, gave me a good deal of information. Mr Barrott, the chandler, was an affable and well-informed man, and was fond of conversing with me. He lent me the Life and Works of Dr Franklin, the reading of which gave my mind a new impulse, and determined me on running away, with a Mr Hall's book has obtained for him great popu- view to returning at some future time as a printer. larity in his native district of Sherwood. In a Shef- The burning, the languishing, and occasionally the field newspaper now before us, we find a report of maddening sense of my rustic enthralment, at length a meeting of the inhabitants of the Forest (Nov. broke bounds. [He proceeds to say, that when sixteen 3, 1841), to the number of above a hundred, at the years of age, upon a cold evening in January 1829, village of Edwinstone, to present to him a carved oak with one shirt, one pair of stockings, a volume of walking-stick; and as Mr Hall's speech, in returning thanks for the present, contains a history of his mind voyages and travels, which he had purchased in sixand fortunes, we shall conclude this notice by extract-penny numbers, together with a few numbers of the "Dictionary of Arts and Sciences," all tied together ing the most material passages. in a bundle, and dressed in the plain and rustic fashion of a country Quaker, with only thirteenpence halfpenny of cash in his pocket, he privately left the paternal mansion, determined at all hazards to push his way in some new field of industry.]

They ripen but in Heaven."

"It has been requested," said Mr Hall, "that on this occasion, for the encouragement of others in circumstances like my own, I should give a natural history of my mind, to the cultivation of which, under what the world generally calls difficulties, but which I I will not tell you of all the hardships, and insults, only call stimulants, is to be attributed the gratifying and kindnesses, I met with; it would detain you too position I now occupy among you. I was born on the long. Three nights I lay without sleeping; the first About a twelvemonth since, a small neat volume, 16th December 1812, and I am consequently near upon in a damp bed in an inn at Nottingham; the second entitled "The Forester's Offering," came under our twenty-nine years of age. My mother is dead; but on the floor of a cold workshop in Loughborough, notice, purporting to be the production of Spencer T. all the rest of the family, seven brothers and sisters, where I heard the watchman's half-hourly cry Hall, a self-taught young man, pursuing the craft of still live in or near my birthplace, which is a little throughout the whole night, and found at day dawn an operative printer. Its contents are prose sketches thatched cottage, only one storey high, at Sutton in that the snow had drifted under the door to the very of Sherwood Forest, of which its author is a native, and Ashfield, a small town three miles within the ancient sack I lay upon; the third night again at Nottingham, pieces in verse. The merits of the book would have western boundary of the Forest. One of the principal in the house of a poor but hospitable friend, where, claimed our attention, quite independently of the his- tributaries of the river Mann, that runs so beautifully though the bed was soft and dry, I could scarcely get tory of its composition; but author and volume taken through this village, passes by my father's door, and a wink of sleep for intense thinking. The adventures together, we became considerably interested by it. I have sometimes heard its murmurs when sitting on of the next five weeks would fill a great book if written. The prose, which is divided into four chapters, rela- the hearth. The first deep poetical impression I At the end of that time, I called one day at the Mertive to Sherwood Forest, its appearance and legends, recollect receiving, was when so young that my father cury office in Nottingham. Mr Shaw, then one of its is perhaps the least meritorious part of the production. was carrying me in his arms. It was from seeing the proprietors, had previously given a complimentary call Like most young authors, Mr Hall writes in too high-gardens all covered with white, and, in a breezeless on my father, and had seen me working in the stockflown a style, and with too little regard to precision morning, the snow falling slowly and solemnly, flake ing-frame, when I explained to him with great earand brevity. We notice this circumstance, however, by flake, from a calm dim sky upon them. This was nestness its mechanism and history, with which he for Mr Hall's benefit. Should there be a subsequent the early awakening of my mind to the sublimity of seemed pleased. I now thought he would in turn show edition of his volume, we recommend him to set out simple and common nature, which, because it is simple me how printing was performed. On entering the office, with telling where Sherwood Forest is what is its and common, we so little perceive and enjoy. I orce the workmen were highly amused with my rustic apextent and general character at the present day-is it received another impression akin to this, but from pearance. But rustic as I was, I had read Dr Franklin, all trees, or only patches of woodland intermingled different causes. It was one bright February morn- and made myself master of many of the technicalities with open fields--what roads are there through it- ing, when I was seven or eight years old; it was in a of the business, and Mr Shaw was surprised at the what are the occupations of its inhabitants-is the lane at Fulwood, about a mile from Sutton. The facility with which I used them. Determined not to village of Edwinstone its capital, and what sort of a whole landscape was sparkling with gems of frozen return home, and having nobody to depend upon but place is it and so on, with various other interesting dew-not hoar-frost, but that bright powdery scatter-myself, I called at the office again to ask if they could matters, which Mr Hall's knowledge of the district ing which is next akin to it. A little cluster of rustic tell me of any situation that had been advertised. Mr would easily enable him to give. Of his poetical cottages were sending up their smoke-wreaths just by, Shaw told me they could not, but said if I would walk efforts we can speak more favourably. From the and a green holly-bush, the only green object to be with him towards his house, he would have some talk poem "My Native Cottage," we copy these two seen, was sweetly glowing at a bend of the lane be- with me. He said, he was sorry I was not younger, stanzas. He is speaking of his mother. yond them, making me feel, as if by stepping as far, I as there was a vacancy in the Mercury office for a lad, "Oft, too, would'st thou describe my country's ports, should be all that nearer to the coming spring. Well, which in some respects might suit me. I asked why Crowded with gallant ships from every clime; it is a very wide landscape that spreads away from age should be an obstacle; he replied, it was not my Her smiling palaces and frowning forts-that spot, cut into diamonds by hedgerows, and dotted age, but my size and the stiffness of my fingers from Whate'er of her was beauteous or sublime, with cottages, farms, churches, villages, corn-stalks, rustic occupations, which would prevent me succeedThe fruit of modern taste or ancient timewindmills, villas, and all the other indications of quiet ing as a compositor. I believe at that moment my From domes remote that through old woodlands rise, To cities crown'd with spires, that proudly climb, rural life, up to where the North Peak of Derbyshire heart swelled considerably beyond its usual size, as I And flash the sunlight back through summer skiesbrings its blue hills in a semicircle, and hems in the eagerly answered, that "application alone could soon Until my young soul swell'd with gladness and surprise. prospect. All this, in the sunshine, was very delicious; remedy that." He said, he was afraid that it would and quietly pondering over it, the love of rural beauty not; and I left him embarrassed with conflicting bewitched my heart, almost like the sweet and silent emotions. Next morning, however, he sent for me, joy of the love of a young maiden. Such, with me, and made proposals-that I should serve him for seven was the beginning of poetry. years, beginning with the lowest situation in the office; that I must be an out-door apprentice, and have four shillings a-week for the first year, five shillings a-week for the second, and so on to the end. He also said, that though that should be the stipulation, if I merited it, something better might be done in time. The engagement seemed hazardous; but I was anxious and hopeful, and accepted it. Shaw's advice on the occasion was very shrew and sound; he said, to make it tolerable, I must consider myself two years younger to begin with.

And much I wish'd, as in my mind would grow
A sense of Britain's grandeur and her might,
That in her sons a warm desire might glow

To use their matchless power and skill aright,
And in the ways of love and truth delight.
For, oh an early consciousness was mine,
That power misguided operates but to blight
All that is glorious, beautiful, benign-

And glooms a world with woe which else in bliss might shine." We also very much admire the following verses, addressed to the sons of one of his friends on their

return to school after vacation time :

"Once more in vigour turn, dear boys,
To your scholastic duties;
From knowledge spring life's noblest joys,
Its comforts and its beauties.
Away, then, for the days of youth
Ye cannot spend more cheerly,

Or nobly, than in wooing truth,
Which, winning, prize most dearly.

For though youth's budding hopes may bloom,
In manhood but to vanish;

Time cannot learning's stores consume,

Nor care its pleasures banish.

Oh, no! its joys still round us glow,

When we through life have striven;

Since only blossoming below,

They ripen but in Heaven.

Then onward press with purpose true,

With ardour never failing,

Since slighted chances late to rue

Is surely unavailing.

Your means of learning, strength, and skill,
And wit, I do not doubt them;

But having these, and not the will,
You'd better be without them.

Away, away! and ever may

Your tasks be light and pleasant, As are your uncheck'd sports to-day, While with your parents present.

I will now tell you the way in which I learnt to read. My father being a shoemaker, and having several tiers of last-rails in his workshop, got the alphabet printed in large and small characters, and had it pasted at intervals along the rails. As soon as I could begin to scramble about, I tried to walk by holding on these rails; the letters caught my eye; and so I learnt to read and walk together-thanks to the ingenuity of my father. I am free to attribute all my learning to this source; for though I never went to a charity school in my life, my whole educa- For one year I made four shillings a-week find me tion, books included, never cost so much as a pound. in food at Nottingham, with an occasional cake or I began to work at seven years of age, being employed lump of bacon from my mother at Sutton, and my from that to eleven at winding cotton for the stock- father paid my lodgings and washing. At the end of ing-makers, and nursing a poor brother who could not the first year, my master was so well satisfied with help himself, and whom I partially cured by wander- me, that instead of giving me five shillings a-week, he ing out with him into the fields, where the fresh air said he would let me eat and sleep in his house. I strengthened him, whilst the scenery gladdened me. accepted his offer, and had no cause to repent it. If all At eleven, I began to weave stockings myself; and to I earned had been for myself, I could not by any posshow you the sort of life we now led, take one illustra-sibility have worked harder than I did. After I had tive anecdote, of which I could give a hundred. In been with him a few years, it was stipulated, that all addition to our cottage garden, we had then a one-acre I earned above four and twenty shillings a-week, indefield, which we used to plant alternately with potatoes pendently of proving the columns, and helping to and barley. One spring day, when I and my brothers work off the second edition of the paper, should be my had been getting on faster than usual in the stocking-own for clothes and pocket-money. At this time, too,frame, my mother came to us, and said, "Good lads, Mrs Shaw, who was a very kind woman, undertook go on; and if you get your work done soon, you shall that my washing and mending should be done in her go with your father to roll the barley after drinking" | house. I was well fed, and my extra work some(meaning tea-time). So away we went, and harnessed times amounted to half-a-crown a-week. But working ourselves by shifts to a large stone roller, two at a once, and often twice, a-week almost all night, soon time, our father taking his turn with the weakest of seriously injured my health; and I lost half my eyeus; and so, after a good day's work in the stocking-sight, and one-third of the power of my lungs, at Not

tingham. Yet still, God be thanked, I had many joys and comforts. Rural life and scenery never lost their charm, and on the banks of the Trent, or on Mapperley Hills, in reading, or in the society of good and intelligent men, my spare hours were seasons of pleasure and gratitude. At seventeen, I one day by accident picked up Bloomfield's "Farmer's Boy." On reading its very invocation, a new fire was kindled in my heart-the fire of poetry-the power of expressing my thoughts and feelings. The spirit which had struggled to express itself in painting rough sketches found vent; I shed tears of gratitude, and hastened to put in practice my new faculty, by attempting some lines descriptive of Clifton Grove, the beloved haunt of Henry Kirke White. From that time, I found the society of more important people. The Howitts were then all living at Nottingham, and honoured me with their notice and friendship.

I

When I was twenty-one, Mr Shaw suddenly lost his sight, and soon after his interest in the paper. engaged to complete my term of service with Mr Bennett, the new publisher. Under my new engagement I had ten shillings a-week for the first year, and twelve for the second; but bad health often prevented me from working, when, of course, I got little or nothing. When my apprenticeship was ended, my master expressed himself so well satisfied with my conduct, that he offered, if I could raise a printingoffice at my native place, to supply me on credit with materials for commencing business. Several kind and generous friends who knew me advanced the necessary capital, and little more than seven years from running away, I drove past my native cottage with a new printing-press and with a loved and loving wife." Owing to various causes, Mr Hall relinquished his printing business at Sutton, and became foreman in the office of Messrs Hargrove at York, the publishers of the York Herald and York Courant. He soon after published the volume we have noticed above.

He concluded his narrative thus :-" With regard to my future efforts, though uncertain in their course, their result must be good in the end, because I have laid down two unerring principles. The first is taught me by the great lesson of circumstances, which are the language of God; it is, that every act, and every word, dishonest or insincere, must inevitably defeat its own intent; and the other is that beautiful sentiment of John Galt, "That whenever we do a good action to another, it is the benevolence of heaven directing us to achieve some good for ourselves."

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.

AN IRISH STORY.

It was about the close of the year 18-, when, in consequence of the apparent tranquillity which prevailed in Europe, the allied sovereigns had determined upon recalling the army of occupation from France, although the time stipulated for its remaining in that country had not yet expired. Many of our soldiers were returning to the respective places of their birth-some to spend among their friends the short period afforded by leave of absence, and others, who had obtained discharges, to pass the remainder of their days in peace. Anticipated joy cheered their homeward way; but, alas! in many instances, they were doomed to bitter disappointment: numbers returned only to find the grave closed over their dearest kindred-a parent, a wife, or a child. More than one veteran had passed scathless through the battle-field, to stand a stranger in the place of his nativity. All that he had once loved had ceased to live, and the only desire which remained to him was to be with them and at rest. Others, however, were less unfortunate; and many joyous greetings took place of husbands long parted from their wives, and of fathers, for the first time, perhaps, permitted to embrace their children, or to behold a grown-up lad or blooming girl where he had left but a baby at its mother's breast.

It was about the period of these events, when, on the afternoon of a fine autumnal day, two Irishmen of the lower order were in the act of separating for their homes. Just at the moment their attention was attracted by a stranger who was approaching; his air and appearance were at that period most likely to excite observation-his dress plain, but evidently new; a small bundle, suspended from a stick, hung over one shoulder; while his bold upright carriage and manly step indicated the practised soldier: a good judge would have pronounced him about thirty years of age. "There," said one of the persons above alluded to, "goes a fine cliver fellow, Paddy. I'll engage it's returnin' from the wars he is, now that Bony's down. The sodgers 'll be gettin' lave to see their friends, you know, and it's well for them as has such smart chaps as that to boast of."

"He's a nice clane boy indeed, Mikey," replied the other," and looks as if he hadn't been abroad for nothing; though it's not much, I'm thinkin', a sodger

can save."

"That's the truth, Paddy; but, poor or rich, he'll be a welcome sight to them he's goin' to. It's not many the likes of him the bullets spared. Many a fine fellow lies cowld and stiff beyant the wather there: but he's just goin' your road, so he'll be company for you, and tell you all the news beside."

The subject of these remarks had just left the high road where the friends were conversing, and now continued his course in the same direction which Paddy

was about to take; the suggestion of his companion
was not lost on this person, the natural curiosity of
whose disposition was also roused.
it's a long road, you know-so, good-night."
"Troth," he rejoined, "I believe I'll take your hint;
to request the reader's attention. Having overtaken
Here the two parted; but to the latter we are now
the stranger, he accosted him with the usual salu-
tation, and observed, that if he wished to hear of
him.
a resting-place for the night, he would be glad to serve

conversation, replied, that he had few relations alive,
The stranger, though apparently little inclined for
but wished to reach the house of a comrade's mother,
which, as he had been informed, was in this neigh
bourhood, and where he had no doubt of obtaining
lodgings.

"maybe I could put you in a short road."
"What's the name of the place?" asked the other;

66

right, it can't be very far off now."
," returned the soldier; "and, if I was told
must be a long time since your friend left these parts,
"That's thrue enough," replied Paddy; "but it
for nobody has lived there for many years back, since
Peggy Marks was forced to lave it."
in a more hurried tone; "do you know any thing of
That's his mother's name," rejoined the stranger,
her?"
thinkin' it must be the same, for a son of hers, by a
"Sorra much of late," he replied; "but I was
first marriage, listed ten years ago; a fine fellow he
was, too; but we heard tell he was kilt in the wars."
well, and will soon get leave to come down and see his
"No such thing," said the soldier; "he's alive and
friends."

same," remarked Paddy. "I only hope thim that are
"Why, then, it's myself that's glad to hear that
his flesh and blood may say as much."

nestly.
"Do you doubt it?" interrupted the other, ear-

sin," he replied; "it wasn't long after her first hus-
"There's no answerin' for thim that's hardened in
band died that Peg tuck to drink she married a
pedlar fellow that used to be rovin' about the country,
gettin' a livin' nobody knew how; for though he car-
Poor Bill was quite a child then, and, you may be sure,
ried a pack, sorra mortal ever saw him sell any thing.
hadn't an aisy life of it; he got the worst of usage
scouldin's and beatin's. But all didn't change his for-
givin' heart; and when he grew up, he laboured hard
for thim that never thanked him or said well he did.
If it wasn't for him, I don't know what they'd have
done, for you may be sure it wasn't much the pedlar
worked. But such a state of things couldn't last; they
druv the poor boy out in the end, on the wide world,
then, for a reason he had. He used to be lookin' at
to seek a shelter where he might. He came to me
time-a wife's sister's daughter. There was a re-
a little girl, you see, that was stoppin' with me at the
cruitin' party in the country at the time, and, to make
forget the day he was marched away, with the red,
a long story short, he listed. It's myself that'll never
and blue, and white ribbons in his hat, and the merry
music playin' to keep up the crathurs' spirits. He
needed something to cheer him, for his heart was
aching, and the grief was heavy upon him. It was a
sorrowful day to us all, and the tears were nearer to
talkin'-he went away, and we never heard more
my own eyes then than now. But where's the use in
about him. As for the mother, she and her husband
went to the bad intirely, and at last were turned
of a place on the moor; but misfortune wasn't long
out of the farm; they went thin and lived in a bit
murder, and hanged; Peg herself, as the neighbours
in followin' them. The pedlar was taken up for a
thought, didn't get out of the business with clean
hands; but be that as it may, she escaped the law,
and is now livin' on the moor, with the misformed
crathur she had by the pedlar."

"I hope she behaves kinder to it than she did to her
of the young woman you mentioned a while ago!"
first son," remarked.the soldier; "but what's become

"That's my niece, Mary Casey," returned the other;
since-not that she mightn't have been married over
"she has been the constant crathur to poor Bill ever
and over again, for she had more than one offer that
a girl might be glad to close on."

that before they parted all reserve was over. Paddy,
The soldier grasped the speaker's hand; what he
said we shall not here relate; it is sufficient to say,
indeed, laboured hard to get him home with him that
night, but in vain; he determined to seek the resi-
tions how to proceed thither, exchanged a hearty good-
dence of Peg Marks; and so, having obtained direc-
night with his companion, and pursued the way alone.
His path lay along a rugged road, which must have
the most favourable circumstances, it was tedious and
been almost impassable in wet weather, while, under
course for about a mile, our traveller at length arrived
difficult. After threading its winding and uneven
for it was the only one in the place. On arriving at
at the spot he sought; the cabin was easily recognised,
the door, he knocked once or twice without obtaining
any answer, though he could plainly hear voices within:
their exact expression, however, was not distinguish-
able; one thing alone could be inferred from the tone
faction. This circumstance did not deter the visiter;
-whatever was being said did not proceed from satis-
effect. "Who's there?" uttered a hoarse and dissonant
he repeated his knocking much louder and with more

way,

7

voice from within. "One that has travelled a long
and is in want of a place to rest in for the night,
the reply.
and, besides, has a message for the good woman," was

been spoken.
"Eh! what's that? who's there ?" asked another
voice, hurriedly, as if excited by the words which had

Marks, and would ask a night's lodging, if convenient,"
"One that would be glad of a word or two with Peggy
was again the reply.

late crathur? and, as to lodgings, is it to a poor widdy-
"What can you be wantin' wid me, good man? and
buy a morsel of bread for herself and the poor orphan
who's thim that'd be sending a message to a poor diso-
here?"
woman you'd be comin', that hasn't as much as would

"I'd take nothing without paying for it," returned the soldier.

Here there was a low murmuring between the persons broken by one of them saying in a louder tone-" Open inside, which lasted for a few minutes, and was at length admitted. He stood for a moment or two gazing on the the door, Jemmy, aghira; let him come in, at any rate.' inmates of this miserable abode: the younger of the two, The command was instantly obeyed, and our traveller at the side of the fire opposite to that at which the old having closed the door carefully, resumed the seat which he had doubtless occupied previous to the interruption, woman was still sitting. The mother and son presented human degradation, which will often rivet our attention a picture which it was impossible to disregard, although the feelings excited by it must have been any thing but pleasing. There is, however, something in the sight of gazing on the two individuals before him. At the side while it gives us pain: no doubt, it was under the influence of such a feeling that the stranger now stood mutely close to the fire, sat the woman so often referred to; the opposite to the door, and crouched upon a low stool, dry furze which had been thrown upon the hearth, though at that moment sinking into embers, still continued to send forth a blaze, which shot a lurid glare around, and by the effects of dissipation, but distorted by the worst imparted to her countenance a most unnatural hue. That passions. Directly opposite the woman, as we have was a countenance, indeed, which required no additional already observed, sat that singularly made creaturecircumstance to heighten its deformity-marked not only designated by our friend Paddy "a misformed thing"with his dark grey eyes fixed with an inquiring gaze upon of this outré being, is beyond the power of verbal dethe person of the visiter. To convey an adequate idea scription. His full height did not exceed four feet, without exceeding the limits of reality, we may say to of which the head formed a considerable part; this, The room which they inhabited was truly fitted to be the abode of wretchedness: there was no light except what have been equal in bulk to any two of an ordinary size. proceeded from the fire; this rendered horribly visible the living creatures near it, while it brought into shadowy keeping with the poverty of the inmates. A few miserable outline the remoter objects of the place. These were in articles of furniture, such as might barely accommodate whole. It should be observed that this was not the only them at meals, and a low settle-bed, comprised the yards of the door to the opposite wall, effected another, settle-bed just mentioned. room; for a partition, running from within about two where the woman usually slept, the dwarf occupying the

The soldier stood as if entranced, till roused by the voice of the old woman. "And what would ye be wantin' wid the widdy, honest man ?"

incapable of proceeding; and even when he did com-
effect of what passed before him, that he was for a time
He made an effort to reply, but so powerful was the
faltering expression of the voice, that indicated an ex-
mence, there was a tremulous motion of the lips, and a
explaining to her that he was the bearer of tidings from
treme degree of agitation. He succeeded, however, in
regiment, and expected to see her shortly.
her son, who had lately returned from abroad with his

turned the soldier.
"No; he was wounded, and suffered very much," re-

Then it wasn't thrue he was kilt, after all, wasn't it ?" she asked.

them," observed the hag, in a somewhat louder voice.
"Sure, betther couldn't happen him; neither loock nor
grace ever attind thim that forgets the mother that bore

surveyed the stranger for a time, seemed to watch with
"That's the thruth," interrupted the dwarf, who, having
some earnestness what was passing.

marked the soldier; " but he never forgot his friends, and
"It gave him great trouble that he ever enlisted," re-
always intended returning after the war was over."

soon," was the answer;
"But didn't he send any thing to his ould mother,
willing to advance you a little for his sake."
barrin' the message ?".
"Why, no, as he intended to be with her himself so
"but if you're in want, I'll be
short pause, during which she seemed to be busy with
she asked, with some earnestness; and again, after a
her own thoughts, hurriedly continued-
"Eh! what ?-did you say you'd give money, man?"

commidation."
you ?-it's a poor place, you see, and hasn't much of ac-
"But you were wantin' lodgings for the night, weren't

he returned; " and it's not hard to please one that's tired
"For that matter, a soldier isn't very choice at a pinch,"
with long travelling."

maybe; and what can the poor widdy and her orphan
But then you'd be likin' something to eat and dhrink,
here spare ?" she again observed.

if it could be got convenient, here's what'll get enough
for all."
"Indeed, you're right enough in that," he replied;" but

she stretched forth her hand to receive the soldier's
Jemmy-look at the silver; it'll do your heart good;
"Eh!" ejaculated the hag, with evident delight, as
money; and then turned to the dwarf: "Look here,

sorra morsel of food has passed the poor crathur's lips today. Make haste, and go down to Mikey Brown's and buy somethin'; you'll know how to lay the money out." The object of her instructions departed. We shall not follow him in the discharge of his commission. It is sufficient to say, that, after about an hour's absence, he returned amply provided, to the satisfaction of himself and mother. Nor is it necessary to tell how the interval of his absence was passed between the latter and her guest. On the reappearance of her son, however, she rose, and began to busy herself in preparing for the approaching meal. In the performance of this duty, she exhibited the full length of her person, which was considerably above the usual female standard, and presented a striking contrast to the diminutive proportions of her elfishlooking offspring. As she stood heaping fresh fuel on the blazing hearth, she might have suggested the idea of a witch engaged in some work of nocturnal incantation, while, to complete the illusion, the dwarf, like an attendant sprite, stood near, waiting with impatience the conclusion of her task. A candle was lighted, and all being at length arranged, the three partook of the repast. This having been finished, the spirits were produced, and the soldier urged to drink. He did so, but very moderately; and soon after, either from fatigue, or an unwillingness to join the intemperance which was evidently to follow, or perhaps from both causes, declared his intention of going to rest. He rose accordingly; the dwarf accompanied him into the other room, and having pointed to the bed, left him, a malicious grin heightening the deformity of the creature's countenance as he did so. The bed consisted merely of a little straw and a few miserable articles of covering. To one, however, who had been accustomed to lie in the open air, with nothing save the damp green grass of the battle-field for his pallet, this was not now a matter of any consideration. He threw himself down, dressed as he was, and tried to compose himself to rest. It was some time before he succeeded; melancholy thoughts possessed his mind. The voices of the wretched beings he had left were audible, though their expressions were not distinguishable-now louder, as if engaged in drunken altercation, and now sinking to a low and barely perceptible murmuring. More than an hour might have thus passed, when at length, worn out with fatigue, mental and bodily, he sunk into a profound sleep.

We may now return to the occupants of the adjoining room. The dwarf had drawn his stool close to that on which his mother sat; the cup was handed from one to the other; and cach, in turn, plied the intoxicating draught, all the time maintaining a low conversation, which, it is almost superfluous to say, bore the most horrible import. At length the woman arose, and approached the door of the room in which the soldier lay, to listen if she heard any sounds that might indicate his being awake. All was still. Satisfied of this, she returned to the table, and taking the candle, proceeded to enter the apartment for the purpose of a eloser examination. There was little occasion for fear; the object of her scrutiny lay in perfect unconsciousness of the work of treachery which was being plotted against him. There was, it is true, a heavy breathing, and now and then a convulsive sigh, that bespoke the presence of some troubled dream, and caused the hag to tremble. But no more-it passed, and he was again still. It was a moment not to be neglected: she moved stealthily away, and returning to the dwarf, beckoned him to rise. But it is full time to make the reader acquainted with certain occurrences in another quarter. It will be remembered that Paddy, after parting with the soldier, had pursued his way home, where he arrived without any further incident. It was no small pleasure to him to hear from one of his younger children, who met him on the very threshold of the door, anxious to be the first to announce the news, that his niece Mary, who was expected on the following day from a situation which she had some time occupied, had already arrived-a pleasure which was considerably augmented by the approach of the girl herself, followed by the other members of the family, to meet him. "Throth, and it's yourself that's welcome, my colleen," cried the warm-hearted man, as he extended his broad arms to embrace her.

The girl so welcomed was in every way worthy of the kindness she experienced. In early life deprived of her parents, she had been taken by her uncle and aunt, and reared as their own child. As she grew up to womanhood, her form developed more than ordinary attractions, while her features displayed a regularity and beauty rarely to be equalled. It was not to be supposed that she should escape attentions from the youngsters of the neighbourhood; and, accordingly, at chapel or fair, she was the constant object of their rivalry. This she disregarded, for her affections had been early engaged; her young heart had been bestowed on one who well deserved the gift. William Molan, the son of Peg Marks by her former marriage, was the object of Mary's first and only love. In his many trials, she was a fond consoler-when harassed by the treatment of his unnatural mother, this excellent girl would cheer him with the hope of better days. And at last, when, driven from his paternal roof, and stung with shame for the infamy of his nearest kindred, he enlisted, her voice whispered the last words of comfort in his ear-she spoke of future happiness, and renewed her vows of constancy. Well and faithfully did she keep her word; for though the report of his death had long since arrived, she was still single, and hoping even against hope.

Mary and her friends were now, as may be supposed, happy in each other's society, the interchange of affectionate conversation passing from one to another. Paddy was evidently charged with a secret, the possession of which seemed to give him, in his own eyes at least, considerable importance. It was plain, however, that the subject, whatever it might be, could not long remain in his exclusive keeping; for, like many other persons burdened with a similar trust, he was determined not to allow the superiority which it gave him to be overlooked, and so kept constantly hovering round the for

bidden topic, now slightly touching on it, and again checking the volubility which was near betraying him; until at last, all caution forsaking him, the whole broke forth beyond the power of recall.

“Aye, aye,” he exclaimed, "there's the whole thruth for you, my colleen-you have it all now; Willie's alive and well, and will be here in the mornin'." Sudden joy, like sudden sorrow, may be too powerful for the human frame; the extreme of either will produce a like result. Mary heard the announcement: it was too much-her heart throbbed wildly for a moment-her eyes lighted up, and then her vision became confused-she fainted for a few moments, but rallying under the sudden effort, she falteringly inquired—“ And did he say nothing of”"Of yourself?" interrupted the uncle; "in troth, he did, my jewel; it's your own sweet self that's nearest to his heart; and if he had known you were here, I'll be bound he wouldn't have stopped where he did; he promised to be here in the mornin', for I tould him you'd be over from the castle thin."

Mary's strength now rapidly returned; and she asked eagerly, "But where did he go?"

Why, you see," returned the other, "the fond heart is in him still; and he longed to see his ould mother, bad as she thrated him; he thought he wouldn't be knownand, in troth, it's not many 'd be able to tell the poor white-faced boy, that left here ten years ago, in the fine cliver fellow that's come home, with a cheek as brown as the hot sun could make it."

"And do you think she won't know him?" asked the girl, anxiously.

"Not she," he replied.

"Nor the other?" she again urged.

"The dwarf, you mane, I suppose?" said her uncle. "Yes-yes," she exclaimed, in a more troubled tone; "wouldn't he know him ?"

"It's thrue enough he might," replied Paddy. "What a fool I was not to think of it before! I'll set off at once," he observed, turning to Mary; "and rest aisyyou'll soon see him safe and well; it 'd be worth goin', late as it is, if it was only to say you were here."

66

Oh, yes-yes!" urged Mary; "go, but not by yourself; you must take me with you-I couldn't stay behind." Alarm completely overcame her bodily weakness; the purpose she had formed seemed to inspire her with strength for its execution. And though earnestly besought to remain, her resolution was unshaken-she could not be dissuaded. A horse and car, therefore, having been got ready, she and her uncle set off, accompanied by his eldest son, a stout lad of about seventeen years of age. We shall leave them to pursue their way, while we precede them to the cabin of Peg Marks. But the scene which was there enacting by its vile inmates, under the influence of intoxication and the most malignant passions, cannot endure relation. Ere the friendly party arrived, the unfortunate wayfarer was no more. The terrible deed had just been completed, when a noise was heard outside; there was a sound of voices, and then a knocking at the door. The woman started in evident terror; she looked at the dwarf, and then again at the door. "Who can they be, Jemmy?" she asked-" at this time of night, too." He was silent; fear had completely overcome him, and the light fell from his hand. All was darkness: they could not long remain inactive; the knocking became louder, and the claim for admittance more urgent. aisy to your bed, Jemmy," she whispered, "and let me answer them. Where's the candle?" He groped along the bedside, and, having found it, both crept to the outer room. The dwarf threw himself on the settle-bed, which we have already mentioned was that on which he usually slept, while his mother, approaching the door, exclaimed, in an angry tone

"Go

"Who are ye? and what 'd ye be wantin' at such an hour as this?"

"Just a word or two with the soldier that's stoppin' here," answered a voice, which the reader will guess to be Paddy's.

"There's nobody here, honest man," she returned, "but the widdy woman and her poor orphan, that's lyin' sick there in his bed wid pure hunger."

"Oh, don't believe her, uncle!" exclaimed a female voice outside.

"That I won't," replied her good-natured uncle; and, putting his foot against the door, he drove the frail de

fence in with a loud crash.

the further part of the room--a gloomy light from the The party entered. The old woman had retreated to few burning embers that remained of the fire just rendering her form visible.

"And now," she exclaimed, "that you have got in, what betther are you ?"

his son, without attending to her question. "Stir up the fire and make a blaze," said Paddy to

The boy proceeded to obey, and in doing so, found the candle which the dwarf had brought with him from the other room. This he hastened to light. He had scarcely done so, however, when a loud shriek from Mary called the attention of himself and his father. She was unable to utter a word, but stood pointing to the old woman. The cause of her terror was evident. The hag's hands and arms were profusely stained with blood; a large spot

or two also marked her face. Cold horror thrilled to the

very hearts of the beholders. "They've murdered him! they've murdered him!" at last cried Mary; and, with a strength inspired by the occasion, she rushed to the spot where the murderess stood---" Where is he? where is he?" she cried, in a frantic voice; "show me where you've put him---my own Willie ?"

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Eh! who did you say?" asked the woman, earnestly, "Willie Molan, your own son," answered Mary, in a wilder tone; "tell me where you've put him?"

The wretched mother heard not the latter part of the sentence; the name was enough. The full extent of her crime flashed horribly on her mind: she staggered a few paces back, and fell insensible to the ground.

We will not relate the sad scene that followed, when the body of the soldier was discovered. Poor Mary! that

was the last night of earthly peace for her; she survived it, indeed, but the exertions she had made, and the shock she had received, were too much for a delicately constituted frame. She gradually sunk; and, within a year from that time, was at rest for ever. She lies buried by her lover's side, in the little churchyard of ——.

The old woman lay for some hours in a state of insensibility; when she recovered, the officers of justice had arrived. She raved, and horrible were the utterings of her raving; wherever her eyes turned, the vision of her murdered son seemed present. "There! there he is!" she would cry; "I see him now! Oh, spare me! spare me! Sure I didn't know it was himself." Then turning to the officers, she would ask, "Who are you? What 'd you be wantin' wid the widdy woman?" And then, changing her manner, she would cry imploringly, "Oh, take me to jail! I did it---I killed him; but let Jemmy go---the poor fatherless boy---won't you?" She had just repeated this request, when footsteps were heard approaching the door. She looked towards the spot; the sounds were nearer and nearer still; then two men entered, bearing between them something that resembled a human body. It was now daylight; the woman gazed intensely at their burden, and recognised the dwarf. "Let him go! let him go!" she exclaimed; "I did it! I did it!" Then rising, she approached the men with a beseeching air; but stopping suddenly, as she caught a closer view of the object which they bore, a wild and piercing cry broke from her, and she fell back again into the arms of one of the men who had been left in the cabin to guard her.

It will be necessary to explain, that, in the confusion which took place on the entrance of Paddy and his two companions, the dwarf had managed to escape. He hurried on through the fields, without any attention to the course he followed---fear, acting as a stimulus, drove him blindly forward. His lifeless body was found, by those sent in search of him, at the bottom of a deep gravel hole, into which it is supposed he fell in his flight.

The wretched mother was soon removed to the neighbouring town of, where, having been fully committed for the murder, she was shortly after tried and executed; not, however, without having made a full confession of all the circumstances of her crime.

MR SWAIN'S POEMS.

MR CHARLES SWAIN has republished his poems (Tilt and Bogue, London) in that form of typographical elegance and pictorial embellishment, of which Mr Externally, of course, the volume is a most beautiful Rogers's "Italy" was, we believe, the first exemplar. one; in matter, it has great attractions for all who can appreciate the breathings of the spirit of a gifted and amiable man-as the subjoined specimens will in part testify. The principal poem-entitled The Mind -though the topic is apt to appear too abstract for most readers, contains much fine poetry, all of which is harmonised by devout feeling. We observe the imprint of this volume to be that of a Manchester firm: if this be as it appears, we must say that the provincial has here come fully up to the finest productions of the metropolitan press.

BOYHOOD.

The dreams of early youth,
How beautiful are they-how full of joy!
When fancy looks like truth,

And life shows not a taint of sin's alloy :

When every heart appears

The temple of high thought and noble deed;
When our most bitter tears

Fall o'er some melancholy page we read.

The summer morn's fresh hoursHer thousand woodland songs-her glorious hues Oh! life's so full of flowers, The difficulty then is where to choose!

The wonderful blue sky

Its cloudy palaces-its gorgeous fanes;
The rainbow tints which lie

Like distant golden seas near purple plains ;-
These never shine again,

As once they shone upon our raptured gaze;
The clouds which may remain

Paint other visions than in those sweet days!

In hours thus pure--sublime

Dreams we would make realities: life seems
So changed in after-time,
That we would wish realities were dreams!

LOVE'S REMONSTRANCE. What! for a word—an idle word!

And more in jest than earnest spoken? Were I to note each breath I heard, My heart would soon be changed-or broken! 'Tis not when words are sweetest said, Love's living flower blooms there to meet us; The flower of love may still be dead, Although its fragrance seem to greet us! Then weigh not thou a word so slight, Nor keep thy gentle bosom grieving; The tongue that finds things ever right, Believe me, love, 's a tongue deceiving, Oh, if my heart had sought thee less, Mine eyes loved less to wander round thee, That word of wounded tendernessThat hasty word--had never found thee. The dew that seeks the sun's fond gaze, His golden lips in gladness beaming, Meets death within his smiling raysHis gilded fondness is but seeming! Then weigh not thou a word so slight, Nor keep thy gentle bosom grieving; The tongue that finds things ever right, Believe me, love, 's a tongue deceiving.

LONDON: Published, with permission of the proprietors, by W. S. ORR, Paternoster Row.

Printed by Bradbury and Evans, Whitefriars.

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CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,"

"CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c.

NUMBER 522.

CONSOLATIONS.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 29, 1842.

THE ills of life being so numerous and so besetting, it is a matter of great consequence to have a ready access to the magazine of consolations, and be able to apply these to our sores with dispatch and effect. I have long been a careful student of this branch of the economy of life, and therefore heve that I may be able to give some good hints upon the subject. It is, in the first place, above all things necessary to have all the proper consolations at one's finger ends, so that we may never be caught in a mischief that we cannot be readily reconciled to. For this reason, in the present paper, I adopt the plan of putting the various available consolations into an arrangement of almost dictionary-like perspicuity.

That others are as unfortunate as myself. This may be described as one of the cardinal consolations of humanity. It occurs with a facility which may almost entitle it to rank amongst those ideas which philosophers call instinctive. And it has this remarkable quality as a consolation, that, where the circumstances are such as to make it tolerably applicable, it precludes the necessity for all others. I well remember how powerfully it acted at school, when, being myself well thrashed, I had the satisfaction of looking along a whole row of companions, all of them under a perfect parity of cutaneous sensation. Whether it was that the evil, by being participated, was diminished, or that some mysterious sympathy came to soothe us in our distresses, I cannot tell. But of the comfort of having six or eight companions in misfortune there can be no doubt. Just so, when one has the misfortune, in mature life, to get into the Gazette, it is quite restorative to see a good long list of other poor fellows, beginning with the A's and ending with the Y's or the Z's, if there are any-amidst which one's name takes only its own modest place, according to the situation of its initial in the alphabet. It is the same when one catches any unfortunate ailment, and is laid up by it. Sickness is relieved, pain assuaged, and languor inspirited, when we hear how many other people have taken the same complaint. And, to do mankind justice, there is a great disposition in one's friends to help one to such consolations. At least I can say for my own part, that I never took any ailment, even of the most out-of-the-way kind, not excepting some that I never had before heard of, but I was immediately informed by friends of numberless other people who were then lying ill of the very same malady. People know how agreeable it would be to themselves, were they unwell, to hear of others being similarly afflicted; and they accordingly proffer these consolations with a perfect assurance of their being attended with a good effect. I am not sure but it might be worth the faculty's while to consider how far such intelligence has a medicable property, and to administer it accordingly, in proper doses, as suited the necessities of the case.

If I don't get it nobody else gets it. This is a consolation very much akin to the former, and is calculated to be exceedingly efficacious in cases of disappointment. Like its amiable predecessor, it usually makes its first appearance in our early days. When the whole children of a family are clamouring for some delicacy or treat, or the exclusive possession of some toy or picture-book, decidedly the next thing to getting it one's self is hearing mamma declare that she will give it to none. This looks fair; it does not leave any one a word to say. So, in mature life, when a number of gentlemen are candidates for a particular post, it is really refreshing to the weary souls of those who have lost hope, when they learn that the office is

to be suppressed. All must have experienced satisfactions of this kind. Suppose one is not getting on well at the bar, how gratifying at least to know that a hundred other men, quite as good as we, are just as much in lack of practice! Or, suppose a shopkeeper not getting above half the custom he would like to have, how thoroughly it calms his mind to know that not one person in the same line, in the whole street, is getting any more than himself! Despondency in such circumstances is entirely out of the question. There is not a more jocund set of men breathing than those very young barristers who get no business. And this just because no one of their set does any better than the rest. This consolation is therefore to be regarded in the additional character of a promoter of good fellowship and good humour. It keeps men sweet under circumstances which would otherwise be trying to the temper. There would be no such thing as envy in the world, if this excellent species of consolation were more generally applicable.

The thing was not worth haring. This is another consolation appropriate to cases of disappointment. History informs us that, in very remote times, a certain fox one day made an attempt to get possession of certain grapes hanging a little beyond his reach, when finding it all in vain, he sagely remarked, that, the grapes being of an unusually acid kind, he was quite as well without them. Though this is the first instance on record of such an observation being made, we cannot doubt that, long before the times of this celebrated fox, men were accustomed to take their disappointments in a similar philosophical spirit. It is to be remarked of this consolation, that it naturally occurs only when the preceding one fails. We first would like to see no one else get it any more than ourselves; but, if destiny so wills that some other person does get it, then we instinctively resort to the consideration that the thing was not worth having. Some writers might be of opinion that, coming thus as a dernier resort, it is rather a shabby kind of consolation; but I, for one, cannot see the thing in that light, it appearing to me to be quite as legitimate to take up with one consolation after another fails, as it is for mariners in distress to leave their ship and take to the boat or a raft. Men must be guided in these matters by considerations of expediency alone, and not be deterred from using good and valid consolations by any absurdly piquish notions as to the relations in which they stand to each other. Let it at the same time be understood, that the former consolation is the preferable one, if it can be had; but perhaps this is a point on which there is no need for enlarging. The fox himself would have seen the gradation of the two ideas, and never would have thought of calling the character of the grapes in question, if he could have believed that they grew beyond the reach of men as well as foxes.

It

I am rather glad I did not get it. This is a modification of the above consolation, so slight as scarcely to be entitled to a separate place. Yet it is a very good and available consolation too. As the above proceeds upon an assumption of the worthlessness of the thing sought for, so does this upon an assumption of its being positively disadvantageous. answers particularly well for a gentleman who has been jilted, the act of jilting affording in itself a sort of presumption that the lady was of a character not calculated to make her lover happy as a husband. Gentlemen may also apply it with advantage, when balked in their application for an office. They have only to satisfy themselves that the duties were irksome, paltry, or something else, and that the emoluments would have been under what they are realising by their profession. The only puzzling thing about

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the use of this consolation is that regard for consistency which all men are required to have. The jilted gentleman, for instance, may have been pursuing the object with the greatest eagerness, in the eyes of all the world, up to the moment when, unexpectedly, it has eluded his grasp. This is, of course, rather awkward. People may think that he would have gladly had the lady if he could. Yet such things can be got over. A little plausibility will go a great way to make the notion appear feasible, and the courtesy of society, or their indifference to the minutia of your affairs, will do the rest. There is, however, a superior plan of passing off the affair favourably to one's self. It takes a form of words such as, either, Oh, I changed my own mind, or, I saw how things we likely to turn out, and gave up in time. This, being a mere afterthought, designed to deceive others, is of course no consolation to one's self for the actual disappointment. But is it not a great matter at least to make others think that we have not been disappointed?

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There are various forms of consolation for failure in securing applause, being the subject of evil-speaking, falling victim to popular delusions, unjust power, and so forth, which a judicious person will take care to be constantly provided with. A poet with three readers knows that he is at least admired by the sage few (the wise have always been a small number), and that posterity will do him justice. A defeated candidate on a parliamentary election may assure himself that he had all the independent voters on his side, and that it was only the overpowering force of corruption which carried the day against him. A gentleman, hearing he has been spoken of in very injurious and depreciatory terms by some person, probably heretofore supposed a friend, has it in his power to jump in a moment to a conviction that the ill-will of such a fellow is rather an honour, and that it only would be painful to be the subject of his praise. A philosopher whose views go a great way ahead of his age, and subject him to ridicule and calumny, the effect of which is to mar his fortune and make him universally shunned-what a glorious consolation he has in the reflection, that about five hundred years hence, mankind will be generally of his mind, and disposed to honour him as one of the greatest geniuses that ever lived! So also when the indiscreet patriot is condemned to exile, the galleys, or death, how more than consolatory must it be for him to know, that in the sentiments of a future generation, the decree will be reversed, and probably a pen drawn through his name in the record of the criminal court before which he now stands, without a single pitying eye around him. As for the young soldier who dies in the field of battle,

"His king and his country to save,"

we have the authority of all the great lyrists from Tyrtæus to Burns, that it is a positive advantage, when compared with the natural close of the long dull life of a common citizen:

"When victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,

Oh, who would not die with the brave!" He is cut short, it is true, in his career, at a time when he rather enjoyed life; but then his name-will not it be inscribed in the proud rolls of fame, where it will live for ever? Even the sad case of a flag-of-truce, seized by a barbarous enemy and hanged as a spy, in contempt of all the rules of international law-he may at least take comfort in the assurance that his death will be amply revenged. This view was strongly put by the most noble Marquis of Montrose, in conversation with Captain Dugald Dalgetty, when it was

thought necessary that that gentleman should proceed on a mission to the great Argyle. When other persons in the royalist army declined the service, on account of the local situation of their estates with regard to that of Argyle, Montrose, we are told, "resolved to impose the danger and dignity upon Captain Dalgetty, who had neither clan nor estate in the Highlands upon which the wrath of Argyle could wreak itself. But I have a neck though,' said Dalgetty, bluntly; and what if he chooses to avenge himself upon that?

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feelings to obliterate the old. Finally, there is the knowledge of a chastening and improving effect from well-borne afflictions. In these considerations, and a few others less of a this-world kind, I respectfully submit that the best, because the truest and least selfish, consolations are to be found.

CUBA.

THIS great and opulent Spanish island is approaching a crisis, from the following circumstances :-NotwithI have known a case where an honourable ambassa-standing the treaty agreed to between the British and dor has been hanged as a spy before now. Neither Spanish governments for the suppression of the slavedid the Romans use ambassadors much more merci- trade, and notwithstanding the orders successively fully at the siege of Capua, although I read that they dispatched by the cabinet at Madrid to the captainsonly cut off their hands and noses, and suffered them general in Cuba, that colony continues to be the great to depart in peace. By my honour, Captain Dal- shipping station of the West Indies for carrying on getty,' returned Montrose, 'should the marquis, conthe infamous traffic with Africa; the captain-general trary to the rules of war, dare to practise any atrocity denying all knowledge of this state of things, and, as against you, you may depend upon my taking such signal every interested person in Portugal, Cuba, and Brazil vengeance that all Scotland shall ring of it!" "That is well aware, receiving all the while a capitation-prewill do little for Dalgetty!" I grieve to say, was the sent of about L.20,000 a-year for not seeing that which answer of the proposed ambassador-an answer which takes place right under his excellency's nose. Urged can only be attributed to the corruption wrought in by the abolitionists on all sides, the British governhis nature by his long services as a mercenary soldier. A true hero would have been at once satisfied with shall carry out the treaty of 1835, by the simple plan ment is now insisting that the government of Spain the promise of such plenary vengeance as Montrose of preventing any ship prepared for the slave-trade held out. Yet, we are bound to record, in honour of from quitting Cuba; while the British cruisers would the captain, that, after all, he did undertake the office, prevent any vessel from arriving with a slave cargo. and only escaped the consequences which he appre- The government of Spain promises to do this: Cuba hended by a very narrow chance. threatens that if this be attempted, she will either ally herself to the States of America, to which she would prove an invaluable accession, or that she will declare herself an independent country, which it is apprehended the government of Madrid would not be strong enough to prevent. In the mean time, many of the resident colonists are desirous to see the present infamous system broken up; and the slaves themselves, who far outnumber all the rest of the inhabitants, are acquiring dark intelligence of what has been done for their brethren in the neighbour ing English islands, and thereupon are interchanging determination, that, though yet unspoken, are already knowledge of power, and sentiments of unanimity and causing the white tyrants to tremble in their sleep. Thus the entire society of Cuba is in a state of painful agitation. Without attempting to predict what may be the issue of this state of affairs, we think the present an opportune moment to inform the reader of the actual state of the slave-trade and of slavery in Cuba, principally availing ourselves of a very interesting work, entitled "Travels in the West, by David Turnbull, Esq.," recently published.

There are various tastes in consolations, as in most other things. Some take to one, some to another, quite naturally, just as the bent of their minds inclines them. "Others as ill off as my self"_" Nobody else gets it any more than I"-these have charms for a particular class of persons inspired by a strong sense of justice, which makes it appear odious that good and bad fortune should be distributed in a partial manner, to their disadvantage. "The thing was not worth having❞—and, "I am rather glad I did not get it," are favourites with a class who have a remarkable power of forgetting their own recent wishes, and a singular knack of practising happy deceptions upon themselves. "I have all the sensible people on my side"-" Posterity will do me justice" "I at least secure immortality"-and, "The rascals will smart for this yet," these are suitable to persons possessed of a strong power of abstraction, which makes the present seem nothing. There is another set of philosophers who delight in such as-" Well, I know it can't be helped"- "It is just my unlucky destiny" and, "It will be all the same a hundred years hence." This is a peculiarly happy school. So little are they affected by the turns of Dame Fortune, that my only wonder is she continues to give herself the trouble of trying to annoy them.

There is, lastly, a form of consolation to which I must own I have myself a great attachment, conceiving that it rests upon somewhat larger views of man's position on earth than any of the rest. It consists in a firm reliance on the general good arrangements of a wise and benevolent Providence, which makes evil only an exception from present and apparent good, and often turns even evil to account for what may be called a deferred benefit. Knowing this to be the character of the arrangement of mundane affairs, and that life and all its blessings are held under an obligation to submit to that arrangement, I humbly endeavour to meet the troubles that befall me with composure and resignation. Evils I admit them to be: I see no good in seeking to extenuate them, or in looking complacently to the equal or greater woes of others. But, while the Great Arrangement obviously does not exclude evil, it as evidently comprises a gift to man of the power of bearing it in a rational and proper manner, and also certain moral medicaments of unfailing virtue. One of these is of a nature the very opposite to some of those above described, for it consists in the sympathy of friendly and unselfish natures-those Good Samaritans of the common world, who know not what it is to see suffering without wishing to relieve it—who would at all times pity rather than blame-and who, like surgeons attending a duel, may almost be said to watch for the occurrence of evil, that they may be instant in their endeavours to remedy it. Another is to be found in a firm unflinching spirit of submission-not the dogged teeth-clenched stubbornness of the Stoic, but the patience and meekness of a better philosophy. There is much, too, in the power of our old friend Time. A new day brings round new experiences and new

"As if to throw ridicule on the grave denials of all knowledge of the slave-trade, which are forced from successive captains-general by the unwearied denunciations of the British authorities, two extensive depôts for the reception and sale of newly imported Africans have lately been erected at the end of the Paseo or military road, constructed under the former governorgeneral Tacon, and just under the windows of his present excellency's residence; the one capable of containing 1000, the other 1500 negroes: and I may add, that these were constantly full during the greater part of the time (the close of 1838) that I remained at the Havanna. As the depôts serve the purpose of a market-place as well as of a prison, they have, doubtless for the sake of readier access, and to save the expense of advertising in the journals, been placed at the point of greatest attraction, where the Paseo ends, where the grounds of the captain-general begin, and where passes the new railroad into the interior, from the carriages on which the passengers are horrified at the unearthly shouts of the thoughtless inmates, who, in their eagerness and astonishment at the passing train, push their arms and legs through the bars of their windows, with the cries, the grimace, and gesticulation, which might be expected from a horde of savages placed in circumstances to them so totally new and extraordinary. Those barracoons, or depôts, appear to be considered by the foreign residents as the lions of the place. On the arrival of strangers, they are carried there as to a sight which could not be well seen elsewhere. A barracoon was one of the first objects the Prince de Joinville was taken to see on his first visit to the Havanna. On entering one of the barracoons, which are, of course, as accessible as any other market-place, you do not find so much immediate misery as an unreflecting visiter might expect. It is the policy of the importer to restore, as soon as possible, among the survivors, the strength that has been wasted, and the health that has been lost, during the horrors of the middle passage. It is his interest, also, to keep up the spirits of his victims, that they may the sooner become marketable, and prevent their sinking under that fatal home-sickness, which carries off so many during the first months of their captivity. With this view, during their stay in the barracoon, they are well fed, sufficiently clothed, very tolerably lodged; they are even allowed the luxury of tobacco, and are encouraged to amuse themselves, for the sake of exercise and health, in the spacious inner court of the building. I have been assured, also, that after leaving the barracoon, and arriving at

the coast.

the scene of their future toils, the overseer or mayoral finds it for the interest of his master to treat them for several months with a considerable degree of lenity, of the whip, and breaking them in by slow degrees to scarcely allowing them, if possible, to hear the crack the hours and the weight of labour, which are destined to break them down long before the period that nature has prescribed. The inmates of these sad receptacles, from their age, demeanour, and appearance, convey to the visiter a lively idea of the well-organised system of kidnapping to which the trade has been reduced, in order to make provision in the interior of Africa for the supply of the factories and slave-markets on ing in men and women of mature age to the labours The well understood difficulty of breakof the field, has produced a demand at the barracoons for younger victims, so that it is not, as formerly, by and theft, and the still baser relaxation of social ties going to war, but by the meaner crimes of kidnapping and family relations, that these human bazaars are supplied. The range of years in the age of captives, appears to extend from twelve to eighteen, and as the demand for males is much greater than for females, the proportion between the sexes is nearly three to one-I had almost said in favour of the masculine proportion between the sexes in most of the estates gender. In fact, this is very nearly the relative throughout the island. The facilities still left for the racoons, make it more for the interest of the planter practice of the slave-trade, and the consequent cheapness of young Bozal, or native Africans, at the barby encouraging marriages." to keep up the numbers of his gang by purchase than

We have next some extraordinary particulars of the mixed commission at the Havanna, of which the chief duty is to adjudicate on the claims of her Majesty's cruisers for the condemnation of the prizes they have captured, in consequence of their infraction of the existing treaties between Spain and Great Britain on the subject of the slave-trade. In the whole framework of this commission, and in the principles on which it is constituted, there is something exceedingly farcical. The tribunal consists of a commissary judge, and an arbitrator for each nation. Those representing Spain are the Conde de Fernandina and Don Juan de Montalvo y O'Farrel, both noblemen of high rank. The English commissary judge is MrKennedy, a gentleman who will long be remembered. to the British House of Commons, who divided with as the only member sent by an English constituency Mr O'Connell in his celebrated motion for the repeal of the Union. "In the first instance, the two commissary judges hear the evidence adduced by the commander of the British cruiser in support of the claim of condemnation, together with the exculpatory proof of the captain or owner of the prize; but, as might be expected from the materials of which the court is composed, the commissary judges are very rarely agreed in opinion as to the judgment which ought to be pronounced; so that it becomes necessary, almost invariably, to call in one of the arbitrators to settle the difference in the capacity of umpire. To admit the intervention of both would lead to no practical result, as it has been found that the Spanish arbitrator adopts the views of the Spanish commissary with the most edifying uniformity; and the English functionaries are compelled, in self-defence, to follow the example. In this state of things, as often as the court is divided in opinion, since it is by no means a matter of indifference on which of the arbitrators the powers of an umpire shall devolve, the ingenious expedient has been resorted to, of appealing for the choice to a power which, according to the ancient mythology, has one quality in common with justice, that of being blind. The dice-box is produced; the learned judges draw for the short straw; or Dame Fortune is appealed to, by some other form of lottery, to determine which shall arbitrate-the Spaniard or the Englishman-between their dissident chiefs; so that it may be fairly said at the Havanna, and perhaps also at the other courts of Rio de Janeiro, Surinam, and Sierra Leone, that the condemnation of a slaver depends not nearly so much on fact, on law, or the merits of the case, as on the doctrine of chances !"

Under the treaty of 1835, vessels carrying the Spanish flag are, when equipped for the slave-trade, and proved to be so-which is not difficult, from the unique character of the fittings-up required for this purpose-as liable to capture by our cruisers as if they had slaves on board. Though Mr Buxton and other warm abolitionists were not satisfied with this treaty, Mr Turnbull assures us that, under its operation in 1839, the Spanish flag, as the banner of slave-ships, had already disappeared from the ocean. The Portuguese flag was next resorted to; but that protection. Is already beginning to be distrusted by slave speculators and caprains, as the power given to our cruisers under a recent act of Parliament, embodying the terms to which Portugal had acceded, on receiving an indemnity of L.6,000,000 from England, is almost as effective against vessels using the flag and papers of that nation as in the case of ships professing to belong to Spain. The great shield of the slave-ships now is the flag of the United States. We are told that the refusal of the Americans to sanction a mutual right of search, will make it afer for a slaver to sail under their flag than under that of any of the governments-Spain, Portugal, or the Brazils-most deeply implicated in the crime. Our authorities at Sierra Leone say, that in a short tre the American flag will

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