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Translation:Shulchan Aruch/Yoreh Deah/79

It has 3 Saif.

Section A: The distinguishing signs of clean animals and beasts have been expounded in the Torah, encompassing two indications: a regurgitating digestive system and evenly split hooves.

And any creature, whether animal or beast, that lacks incisors in its upper jaw and does not have Nibbim (which are cylindrical fleshy protrusions resembling prominent teeth in the fangs, some assert Nibbim look like two pairs of fangs, one on each end of the lips) - it is certain that it's pure. This is provided he can recognize a baby young camel that lacks incisors until it matures.

Furthermore, every creature with a regurgitating digestive system also possesses evenly split hooves, except for a camel, hare, and hyrax, as they possess a regurgitating digestive system but do not have evenly split hooves, and there is no concern regarding the presence of incisors or cud. Therefore, if one encounters a wild animal in the desert and is unable to examine its hooves, one should examine whether it lacks incisors and cud in its mouth - thus confirming its purity. Provided he can recognize a baby camel.

Likewise, any creature possessing evenly split hooves, excluding a pig, can be identified by examining its legs if its mouth has been severed and is therefore unexaminable. If its hooves are evenly split, it is known to be pure. This is provided he can identify a pig, which has visible tusks and thus indicates its impurity.

In addition, there is no ritually impure animal whose flesh spreads in two different directions beneath its ankle. Except for the equine species. Consequently, if one encounters an animal with a severed mouth and hooves, making it unexaminable, one should examine the flesh beneath the wings of the ankle, and if it spreads in two different directions, the animal, when slaughtered, is pure. This method applies if he would recognize a wild donkey.

(Consuming human flesh is forbidden by the Torah) (Ran, Chapter "Af Al Pi," and also Rambam, Chapter 2 of Forbidden Foods, Halacha 3, as well as the Rav Hamegid and Korban Aharon, Parshat Shemini, page 65, Eruvin 27a, contradicting Tosafot, Chapter "Af Al Pi," and Rosh, stating that human flesh is not prohibited by the Torah, and also Eved HaKohen)

Section B: An impure animal that gives birth to an offspring resembling a pure species is prohibited, even if it possesses all the signs of purity. Conversely, a pure animal that gives birth to an offspring resembling an impure species is permissible, even if it possesses all the signs of impurity.

This only applies if the birth occurs in our presence. However, if the animal left and then later was found with an offspring resembling an impure species, even if it is attached to and nursing the offspring, it is forbidden. There is a concern that it was born from something impure and then attached itself to the pure animal.

Section C: An animal born from a fatally injured animal is permissible.

סימני בהמה וחיה טהורה ובו שלושה סעיפים: א • ב • ג

סעיף א
סימני בהמה וחיה נתפרשו בתורה והם שני סימנים: מעלת גרה ופרסותיה סדוקות.

וכל בהמה וחיה שאין לה שינים בלחי העליון ולא ניבים (שהם תלתלי בשר כעין שינים בולטים בחניכים ויש אומרים שניבין הם שני שינים למעלה אחד מכאן ואחד מכאן בקצוות הלסתות) ( פירוש: ויכה את מכהו על הלחי תרגומו על לסתיה ) -- בידוע שהיא טהורה. והוא שיכיר בן גמל שאין לו ניבין עד שיגדיל.

 * וכל שמעלת גרה היא מפרסת פרסה; חוץ מגמל וארנבת ושפן שהם מעלי גרה ואינם מפריסים פרסה ולהם אין לחוש שיש להם שינים למעלה או ניבין.     לפיכך המוצא במדבר בהמה ואינו מכירה ופרסותיה חתוכות שהרי אינו יכול לבדוק בהם -- יבדוק אם אין לה שינים ולא ניבין למעלה בידוע שהיא טהורה והוא שיכיר בן גמל.

 * וכל שמפרסת פרסה מעלת גרה חוץ מחזיר. לפיכך מצא בהמה שפיה חתוך שהרי אינו יכול לבדוק בו -- יבדוק ברגליה. אם פרסותיה סדוקות -- בידוע שהיא טהורה; והוא שיכיר חזיר יש לה קרנים יצא מספק חזיר וטהורה.

 * ואין בהמה טמאה שבשרה שתחת העוקץ שלה הולך שתי וערב לאיזה צד שיחתכו אותו אלא הערוד ( פירוש חמור הבר ). לפיכך המוצא בהמה שפיה ופרסותיה חתוכים שהרי אינו יכול לבדוק בהם -- יבדוק בבשר שתחת כנפי העוקץ אחר שישחטנה אם הולך שתי וערב טהורה. והוא שיכיר ערוד.

 * (בשר אדם אסור לאכלו מן התורה) (ר״ן פרק אף על פי ורמב״ם פ״ב דמאכלות אסורות דין ג' והרב המגיד וקרבן אהרן פרשת שמיני דף ס״ה ע״ז דלא כמשמע בתוספות פרק אף על פי ורא״ש דבשר אדם איני אסיר מן התורה ועב״ח)

סעיף ב
טמאה שילדה כמין טהורה, אף על פי שיש לה כל סימני טהרה – אסורה. וטהורה שילדה כמין טמאה – מותרת, אף על פי שיש לה כל סימני טומאה.

ודוקא שילדתו בפנינו. אבל אם הניחה מעוברת ואחר כך מצא מין טמא הולך אחריה – אף על פי שכרוך אחריה ויונק אותה – אסור, שמא מן הטמאה נולד ונכרך אחר הטהורה.

סעיף ג
הנולד מן הטריפה מותר.
 * }


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 Sophie and I stood thunderstruck at hearing piercing cries issue from the basket; I lifted up the linen that covered it, and saw—a child of two or three months old, whose roaring would have split the tympanum of a dead man.

"Well!" said I to Sophie, "the brat is yours, I suppose. Tell me, is it a girl, or a boy?"

"Well, I am caught again. I shall remember this, and if ever I am asked why, I shall answer, oh nothing, a childish affair. Another time when I steal linen I will first look at it."

"And this umbrella, whose is it?"

"Oh! my God, yes—. As you see; I had, however, wherewithal to shelter myself; but when chance is against you it is in vain to attempt it."

I conducted Sophie to M. de Fresne's, commissary of police, whose office was in the neighbourhood. The umbrella was kept as a convicting evidence. As to the child, whom she had unwittingly carried off, it was instantly returned to its mother. The thief had a sentence of five years' imprisonment. It was, I believe, the fifth or sixth sentence she had undergone; she is still in the hands of justice, and I should not be surprised if she remains at Lazare for life. Sophie thought the trade she carried on a very natural one, and its repression, when unavoidable, she looked upon as an accident. Prison had no horrors for her, far from it; she was, in a manner, in her sphere. Sophie had contracted those inclinations, more than strange, which are not justified by the example of Sappho of old, and under lock and key the opportunities of abandoning herself to these shameful depravities were more frequent; it was not without a motive, as we see, that she had so little liberty. If she were apprehended, it caused her but trifling pain, as she consoled herself by perspective pleasures. This woman was a strange character, as we may judge. A woman named Gillion, with whom she lived in culpable intimacy, was taken whilst committing a theft. Sophie, who aided her, es-

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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tales are founded upon ancient ones, the work of Welshmen and Irishmen when Wales and Ireland were entirely independent of England. The Welsh tales come from a book now known as the Mabinogion. They were written down at the end of the Middle Ages, and translated from Welsh into English by Lady Guest in the nineteenth century. The original Welsh manuscript (called 'The Red Book of Hergest', because it was once at Hergest in Radnor) belongs to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, but the stories had been told over and over again, and probably written down many times, before they were copied into 'The Red Book'. They were being told in the years between the Norman conquest of England and Edward I's conquest of Wales. But the subjects of them were much earlier. Even those who told the tales would, perhaps, have been unable to say when a man as huge as Bran was ruling at Harlech, nor did they consider the matter any more than children to-day consider the tale of 'Jack the Giant-killer' in its relation to scientific fact. But in 'Kilhugh and Olwen' and 'The Dream of Rhonabwy' King Arthur appears. The men who told these two stories were probably thinking of a glorious heroic age, when Arthur was a supreme king, resisting the Roman and Saxon invader. They gave a strange reality to some of the wonders by connecting them with actual places in Wales, so that a man to-day could walk in the steps of Kilhugh and Rhonabwy. Even 'The Dream of Maxen', which is about a Roman emperor, comes to its height and to its end in Wales, and in places which are still to be seen. Very little was known to the mediaeval writers about the age of the Saxon invaders and the seventh-century King Arthur, except that it was one of greater men than any that were living; and therefore they described their heroes as if they were Welsh and Norman warriors in dress and manners, but of greater stature and prowess. They were certain that Arthur had once been king in Britain, and they were ready to come to blows with men who denied it. In one story, 'The Dream of Rhonabwy,' they put along with the King two young princes, Madoc and Iorwerth, who actually belonged to the twelfth century.

The name 'Mabinogion' means something like 'twice-told tales': it means precisely the old tales on which a young writer practised.


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18 Coming now to Ushās, the Lady of the Dawn, and looking at her name from the standpoint of comparative philosophy, we see that the word ushās is closely connected with the Greek and the Latin aurora. But when we read the literature, we are astonished to find that while the Greek Dawn-lady has remained almost always a mere abstraction, the Indian spirit is a lovely, living woman instinct with the richest sensuous charms of the East. Some twenty hymns are addressed to her, and for the most part they are alive with real poetry, with a sense of beauty and gladness and sometimes withal an under-note of sadness for the brief joys of life. But when we look carefully into it we notice a curious thing: all this hymn-singing to Ushās is purely literary and artistic, and there is practically no religion at all at the back of it. A few stories are told of her, but they seem to convince no one, and she certainly has no ritual worship apart from these hymns, which are really poetical essays more than anything else. The priestly poets are thrilled with sincere emotion at the sight of the dawn, and are inspired by it to stately and lively descriptions of its beauties and to touching reflections upon the passing of time and mortal life; but in this scene Ushās herself is hardly more than a model from an artist's studio, in a very Bohemian quarter. More than once on account of her free display of her charms she is

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Rh compared to a dancing girl, or even a common harlot! Here the imagination is at work which in course of time will populate the Hindu Paradise with a celestial corps de ballet, the fair and frail Apsarasas, Our Vēdic Ushās is a forerunner of that gay company. A charming person, indeed; but certainly no genuine goddess.

As his name shows, Sūrya is the spirit of the sun. We hear a good deal about him in the Ṛig-vēda, but the whole of it is merely description of the power of the sun in the order of nature, partly allegorical, and partly literal. He is only a nature-power, not a personal god. The case is not quite so clear with Savitā, whose name seems to mean literally "stimulator," "one who stirs up." On the whole it seems most likely that he represents the sun, as the vivifying power in nature, though some think that he was originally an abstraction of the vivifying forces in the world and later became connected with the sun. However this may be, Savitā is and remains an impersonal spirit with no human element in his character.

Still more perplexing are the two deities Mitra and Varuṇa, who are very often associated with one another, and apparently are related. Mitra certainly is an old god: if we go over the mountains to the west and north-west of the country of our Indian Aryans, we shall find their kinsmen

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 caped, and had nothing to fear; but unable to endure a separation from her friend, she had herself denounced, and was not happy until she heard the sentence read which was to reunite them for two years. The majority of these creatures make a sport of prison; I have seen many, sentenced for a crime which they had committed alone, accuse a comrade, and she, although innocent, make a merit of resigning herself to her sentence.

A time before the first invasion M. SenardSénard [sic], one of the richest jewellers of the Palais Royal, having gone to pay a visit to his friend the Curé of Livry, found him in one of those perplexities which are generally caused by the approach of our good friends the enemy. He was anxious to secrete from the rapacity of the cossacks first the consecrated vessels, and then his own little treasures. After much hesitation, although in his situation he must have been used to interments, monsieur le Curé decided on burying the objects which he was anxious to save, and M. Senard, who, like the other gossips and misers, imagined that Paris would be given over to pillage, determined to cover up, in a similar


text: Memoirs of Vidocq, Volume III/Chapter 39


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 So in Ireland, the tale of Deirdre was one which the poets had to know, and the Irish told their tales over and over again, age after age, adding to them and taking away, as the Welsh did. They were still more clear about their heroes, though the stories as we have them are very little earlier than the Welsh, and were therefore written down long after the events were supposed to have taken place. Consequently, the kind of life described, when it is not in our eyes impossible, is the life of the storyteller's own age in Christian Ireland. As in 'Kilhugh', so in one of the Irish tales, 'There is scarcely a hill, valley, river, rock, mound, or cave in the line of country from Emania in the present county of Armagh to Lusk in that of Dublin, of which the ancient and often varying names and history are not to be found' in it. So also the stories of Cohoolin are said to be invaluable for their details of mediaeval Irish life. Cohoolin and the King Conachoor were supposed to have lived at about the time of Christ: one story relates that Conachoor died of rage on hearing of the death of Christ. After that heroic age followed the Ossianic. The date of Finn's death is given in an old Irish book, called The Annals of the Four Masters, as A.D. 283. The Irish have long believed in the followers of Finn as an order of Knighthood under the Kings of Ireland, which came to an end with the battle of Gabhra in A.D. 283, in the reign of Cairbre, the son of King Cormac: a modern scholar was certain that Finn was as real as Julius Caesar. Probably Finn did exist, or some one of the same name; he is as real as Agamemnon; and as for Arthur, is it not told that he did not die, but passed away? The tales of this Ossianic age were supposed to have been the work of Ossian himself, one of the Fenians, and he was connected with historic times by his meeting with St. Patrick, who belonged to the fourth and fifth centuries. We cannot tell how near to that age lived the first tellers of the tales. Many early manuscripts in Ireland were destroyed by the Norse invaders, and not only did the Norsemen probably destroy old versions of the tales, but they unconsciously changed the tales by figuring in them afterwards. The Norsemen were the storytellers' 'Lochlanners', and their presence shows that the stories took their present form after the invasions. But they were not made then. These Irish and Welsh tales were handed down from generation to generation, like the games of children. They were only in part consciously 'made up'. 'Out of nothing is nothing made' is true of airiest fiction. It is one of the charms under the surface of these stories that we can feel, even if we can never trace, a pedigree of dimmest antiquity


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proportion of all Hebrew books is ethical. Many of the works already treated here fall under this category. The Talmudical, exegetical, and philosophical writings of Jews were also ethical treatises. In this chapter, however, attention will be restricted to a few books which are in a special sense ethical.

Collections of moral proverbs, such as the “Choice of Pearls,” attributed to Ibn Gebirol, and the “Maxims of the Philosophers” by Charizi, were great favorites in the Middle Ages. They had a distinct charm, but they were not original. They


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(Act 1.) :Mary. Yes.
 * Alice. What pass'd between you?
 * Mary. A plight of faith: A vow to live or die,

Each for the other.
 * Alice. Lost, lost girl.
 * Mary. Why, ay,

It may be so; if so, 'tis Heaven's will. You have my secret Alice.

 * Alice. Peace; our fathers.

 * Rav. No, Walford, no: I have no charity

For what you term the weakness of our nature. The soul should rise above it. It was this That made the fathers of this land prevail, When man and the elements opposed, and win Their heritage from the heathen.
 * Walf. True; the times

Impos'd a virtue, almost superhuman. But surely, the necessity is pass'd For trampling on our nature.
 * Rave. We have grown

Luke-warm in zeal, degenerate in spirit;— I would root out with an unsparing hand The weeds that choke the soil;—pride and rank luxury Spring up around us;—alien sectaries, Spite of the whip and axe, infest our limits; Bold infidelity, dark sorcery—
 * Walf. Nay,

Nay, Ravensworth—
 * Rave. I tell thee Walford, yea:

The powers of darkness are at work among us. Not distant we have seen the fagot blaze, And soon the stake may ask its victim here.
 * Walf. What victim point you at?

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voluntary and enforced travels of the Jews produced, from the earliest period after the destruction of the Temple, an extensive, if fragmentary, geographical literature. In the Talmud and later religious books, in the Letters of the Gaonim, in the correspondence of Jewish ambassadors, in the autobiographical narratives interspersed in the works of all Jewish scholars of the Middle Ages, in the Aruch, or Talmudical Lexicon, of Nathan of Rome, in the satirical romances of the poetical globetrotters, Zabara and Charizi, and, finally, in the Bible commentaries written by Jews,


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 behind them. Matthew Arnold speaks of the mediaeval storyteller in the Mabinogion pillaging 'an antiquity of which he does not fully possess the secret'. This is clear in 'The Dream of Rhonabwy', when the storyteller says that 'no one knows the dream without a book, neither bard, nor gifted seer; because of the various colours that were upon the horses, and the many wondrous colours of the arms and of the panoply, and of the precious scarfs, and of the virtue-bearing stones'. It is clearer in the tale of Bran and in the Irish tales; the narrator is speaking of gods or demi-gods where he thinks he is speaking of men. He did not 'make up' these tales. Very little in any of them is 'made up', though they must have been modified to accord with changing taste and custom and belief and were told only for delight. These marvellous men of old time, as the mediaeval storyteller thought them, are now said to be the gods of much earlier pagan generations, changed by the wear and growth of centuries who knew them not as gods. The unravelling of these changes in order to trace the origin of the stories, or at least as early as possible a form of them, is a highly specialized scientific sport. The result of it is that Conachoor turns out to be 'doubtless not a man', but a Celtic Zeus; and his sister Dectora, the mother of Cohoolin, is in one place actually called a goddess. Cohoolin himself is discovered to be a 'sun-hero'; the blacksmith's dog is a sort of a Cerberus; and the gaebolg is not the impossible invention of an author's cruel ingenuity, but 'mythologically speaking, the direction of it from the water upwards would seem to indicate as its interpretation the appearance of the sun as seen from the Plain of Muirthemne (Moorhevna), when rising out of the sea to pierce with his rays the clouds above'. I am quoting from Professor Rhys' Hibbert Lectures. So Finn, again, is 'the counterpart of the Welsh god Gwyn, king of the fairies and the dead', and both of them are shown to have learnt wisdom by sucking their thumbs. The enormous Bran is a 'Celtic Janus'.

Many of these tales have been re-written by poets and others in our own time. I have kept them as nearly as possible in their mediaeval form.


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text: Celtic Stories/Note on Sources

title: Celtic Stories/Note on Sources


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12 :Rave. Turn your eye—thither Upon you haughty mansion—you have heard?—
 * Walf. Much idle rumour.
 * Rave. Do you deem it so.

Whence then, and who is this imperious dame, That holds herself above her fellow creatures, And scorns our church's discipline: her means— Her business here?
 * Walf. The ignorant and envious

May find, in her superior intellect— E'en in her ample wealth and proud reserve Food for their hate, and therefore their suspicion; But for us, Ravensworth—
 * Rave. No more, ere long,

These questions must be answer'd.
 * Walf. Be it so;

I shall be ready in all lawful ways To seek the truth.
 * Rave. 'Tis well, we soon may need you.

What public tidings hear you?
 * Walf. That King Philip

Our savage foe, after his late defeat, Has gained his rocky hold, where he now lies, With scarce a fragment of his former force.
 * Rave. Where are our troops?
 * Walf. They watch the enemy.
 * Rave. They should have followed up their victory.

To the extermination of the heathen.— Has there aught chanc'd in the village?
 * Walf. There have arrived

Two persons from the court of Charles.
 * Rave. More vanity!

What do they here?
 * Walf. The elder, it is said,

Brings letters to the government.

 * Rave. Charles Stuart,

Is growing much concern'd about the people

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(Act 1.) His family have scourged, hunted and driven From shed and shelter in their native land. We needs must thank that most paternal care, That, when the expos'd infant climbs to manhood Comes for the first time, then, to claim his service.
 * Walf. You broach a startling topic—But the day wears—

Fare thee well Ravensworth.
 * Rave. Farewell, farewell. (Exit )

Timid, weak minded man.

Come hither, daughter
 * Mary. Father! (running to him.)
 * Rave. What mean these tears?
 * Mary. I cannot check them.
 * Rave. They do displease me, tears can only flow

From frailty or from folly, dry them straight, And listen to me. I have heard, the son Of this strange woman is returning home, And will again pollute our neighbourhood; Remember my command, and shun his presence As you would shun the adder. If report Err not, his course of boyhood has been run Without one gleam of virtue to redeem The darkness of his vices.
 * Mary. I'll obey—

To the utmost of my power.—But, my dear father, May not report err sometimes? You were wont To instruct me never to withhold the truth; And fearlessly to speak in their defence, Whom I could vindicate from calumny; That to protect the innocent, the absent—
 * Rave. How's this! the innocent—and calumny?

And whence do you presume to throw discredit On general report—What can you know?
 * Mary. Not much perhaps, of late: while I remain'd

At his mother's—he was in his boyhood then;

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text:
Epitaph on Holy Willie

 * "Epitaph on Holy Willie", in The Beauties of Burn's Poems (1819), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
 * "Epitaph on Holy Willie", in The Poetical Works of Robert Burns (1887), edited by Alexander Smith

title: Epitaph on Holy Willie


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14 I knew him well; and there's one incident Much dwelt on to his prejudice, that I Was witness to—if you would bid me tell it.
 * Rave. O, by all means, come, your romance.
 * Mary. 'Tis truth.

It was a wintry day, the snow was deep, And the chill rain had fallen and was frozen, That all the surface was a glittering crust.— We were all gather'd in the lady's hall, That overlook'd the lawn; a poor stray fawn Came limping toward us. It had lost, perhaps, It's dam, and chas'd by cruel hunters, came To seek a refuge with us. Every bound The forlorn creature made, its little feet Broke through the crust, and we could mark that one Of its delicate limbs was broken. A rude boy Follow'd it fast, as it would seem, to kill it; I could not choose but wish its life were sav'd, And at the word Charles ran and took it up, And gave it to me, and I cherish'd it And bound its broken limb up; and it liv'd And seem'd to thank me for my care of it.
 * Rave. But was this all? Was not the village lad assailed and beaten?
 * Mary. He was rude and churlish,

And would have forc'd the animal from Charles. And tho' 'twas on his mothers' grounds, Charles proffer'd him The price of the fawn; But nothing would content him, And he struck Charles; he was a larger boy, But did not prove the stronger—so he went And made the village all believe his story, That Charles had robb'd and beaten him, for Charles Had none to speak for him.
 * Rave. No more of this—

And never let me hear the name you've utter'd pass from your lips again. It is enough

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text: The Poetical Works of Robert Burns/On scaring some Water Fowl in Loch-Turit


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French are certainly misunderstood:but whether the fault is theirs, in not sufficiently explaining themselves; or speaking with that exact limitation and precision which one would expect on a point of such importance, and which moreover, is so likely to be contested by us—or whether the fault may not be altogether on our side, in not understanding their language always so critically as to know "what they would be at"—I shall not decide; but 'tis evident to me, when they affirm, "That they who have seen Paris, have seen every thing," they must mean to speak of those who have seen it by day-light.


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 As for candle-light—I give it up—I have said before, there was no depending upon it—and I repeat it again; but not because the lights and shades are too sharp—or the tints confounded—or that there is neither beauty or keeping, &c. for that's not truth—but it is an uncertain light in this respect, That in all the five hundred grand Hôtels, which they number up to you in Paris—and the five hundred good things, at a modest computation (for 'tis only allowing one good thing to a Hôtel) which by candle-light are best to be seen, felt, heard and understood (which, by the bye is a quotation from Lilly)—the devil a one of us out of fifty, can get our heads fairly thrust in amongst them.


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 This is no part of the French computation: 'tis simply this.

That by the last survey taken in the year one thousand seven hundred and sixteen, since which time there have been considerable augmentations, Paris doth contain nine hundred streets; (viz.)

In the quarter called the City—there are fifty three streets.

In St. James of the Shambles, fifty five streets.

In St. Oportune, thirty four streets.

In the quarter of the Louvre, twenty five streets.

In the Palace Royal, or St. Honorius, forty nine streets.

In ''Mont. Martyr'', forty one streets.

In St. Eustace, twenty nine streets.


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 In the Halles, twenty seven streets.

In St. Dennis, fifty five streets.

In St. Martin, fifty four streets.

In St. Paul, or the Mortellerie, twenty seven streets.

The Greve, thirty eight streets.

In St. Avoy, or the Verrerie, nineteen streets.

In the Marais, or the Temple, fifty two streets.

In St. Antony's, sixty eight streets.

In the Place Maubert, eighty one streets.

In St. Bennet, sixty streets.

In St. Andrews de Arcs, fifty one streets.

In the quarter of the Luxembourg, sixty two streets.

And in that of St. Germain, fifty five streets, into any of which you may walk; and that when you have seen them with


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 all that belongs to them, fairly by daylight—their gates, their bridges, their squares, their statuesand have crusaded it moreover through all their parish churches, by no means omitting St. Roche and Sulpliceand to crown all, have taken a walk to the four palaces, which you may see either with or without the statues and pictures, just as you chuse—

Then you will have seen

but, 'tis what no one needeth to tell you, for you will read it yourself upon the portico of the Louvre, in these words,


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152 able to find any trace. Generally, wherever the object of the inquiry has been understood, the disposition of the people has been friendly.

It is only the recollection of this object that will give any interest to the dry and minute details on which I am now about to enter. The object is to improve and extend public instruction; and the first step towards this object is to know, with all attainable accuracy, the present state of instruction in native institutions and in native society. The instructions given by the French Government with a series of statistical questions addressed to its diplomatic and consular agents furnish both a useful guide and a just criterion of such inquiries:—“Le principal mérite des expériences consiste dans la precision; et si l’estime attachée á un travail est un premier encouragement á l’exécuter, vous devez être persuadés que le Gouvernement attache un grand prix á celui dont vous etes chargés; qu’il en connait les obstaclês, les difficultés; et qu’il sait d’avance, que telle réponse en deux lignes vous aura couté souvent un mois de recherches; mais ces deux lignes seront une vérité, et une vérité est un don eternel à l’humanité.” In the spirit of these views I have sought to contribute some facts illustrative of the moral and intellectual condition of a branch of the human family; and in the prosecution of this purpose, I have endeavoured to keep constantly present to my own mind, to the minds of my native assistants, and to the minds of all with whom I have come into communication on the subject, the necessity of that rigid and undeviating adherence to accuracy of detail which can alone give to alleged facts the sacred and salutary character of truths.

The information respecting this district communicated by Mr. Malet is contained in tables framed differently from those which I employed, and to prevent confusion all the details derived from this source will be included in the present Section. Mr. Malet states that the tables may, to the best of his belief, be depended on as correct, having been drawn out by the different darogahs when under his orders as Acting Joint Magistrate. Like those which I have myself prepared, they are too voluminous to be embodied entire in this Report; but the following abstract shows the number of Bengali, Ooriya, Persian,


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3..

4. . The hinder part of a ship.

5. It looks to the east.

6., a star of the first magnitude, lies between this constellation and that of Argo.

7. In this constellation is the bright star.

8.

9. This constellation contains no star of greater magnitude than the fourth, and lies so far to the south, that it is in no wise conspicuous in our northern latitudes; but it was considered of the greatest importance by the ancients as portending changes of the weather.

10. A man on horseback, bearing an animal on a pole or spear.

11. Upon it an empty, and a  or.


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144 the Committee on the 1st of July following, and afterwards printed by the order of Government.

In prosecution of the further instructions of the Committee, I proceeded in the early part of July to the district of Rajshahi, and remained there till the end of October, but it was only during the month of August and a part of September that the season of the year permitted me to pursue my investigations. During the remaining part of September and the month of October I prepared a Report on the State of Education in Rajshahi, which was transmitted to the General Committee in December, and subsequently printed by the order of Government.

Since leaving Rajshahi I have not found leisure to make any other Report, and, with the exception of that district, therefore the present Report includes all the localities I have visited. The months of November and December 1835 were employed in the Moorshedabad district, January and February 1836 in the district of Beerbhoom, and March and April following in that of Burdwan. During the months of May and June I was employed, by the orders of Government, on another duty in Calcutta, but was directed to resume my educational survey in July and August. These two months were devoted to the city of Moorshedabad which, at the time I visited the district of that name, had been reserved for future investigation. Returning to Calcutta in the beginning of September, I was detained there by the other duty already referred to until the end of January 1837, when I received orders to proceed into Behar in prosecution of the inquiry into native education, and to limit my investigations to two districts, one situated to the south and the other to the north of the Ganges, as samples of the province. I was accordingly occupied in this duty in the Gya district or South Behar during the months of February, March, and a part of April; and in the Tirhoot district of North Behar during the months of May and June, when I returned to Calcutta to arrange the materials I had collected and prepare the present Report.

It thus appears that I have been engaged an aggregate period of about fifteen or sixteen months, in all seasons of the year, in the actual business of local inquiry, during which the state of native education in seven separate localities, or six districts and one principal city, has been investigated.

I have great pleasure in adding that I have been enabled by Mr. O. W. Malet, late Acting Joint Magistrate of the district of Midnapore, to communicate various details respecting the state of native education in that district. That gentleman, appreciating the utility of such inquiries, in March 1836, of his own accord, instituted an investigation into the state of education in the Midnapore district, and communicated the results to me, which will be embodied in this Report with this general acknowledgment of the source from which they been derived.


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Rh I have still further pleasure in acknowledging the ready and obliging assistance I receivd from the Magistrates of the different districts I visited, particularly from Mr. Bury and Mr. Dirom in Rajshahi, Mr. W. J. H. Money in Beerbhoom, Mr. W. Taylor in Burdwan, and Mr. Wilkinson in Tirhoot.

Some account of the plan of investigation adopted may be useful to future statistical inquirers, and it is necessary to explain the sources of error to which I deem the results still liable.

The first object to which I directed my attention was to prepare the forms in which I desired to embody the information to be collected; and in passing from district to district I continued to improve them according as experience, reflection, or local circumstances suggested.

The language in which the forms were prepared was Bengali, Hindi, or Urdu, and the character respectively Bengali, Nagari, or Persian, determined in part by the prevailing language and character of the district where they were to be used, and in part by the attainments of the class of persons in each district who offered their services to me. In the Bengal districts Bengali was chiefly used, but in the city of Moorshedabad I found it necessary to have recourse partially to the Urdu language and Persian character. In South Behar I deemed it advisable to employ the Hindi language and the Nagari character, and in Tirhoot the Urdu language and the Persian character. I believe that in the latter districts I should have experienced fewer difficulties if I had adopted both the Persian language and character, for those of my agents who were acquainted with Hindi only, although very steady and industrious, were peculiarly obtuse and unintelligent, and those who understood Persian were continually diverging into the use of that language in their weekly reports of work done, although this was contrary to my express injunctions.

The forms I prepared were adapted to ascertain—first, the state of school-instruction; and second, the state of domestic and adult instruction. For the former purpose a separate form was employed for each description of school, one for Bengali or Hindi schools, another for Sanskrit schools, a third for Persian and Arabic schools, &c., each embracing with modifications the following details, viz., the name of the town or village in which the school was situated; the description of place employed as a school-house; the name, religion, caste, and age of the teacher; the sources and amount of his receipts; the extent of his instructions; the number of his scholars, present and absent; their religion and caste; the age at which each had entered school, his present age, the probable age


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146 at which he would leave school, and the progress he had made in the course of instruction; and finally the books, if any, read in the school, and the works, if any, written by the teacher. To ascertain the state of domestic and adult instruction, another form was prepared including the following particulars, viz., the number of families in each town or village; the name, religion, caste, and principal occupation of the head of each family; the number of persons in each family, male and female, above fourteen years of age, the number, male and female, between fourteen and five, and the number, male and female, below five; the number of families in each town or village giving domestic instruction to the children, and the number of children in each such family receiving domestic instruction; the number of persons of adult age in each family who had received a learned education; the number who, without having received a learned education, knew something more than mere reading and writing, whether Bengali or Hindi accounts, the Persian or the English language, or any two or more of these; the number who could merely read and write; and the number who could barely decipher or write their own names.

Having prepared the necessary forms, my first purpose was to visit every village in person and ascertain its exact condition by actual inspection and inquiry in direct communication with the inhabitants. This course I found liable to several objections. The sudden appearance of a European in a village often inspired terror, which it was always difficult, and sometimes impossible, to suduesubdue [sic]. The most influential or the best informed inhabitant was sometimes absent, and it required much labor to enable others to comprehend the object of my visit. Under the most favourable circumstances the time consumed in explanations for the satisfaction of the villagers caused such delays as would have ultimately constituted a serious objection to the efficiency and economy of the investigation.

The first measure adopted to facilitate and expedite the inquiry was the employment of waqifkars, or agents of intelligence and local experience, whom I sent before-hand into the surrounding villages to explain to the inhabitants the nature and objects of the inquiry, and thus to prepare them for my arrival. These agents were furnished with written forms which were fully explained to them, and which they were required in like manner to explain to those to whom they were sent. The effect of this arrangement was good, for I often found the inhabitants fully prepared to understand my object and to give me the information I sought.

Still the necessity I imposed on myself of visiting every village in person was a great drawback on the despatch with which I was desirous of conducting the investigation, in so far as that object could be attained consistently with efficiency. It next occurred to me that my pandit and maulavi, whom I had hitherto


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Rh employed merely as assistants under my own eye, and the waqifkars, who had hitherto acted only as avant-couriers might be sent separately to different villages, or groups of villages, with the necessary forms to collect the information required, while I should exercise a general superintendence and control over their movements, and they should at fixed intervals report their proceedings to me. This was accordingly done, and thus increased vigour was infused into the operations.

Up to this point the forms I had employed were very imperfect, and a useful improvement of them was suggested by the people themselves, I found that while some were very careless about the correctness of the information they gave me, others were so desirous of securing accuracy and giving me satisfaction, that they made out a list of every house in the village, with the name of the head of each family and the number of its inmates of different ages. I took the hint, and thenceforth requested that such a list should be made out in all cases, with the addition of the caste and trade of the family and other details already mentioned. The particularity and minuteness of the forms constitute an important guard against mistake and error on the part of the agents employed, since the multiplication of details is the multiplication of the means of comparison and thereby of the means of checking oversight, culpable neglect, or intentional misrepresentation. It would be more difficult to invent such returns in any consistent form capable of bearing examination than honestly and diligently search out and record the real facts.

These were the modes of investigation I employed in the district of Rajshahi, of which the results have already been reported; and all that I was able to effect from the end of July to the middle of September in that district was almost wholly limited to one out of thirteen police sub-divisions. This was not equal to my own wishes and expectations, and yet I felt that I had done all that could be reasonably expected of me, having kept myself constantly in motion in the height of the rainy season in an inundated district. I immediately brought to the notice of the General Committee of Public Instruction the unavoidably limited local extent to which the inquiry had been carried, and in soliciting further instructions proposed that I should be authorized in like manner in every district I should visit to select one police sub-division as a sample of the whole district. This limitation was approved and sanctioned.

I next moved into the adjoining district of Moorshedabad; and as my attention was to be confined to one thana, it was important to select one that would form a fair specimen of the whole district. With that view, on the recommendation of those natives and Europeans who appeared to possess the best acquaintance with


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 12. This constellation is also called from the bright star on the Dog's shoulder. , Procyon, signifies, "rising before the Dog," i. e. before the greater Dog, Sirius.

This star, as well as Sirius, was considered by the ancients as contributing to the heat of the Dog-days:

These are all the constellations of the old celestial sphere. Twenty northern, twelve southern, and twelve on the Zodiac, making the total of forty-four.


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148 the interior of the district, I fixed upon the police sub-division of Daulatbazar for examination. The most improved mode of investigation to which I had attained in Rajshahi, in respect both of the agents and forms employed, was applied to this thana; but the result disappointed me, for I found at the close of the inquiry that there was not a single Sanscrit or Arabic School in the Daulatbazar thana, although the existence of such institutions in the district was undoubted.

The next district I visited was that of Beerbhoom, and there I adoped a modification of the plan of investigation which spread the inquiry over a much wider surface in an equal period of time, and with equal security for accuracy of detail. In Rajshahi and Moorshedabad, with the sanction of the General Committee, I had limited my investigations to one thana in each district; but it now occurred to me that, as I employed agents in that single thana under my own superintendence in collecting information according to prescribed forms, this plan admitted of simultaneous extension to the other thanas of the same district. Accordingly, having selected one thana as before for special investigation, the results of which would fulfil the instructions I had received from the General Committee, I extended a more limited survey by means of separate agents over all the remaining thanas. The difference was that in the latter the inquiry was confined to the state of school-instruction, whereas in the selected thana it embraced also the state of domestic and adult instruction. For the special and more minute investigation of the selected thana, four, five, and sometimes six agents were employed; and for the more limited survey of the remaining thanas, one agent each was found sufficient. I did not deem it necessary to refer this modification of my plans to the General Committee for their approval, because no part of their instructions was superseded, and the modification consisted only in the additional labour and expense which I imposed on myself. The result was highly satisfactory, for it enabled me to pronounce with confidence on the state of school-instruction not in one thana only, but throughout all the thanas of a district. This extended and comprehensive course of investigation has been pursued in Beerbhoom and BurdawnBurdwan [sic], South Behar and Tirhoot. In the city of Moorshedabad the plan of investigation was made still more comprehensive, the special and minute inquiry into the state both of school-instruction and domestic and adult instruction having been extended to all the nineteen thanas included within the city jurisdiction.

With the exception of four or five waqifkars whom I permitted to accompany me from district to district, and whose superior intelligence compensated in some measure for the want of local experience in the districts where they were strangers, I had to instruct a separate set of persons in each district in a knowledge of


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Rh my forms of business and modes of investigation. Those whom I employed generally belonged to the class of office-expectants, numerous at every sudder station. Their objections to take employment were the smallness of the allowance I offered, generally seven and sometimes eight rupees a month; the shortness of the period allowed to do the work of one thana, viz., one month; and the severity of the labour in travelling from village to village, which was particularly felt in the rainy and hot seasons. The inducements I presented were the payment of half a month’s wages in advance; an ample supply of stationery at my expense; the promise of travelling expenses if the work was well done; every facility in the way of perwannahs from the Magistrate; and the assurance, if satisfaction was given, of receiving a testimonial of character and service which the Magistrate had sometimes the goodness to intimate he would take into favourable consideration when occasion should occur. The promise of this bit of paper, the testimonial, especially when accompanied by an expression of the Magistrate’s good feeling towards the object, and those who should aid it, generally removed all objections. Those who acceded to my terms, and whose general intelligence created a favourable impression in my mind, received copies of the tabular forms I employed, which they were directed to read with care and to copy correctly with their own hands. Every separate column was then explained to each candidate by my pandit, who, having pronounced him sufficiently instructed and qualified, brought him to me for examination. Generally I had occasion to confirm the decision of the pandit, sometimes to send the candidate back for further instruction, and occasionally to reject him altogether for stupidity and ignorance. Those who were finally approved always claimed and received a letter of appointment specifying their duties and their compensation, to which I added a warning against making any exaction or committing any oppression on the humbler classes of natives and an order to report progress weekly according to a prescribed form. They also received a perwannah addressed to the darogha of the thana by the magistrate requiring him to assist the waqifkars, and another from the same authority addressed to zemindars, talookdars, &c., requesting similar assistance. The waqifkars finally received ruled forms as models of those in which they were expected to make their returns, and they were then dismissed with every necessary verbal admonition and encouragement. During their absence a regular correspondence was maintained with each person; and when difficulties arose they were removed by advice or orders communicated by letter, or by personal supervision according to the nature of the case. When the waqifkars returned, their papers were minutely inspected; and if such discrepancies and inconsistencies were discovered as implied negligence, another person was sent to go over the same ground. When the returns made appeared


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150 satisfactory, a correct copy of them was made for record, of which I prepared a very full abstract in English to provide against possible accident to the native returns. The payments due to the agents employed were made in my presence and into their own hands.

One source of error to which the results are liable is inseparable from the nature of the investigation. I was instructed that the only mode in which the desired information should be sought must be with the full consent and good will of the parties with whom I might come into communication, and that the employment of authoritative or compulsory means was to be avoided. I was fully disposed to act up to these instructions, which were indeed given at my own suggestion and were dictated by the obvious spirit and intent of the inquiry. Adherence to them, however, made me and my agents dependent on third parties for the correctness of certain details; for instance, the number of persons, male and female, of the teachable age in a family. It was, of course, not permitted to enter the houses and count the females or the children, and on these and similar points the statements of heads of families and of the headmen of villages were necessarily received; but in such cases there was generally a check against inaccuracy by the presence of many of the villagers whose curiosity drew them together to listen, and who often corrected each other in the answers that were made. Notwithstanding this partial check, the discrepancy in the returns of males and females between fourteen and five years of age, that is, the much less number of females than of males of that age, seems to prove that concealment was systematically practised. I cannot adequately account in any other way for the difference that exist in the returns, and which will afterwards more fully appear.

Another source of error belongs to the plan of employing agents under me to collect information. I have already explained how I was induced to adopt this plan; and I am satisfied that by means of it the inquiry has been made far more extensive in its scope, and probably even more complete and accurate in its details, than if I had attempted to see every thing with my own eyes and do every thing with my own hands. The efficiency of such agency must depend on the efficiency of the supervision to which it is subjected; but although I laboured to render my superintendence vigilant and searching, and although I believe that the returns I received are in general worthy of confidence as far as they go, yet I have no security that they are not defective. In traversing a district, my agents could not visit all the villages it contained, amounting to several thousands. This was physically impossible without protracting the inquiry beyond ail reasonable limits. They were, therefore, compelled to depend either upon their personal knowledge, or upon the information that could be gathered from others as to the places possessing schools, every one of which was


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Rh invariably visited and examined; but that in no instance a village-institution has been overlooked is more than I dare affirm, and in point of fact I have sometimes discovered instances in which such institutions had at first escaped attention, I have thought it right to show that this source of error did exist; but I believe that such oversights still remaining undetected are, if any, very few.

In undertaking and conducting this inquiry, a danger which I have kept constantly in view, is lest the agents and servants whom I have found it necessary to employ should be guilty of levying exactions in my name from the villagers. I, therefore, from the first had it fully understood by all whom I permanently or temporarily employed, that if I could discover any of them, from the highest to the lowest, in any act of oppression, violence of deed or of language, or assumption of authority over the villagers, I should instantly dismiss him from his situation. In consequence of this intimation, some of my servants stipulated for an increase of wages beyond what they had previously demanded. This claim I allowed, conceiving that I had a stronger hold upon them than upon others who were not so open and candid. The occasions have been very few on which I have had any reason to believe that oppression was attempted or exercised, and on such occasions the guilty parties were instantly displaced.

The rich were more difficult to manage than the poor, sometimes, for purposes of their own grovelling to the dust before me; at other times superciliously refusing all communication and demanding that a separate perwannah should be addressed to them individually before they would give or permit their dependants to give any of the information required. The difficulty from the selfishness and self-sufficiency of the rich was only greater than that arising from the extreme ignorance of the poor. Many villages did not contain a single person able to write, or even to count; and in such cases all the information had to be collected direct from house to house with very little aid from the villagers themselves. On one occasion I experienced open and pertinacious opposition from a single individual, a Government gomashta, who influenced a circle of villages by his authority; and when his objections were removed, those of the villagers also disappeared. On other occasions teachers both of common schools and schools of learning, from some misapprehension, have concealed themselves to escape the dreaded inquisition. On the other hand, I have had a message sent to me from a village, the inhabitants of which understood that I did not intend to visit them personally, requesting that I would not pass them by; and two pandits followed me to Calcutta from the Burdwan district to communicate the details respecting their schools; of which when in the district itself I had not been


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In the book of Job,, , , , Ash, Kesil, Kimah, Mazzaroth, are by most commentators considered to be the names of constellations or stars. It would have been far better under this impression for the translators of our bible to have retained the Hebrew names, Ash, Kesil, and Kimah, as well as Mazzaroth. The Septuagint translators of the book of Job, in Ch. ix. 9, render, , , Ash, Kesil, Kimah, 🇬🇷, Pleias, 🇬🇷, Hesperus, 🇬🇷, Arcturus; and in Ch. xxxviii. 31, 32, the same words are rendered 🇬🇷, Hesperus, 🇬🇷, Orion, 🇬🇷, Pleias. In Amos v. 8,   ("who made Kimah and Kesil"), is rendered "🇬🇷," "who made and fashioned all things." In like manner the Vulgate, in Job ix. 9, renders these three words, Arcturus, Orion, Hyades; and in xxxviii. 31, 32, Vesperus, Arcturus, Pleiades. The interpretations of the rabbinical and other commentators upon these words are various. Ramban says: they are the names of superior stars, that is, stars of great influence and power. R. Salomo and Ralbag, that Kesil and Kimah are constellations. R. Aben Esra, that Ash is a constellation of seven stars not far from the north pole, and that Kesil and Kimah are stars of first magnitude in the Zodiac. R. Perizolides and others, that Ash is one of the stars in the tail of the Ram, Kesil and Kimah the stars that occasion cold and heat: Kesil, the cold; and Kimah, the heat. Mercer, with others, renders the three words, Arcturus, Orion, Pleiades. Cocceius maintains that Ash is Ursa minor: Kesil, Cor Scorpionis: Kimah, Oculus Tauri. Parkhurst rejects the notion of these words being the names of stars, and renders, Ash, Blight: , Kesil, Cold: , Kimah, Heat. There is the same diversity of opinion respecting, Mazzaroth. R. Levy conjectures that it was a star which seldom appeared in the land of Uz, and hence the words: "" Others consider this word a title for the twelve signs of the Zodiac: others again, that Ash, Kesil, Kimah and Mazzaroth are the four cardinal points. Schmidt remarks on Job ix. 9: "" Bochart (Hierozoic. Vol. . p. 113, 114) gives an explanation of Job xxxviii. 32,, "


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 :" "Aish with her sons." He shews, that with some of the Arabian astrologers the name of the greater and lesser Bear was, "," "the greater and the lesser Bier, or Sarcophagus," on which a dead body is carried; and that the three stars in the tail of the Bear were called "the sons of," that is, the attendants or followers of the Bier, which was itself constituted of the other four conspicuous stars in the constellation. Hence Job says, "" Schmidt on this verse ventures a conjecture, namely, that by "" is meant Jupiter and his four satellites: the arguments by which he supports this conjecture may be seen in his note upon the passage.

That these four words have any allusion to the stars is merely conjecture. We do not find these names or any similar to them used by the Arabian astronomers, which we probably should do, had they been the names of constellations or stars on the celestial sphere in the days of Job. May not the words, , , Ash, Kesil, Kimah, signify vapour, ice or snow , and rain, the three natural conditions of water; and the passages in which they occur be thus rendered?

Job ix. 8. Which alone spreadeth out the heavens, and treadeth on the wave of the sea.

9. Which maketh the vapour, the snow, and the rain.

Job xxxviii. 30. The waters are hid as with a stone, and the face of the deep is frozen.

31. Canst thou congeal the soft showers of rain, or loosen the bands of ice?

32. Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season? Canst thou produce the vapour with the dew-drops?

Amos v. 8. Seek him that maketh the snow and the rain, and turneth the shadow of darkness into morning, and maketh the day dark with night; that calleth for the waters of the sea, and poureth them out upon the face of the earth.


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 It was now so dark that I could hardly distinguish the objects before my eyes, when a sudden rustling in the thicket made me start: I listened, but all was silent again, and I pursued my way without any apprehension, thinking it might have been a deer; but was not gone far when I heard the rustling again much louder than at first, and close by me: I now beheld, on a sudden, a man with a sack on his back, and a staff in his hand, coming out of the thicket, within the short distance of two or three paces. This unexpected sight gladdened my heart, flattering me with the sweet hope of getting a friendly conductor out of that dreary wilderness, who would direct my weary steps to a place of rest.

"Whither art thou going, good friend?" exclaimed I.

"To the mill," answered he, groaning under his burthen.


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 "Is the mill far from hence?" said I.

"No farther than half a league," he replied.

"May I find a shelter there for myself and horse?"

"No," replied he.

"Why not?" asked I.

"Because," replied he, "the miller does not admit strangers."

"I am sorry for it; but is there no house hereabouts where one could get a night's lodging?"

"O yes," answered he, "not far from hence, if you turn to the right lives a woodcutter, who lodges travellers."


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 "But do you think I shall be safe there?" asked I.

"What do you mean by that?" said he.

"Don't you know, good friend," replied I, "that this part of the country is the constant haunt of robbers?"

"Would to God I could stay this night with good Master Max, I would not be uneasy on that score; but I must go on, and alas my burthen is heavy."

"If my poor beast was not so jaded, and so much tired, I would be glad to lend it you," said I.

"Thank you, Master," returned he, "I am used to hardships, and have laid in a good stock of patience."

Discoursing thus we went slowly on together, 'till we came to a foot-path, where the


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GILLIAN, 61

“This is my daughter,” said Bentley.

“Not now. Wd rather look at her in—in the oli house,” almost sobbed the farmer, keeping his heal turned away. ‘I’ve got a gal tuo; not like what she was; but a likely critter enough. I'll ride forard, if you’d just as lief, anu tell her you're a comin’!”

With this, the farmer beat his heels against the sides of his horse, and dashed off, ashamed of the emotion that had beaved his broad chest with a tempest of old recollections.

Gillian louked after him, her lips parted and her eves dilating with wonder. To her there Was something ludicrous in the heavy trot which kept the farmer in consgant motion on his meal- bags, and she broke into a Jaugh when the horse dashed into a skeltering gallop, that threatened to dislodge the whole load at every awkward lesp. Little did she know of the genuine feel- ing which went with that jumbling picture.

Mr. Bentley turned upon her with an angry flash of the eyes, and said, sternly,

“Gillian Bentley, that man is your mother’s only brother, her benefactor. Laugh now, if you have the heart.”

Gilian’s mirth broke into a sob. Never in her life had she been addressed so harshly before. The surprise took away her breath.

“Oh: father.”

“Her brother, girl. A man whom I hold in reverence above all others on the earth.”

‘Father, forgive me!”

Giilian was trembling from head to foot. She could have killed herself for that wanton laugh. Mr. Bentley drew her to his side, and strove to ‘mile upon her. But it was not easy, even for this forgiving caress, to reconcile the sensitive girl to herself.

Meantime the driver had started his horses, Unconscious of the little domestic drama going on behind his back; and every moment drew the travelers nearer home.

Wien Daniel Hart rode up in front of his house, Hannah atood in the door, waiting his approach with some impatience; for it was baking day, her four had given out, the great oven in the back kitchen had burned down, and was getting evid: in short the whole family baking for that week was in danger, for want of @ measure of tour to mould the bread with, and that lay in lhe bags swung acrosa her father’s saddle. So out tue ran at once, with her sleeves tucked up, ler plump, white arms ready for instant work, ula Un basin in ber hand.

“Come, father, jump down and untie the bags; I am in a desperate hurry. Another ten Minuiey and we should have had to heat over again. I’ve got the most splendid pan of beans, all ready for baking, with such a lump of pork on the top, all cut in checkers, and dropping open like a rose; come, hurry up, do!”

Daniel Hart got down. from his horse, and swung one of the bags over his shoulder, and marched into the porch. Somehow he did not feel able to speak on commonplace things, but untied the bag in silence, watching Hannah as she took out the flour in handfuls and filled her basin.

‘‘Hannah,” he said, at last, ‘is aunt Hetty in the kitchen?”

The girl lifted her rosy face, with a look of surprise. There was something unusual in the father’s voice.

‘Aunt Hetty? Yes! father. Where else should she be? I left her raking up the coals with a long shovel.”

‘Hannah, wait a moment. There'll be com- pany here in a few minutes. I met your uncle, Joseph Bentley, and his darter ou the cross- roads; and they’ll be here in a few minutes, without fail.”

“Uncle Joseph Bentley and his daughter from foreign parts!’ cried Hannah, all in a flutter of excitement. ‘Goodness me, what shall we get for supper? The baking won't be out of the oven this two hours. Qh! father, do go kill a chicken, and I'll put down a short-cake; that, with pre- serves and honey, will have to answer.”

Away Hannah ran, bearing the flour between her plump little hands, while her apron streamed behind her, and the bright curls danced and twinkled around her face.

“Aunt Hetty; I say, aunt Hetty—what do you think? Uncle Joseph Bentley and cousin Gillian —what a name—-are coming here to-day. You can hear the wagon coming up the hill. Hetty! Hetty! where have you hid? Aunt Hetty!”

‘‘T am here,” answered a faint, struggling voice, from the back porch; and Mehitable Hart came in, white and still as usual. But a less excited person would have remarked that her face, always colorless, was now almost ghostly, and that her small hands shook like leaves, when she attempted to take the basin from her niece.

“Don’t take it all. Leave me enough for a short-cake. No! that’s not it. Leave cnough out for that, and I'll mould the bread. You look tired out. Here’s the butter, and there lies the rolling-pin. Goodness gracious! how fast they come! you can fairly hear the wheels clatter. But there’s a good deal of work in ten minutes: go now for it!”

Suiting the action to the words, Hannah dusted the table with flour, plunged her arms into the

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 62

G I L L I A N.

kneading-tray, cut off a mass of dough, and went to work with wonderful vigor, rolling, pinching, and smoothing the shapeless substance into as dainty a loaf as ever dexterous hands moulded.

‘‘There!” she exclaimed, smiling, as she laid the first white globe in its pan, ‘‘if they want a handsomer loaf than that, let them knead it, I say. Dear me, aunt Hetty, how your hands shake! Do call old Nancy to roll out the cake, and go fix up a little. Put ona black silk apron and a nice cap: that'll make a lady uf you in no time!”

‘*Yes!” answered aunt Hetty, in a low, hoarse voice, wringing her hands together with passion- ate violence, rather than from an effort to divest themselves of the clinging flour, ‘‘yes! niece, I am almost tired out,” and with these words trem- bling on her lips, the little woman opened a door and glided up a flight of back stairs to her own room.

When once there, she flung up the sash, looked wildly down the road; then creeping back toa far corner of the room, sat down, moaning softly, like a wounded kid.

At each new rattle of the wheels, she gave a start, and looked piteously around, as if seeking some covert; and when Hannah came in, dusting her hands, all rosy and smiling with excitement, the little woman darted to her bureau, and began &@ vague search after something, while a timid apology for not being ready trembled unuttered on her white lips.

‘Here, aunt! what on earth possesses you? That’s my bureau, and here’s your cap. Let me put it on for you. Why, how you shiver, and this poor little face is as white as curd; wait a minute, this’ll never do. Let me hunt up the pink bows, and pin them on; with all this white you look like a ghost!”

Aunt Hetty sat down, both hands dropping helplessly to her lap, and she resigned herself to the busy hands of her niece, with a frightened look, growing paler and paler, spite of the pink ribbons, as the wagon drew near the house.

‘‘Here,” said Hannah, taking the old lady’s face between her hands, and kissing her cold lips, ‘‘you are neat as a new pin: only do chirp up a little! What always frightens you so when com- pany comes? Now I'll fix up a trifle myself, and go down. Where on earth is my brown dress? Dear me, this hook never will fasten!’’

Uttering these broken ejaculations, Hannah Hart arrayed her pretty figure in a dress of dark merino, put on a neat muslin collar with cuffs to match, and hurried down to receive the coming guests. She had so long been the leading spirit of the household, that it seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to go out on the front ‘porch, where the flour bags still lay in a heap, ‘and wait for the visitors to descend from their ‘homely conveyance; for, though a mere girl, in all essentials, she was far more mistress of the house than aunt Hetty, its nominal head.

Still, with all her brightness and sweet ways, as her father called them, Hannah was a little shy, and really modest. The presence of strangers made her cheeks glow like a peach, while her large, brown eyes cast timid glances from under the long fringes, that would have provoked admiration from an artist, and which sent John Downs’ heart into his mouth the mo- ment he set his eyes on her.

Daniel Hart went out to the wagon as it drew up, and before Mr. Bentley could dismount, took Gillian in his arms, holding her close to his bosom a moment, while he looked in her face.

Gillian was surprised to feel his great heart swell against her side, and to see his massive fentures quivering like those of an infant. When he set her upon the ground his eyes were full of tears, so full, that he could not see his daughter through the mist. She drew close to her father, whispering softly,

‘‘Did he love my mother very much, papa?”

But Mr. Bentley did not answer. His feelings were not so warmly impulsive as those he wit- nessed: contact with society had driven them deeper into his nature. While the farmer’s heart heaved, his only stood still.

‘‘And this,” he said, approaching Hannah, ‘‘ig my niece; no doubt, Gillian, she should be about your own age.”

The two girls looked at each other shyly at first, but after a moment Gillian ran up the steps with a bright smile on her face and one hand ex- tended, for she saw, by the blushes that came and went on Hannah’s face, a thousand unspoken welcomes that went to her heart at once.

‘So you are my cousin; I am so glad!” she exclaimed. ‘Why, it seems like home already !”

“This is your home,” said Daniel Hart, com- ing up the steps, with a spirit of self-abnegation breaking from every feature. ‘The house, the land, from the hill top to the town pike, is all your father’s; as for us, we do not own @ foot.”

‘Indeed! well, that’s of no sort of conse- quence I fancy!” cried Gillian, looking around; ‘coh! there is the orchard, and here is the great walnut. I remember it all—all but the— the-——”

Gillian broke off suddenly, shocked by her own thoughtlessness. She saw at once that it was the memory of her mother that had made her


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 66 A SCORE OF YEARS HAVE PASSED.

and that old shawl that my mother, who died ten years ago, gave me after she had worn it twenty, and away I speed over to the rich Miss Slade's—a good half mile from my own house.

Find Miss Slade in her lxurious chamber, delighted to see me; (would not kaow me on the street tomorrow.) Offers me some cologne— very kind in her—-shows me what she calla two or three trifting alterations, that will take me probably two or three hours. I beg piteously, assuring her that I did it just as she told me— but she begins to got in passion, and I sit down humbly. Rip, rip—clip, clip, my hands trembling, and great tears gathering that I will not let fall, Ob! but fortune seems unjust. At last it is done. Miss Slade may give me at least fifty cents for my time, when she knows the fault is her own—but no—though I linger, she only professes to be admiring my work. I hint at my time—she tells me she finds Miss Hill would have made the whole dress much more; cheaply.

Return home—my lip under my tooth the whole way—my hand clenched, I hardly know why, beneath my shawl. Find the house in disorder — the children weary and crying. Put things to rights with as much patience as I can command - get a hurried supper, and throw the   children into bed. No time to kiss their dear lips, to hold back the silken locks and hear their little  prayers. Mary, the eldest daughter , must do all  that. Trimming night lamps and sit down to work, literally “ almost dead!" & c . , worried  tired , and out of heart I am . Sew , sew , sew . The clock strikes ten , eleven , one , two , three   there ! the last stitch is taken.

Dare not move - am so stiff and dizzy - wait for some reaction — then fling the dress some  where and stagger to bed. Even then blessed  sleep comes not, I am too tired ! The brain reels- thinks and reels. I see the home of my childhood, remember its petting , its ease ,  its love ! I live over the bridal hour - agonize through a few succeeding years — stopping with  a groan at an open grave.

Oh ! my husband ! oh ! my husband ! But cheaply. hush, yearning heart , go from the grave from   the cold dust to heaven. I wipe the blistering tears and pray ; and then - thank God ! He  giveth me sleep.

A SCORE OF YEARS HAVE PASSED.

BY ¥. R. STAUFFER. A score of years have pass'd since we Beside the altar stood; The light of life you’ve been to me, And all that’s trae and good.

As for myself-it may be told ‘What heart ef thine would say;

‘You've felt that love of mine could hotd ‘Tuo very world at bay!

Now threads of allver gleam amid

‘Four step ia not ma lithe ay yors, ‘Your voice hath fost ite tone,

‘And yet your eye gives back the more ‘The glory of my own.

A holy love fs onrs, my light A.love supremely blest;

‘Aud in our souls there Is to-night No yearning nor unrest.

Come, let mx kueet upon the door

‘The raven of your halr, ‘Where soft the moonbsams He,

And on my brow in lines balf hid And pray that God forevermore Lie veatiges of care, a May thus bless you and I!

«DE PROFUNDIS?”

BY LIBBIZ D-

‘Waaxt nod ead T muse upon my fate,

And ponder o'er my life’s alt chequered pegs. ‘Yot cannot reed the Past for bitter tears

That dim the eyes, but never grief aseuage. The Present, full of toil and vague regret,

Te woighIng all its burden on my soul; ‘The Fature, bare snd blank, before me lies,

And T too footaore seem to reueh my goal. Laink beneath the tide of earging il,

Hope's star has vanished from my dimoing sight, My courage diew—my ardent zeal Ls ehilt,

‘And waves of Grief engulf me from the light: Helplessly drownlog! Jaana! save Thou met For “from the deep," oh! Lord! I ory to Thee! �


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 his father had done before him; bat his opinion had power in the neighborhood, even among educated men; and he was one of those persons of whom it is said, ‘‘He is s whole-souled man, whose word is as good as his bond.”

Such men may become what the world call ‘well off,” but they seldom get rich, seldom care for more than an easy competency, which they enjoy with rest, because earned by labor. Such was Daniel Hart, as he eat in his oaken easy chair by the fire-side that night. His stout form filled it comfortably, without crowd- ing, and his great, hard hand rested on the arm as he leaned towards his brother-in-law. His air was earnest, and something of curiosity was expressed in his features, but everything was frank and open as the day. You knew at a glance that whatever he felt would be spoken out honestly.

On the other hand, Mr. Bentley sat in his chair—tall, well proportioned, without leaning to excess in any way; quiet and watchful. High-toned refinement, an excess of cultivation, and those resources that spring from it, were written in his features. He did not seem less truthful than the farmer, what you saw was sincere and honorable; but that there were not depths of feeling and hidden thoughts in that man's nature, impenetrable to his best friend, no one could doubt. His soul was like the waters of Niagara, just below the Falis—deep and turbulent underneath, but tranquil on the surface. You knew that storms were in those depths, but could neither see nor hear them.

But the farmer's nature was like the waters of Lake Superior, clear and transparent. There was not a thought of his being that did not shine through like the pebbles and sand of that pure lake.

“Tell me,” said the strong man, with a quiver of the voice, while be looked upon the waning fire as through a mist, the tears lay so close to his eyes; ‘tell me, brother-in-law, how it was that my sister died in those foreign parts; we never had the particulars—only read in the papers that she was gone. You wrote to us, I don’t doubt, but the letter never came, and to this day Hetty and I are uncertain how it all happened.”

in a low voice, leaning back in his chair, and shrouding his eyes with one hand.
 * tAnd you have never heard?” said the other,

“Not a word since you left here, nearly fifteen years ago, except what reached us from a New York paper. There we found that poor Ssrah had died at sea, and that was all.”

And you made no further inquiries?”

‘How could 1? Who was there for us lo ask about her? I went down to New York to in- quire, for Hetty was almost distracted for 1 good while, and I was afraid she would pine herself to death—-but there was no one to tell me any- thing. It seemed as if Sarab and her child bad drifted out of our home and been lost in the fog, she went so far out of our reach before she died.”

‘*And you grieved over her loss?”

“Grieved over her loss! who could help it? Wasn’t she the salt of the earth, our Sarah? Wasn't she ike an angel of light on her father’s hearth, before you took her away?!”

Mr. Bentley pressed his hand close to his. eyes and groaned within himself.

“] don’t think much of good looks, and I ain’t sure that Sarah was what folks call a beautifel woman; but I tell you, sir, there was something about her face when she talked, and in her eyes when she smiled, that no women’s face ever had for me before or since. That look would bring me to her feet like a dog, no matter how much I was sot agin what she wanted. Mr. Bentley, when you took that gal from under my father’s roof, the light seemed to go out of the old house with her, and it never came back agin. Hetty, you know, was always nervous and afraid of her own shadow; but she kept up wonderfully while Sarah was with her; but when she went away the poor little thing wilted right down, and she never has seemed to cheer up since. You wouldn’t a known our Heity, I dare say; she’s sort of withered into nothing since that news came. If young Mike Croft did not come to see her now and then, she wouldn’t know there was a world outside of the house. She’s dreadful melancholy; the only time I ever heard her talk up pert was when he was here last sum- mer's a year."

dropping his hand, while a gloom came to his eyes.
 * And who is Mike Croft?” inquired Bentley,

‘Well, I don’t rightly know, myself, but I believe he’s an orphan boy that our gals picked up in New York afore Sarah was married. I don’t right like the fellow, but Hetty won’t hear a word agin him from anybody. You can’t wake her up on anything but that. But this isn’t what I sot up to talk nbout. Tell me while we're alone, how my sister Sarah died.”

“Your sister Sarah is not dead,” answered Bentley, hastily, and without another word he left the room.

(TO BR CONTINUED.)


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 ONE

DAY IN THE LIFE OF A SEAMSTRESS. BY BY MRS. M.A.DENISOR

Monday Morning.—-Woke up rather later than T had hoped, in consequence of being kept awake in the night with severe pain, and the emughing of a child. First thought— when will ose the sleep that knows no waking?

Get up—make a fire—bathe my head, which aches violently, in cold water, while breakfast is preparing. Take a bundle of work and open it. Fingers a little cold, but there is nothing the stitching and padding for warming the blood of the poor. Breakfast ready. Sit down to table, but find I can eat nothing, my throat is so sore and swollen. Get up from table—must work if lean't eat—no reprieve from that fist. At it I go again—stitch and wad, seam and pad. First interruption—e little girl enters, “Please, Miss, mother wants you to alter the hem of my dress; it’s too short.”

“Your mother measured it herself,” is my reply.

“I know she did, and she says she’s sorry to put you to so much trouble” Half an hour wasted—don’t dare to refuse—might lose custom and be talked about.

At my original work once more. Head aches so that I am ‘most blind. Bathe it again, and take my necdie, determined to persevere. Enter little girl number two.

“Please, Miss—mother wants to know if you will come and cut and make her new parlor car- pet to-morrow? She is sick and can’t do it her- self.” By a little adroit questioning, find out that T am not expected to say, “No,” on any account. Agree to go if I can hold my head up. To work again. Wonder if anybody else in town ean be honored with so many calls Suppose not—think it must be owing to my position.

Amuse myself with stitching and giving orders for the children just from school, to put what victuals are covked on the table for dinner.

Enter little girl number three.

“*Please, Mizs—mother wants a little twist, and says she don't know aa she’s got these right; they set kind 0’ crooked.”

I take the work; horrible! she has placed the wrong pieces together; hope she has not cut them. Send little girl over to get other parts— spend twenty-five minutes in placing, basting, and trimming in the right way. My carelessness would never have ceased to be talked about if I had not done it, although it was right when first ent, and just as carefully adjasted. Must hurry o make up for lost time.

Enter a lady—I go into my only other room us the dishes are not washed yet. Lady is an oid customer—spends half an hoor telling me how she enjoyed herself at the Springs—wants to know if I’ve any very pretty patterns. Show her all I have. How delighted at being told that Miss Hill, the new dreas-maker, has got ‘‘oceans” of the latest Parisian fashions, and fits beautifully! All this while my time is being wasted. Lady wants to know whose basque that is—a black silk one. May she try it on?—she thinks some of having one made. “Oh! certainly,” is my reply, and the clock tells an hour gone, when the basque is hung upon its nail again. Two full hours of sleep cut off. Lady goes, after beating me down on a calico dress made for her three months ago.

At my work agnin—faco flashed; blood up to ninety-eight in the shade, fingers trembling— head aching. Draw the needle through twice, when Miss Slade’s servant makea her appear- ance. Just as I expected, my heart bests omin- ously.

“Miss Slade wants to know if you won't come right over there. Her dress is too tight, and she wants you to alter it.”

“T don’t know how I possibly can; can’t Miss Slade come over here?”

“Oh! no, indeed, ma’am; she’s got a headache and is laid down, She ain't done nothing but rend all day.”

My heart swells; I have 9 headache—but ohd when enn I lay down? Even ordinary sleep is denied me. Must not forego Migs Slade’s cus- tom. :

‘But if you tell her I shall lose time, I am se busy!”

‘She can’t come on no account, mn’am, she telled me so particuler—and she won't send it, "cause she wants to see yourself and tell you jest how it is. She told me to say that she must have it by to-night, because she’s going to a party, mn’nin.”

T sigh, but J rise—throw by my work to come back to it at night, perbaps—put on my bonnet


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 mouth at Wosaki; 2, The Igarasikawa, length about 8 ri, mouth at Sanjo; it discharges a good quantity of water; 3, The Kamokawa, coming from Takemura over a length of 4 ri, mouth at Kamosinden; 4, The Kuagawa, connecting the Agakawa with the Shinano mouth at Sakayamatshi.

Owing to these additions the discharge of the Shinanogawa varies naturally between the points of confluence with the different tributaries. The following itinerary may prove interesting. To facilitate comparisons I have added the corresponding figures for the Rhine at the Netherlands frontiers:—

In ordinary circumstances the water level is at Okodz 38 feet above the sea level; but the water has been known to rise there to 10 feet above this normal state.

The following are the principal places situated on the Shinano between Okodz and Niigata, beginning from upwards, we have:—

measured along the river. They have in general a poor appearance; the chief industry consists in cotton weaving.

All along the Shinanogawa rice is cultivated, also, though in a lesser degree, corn, beans, ai plants (of which a kind of blue pigment is made, used in colouring dresses,) cotton, rape-seed, etc. These latter articles are cultivated on higher parts of the ground, bordering the different rivers, while the interjacent lower parts are used as paddy-fields. Probably the higher situation of those parts

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 which immediately border the river embankments, may be accounted for by the absence of embankments in previous years, when all the sediments which the river, when inundating its banks in high flood, carried along, settled nearest to those banks, while the more distant parts only received clear water.

Niigata is situated on the alluvial ground between the river mouth and a range of low sandy hills or downs W. of it; it is regularly built and has a neat appearance; the population, it is said, amounts to 60,000. It is, or was, renowned for its beautiful “tea-houses,” and princes from several parts of the country used to visit the place for the sole purpose of amusing themselves. Like Takada, the houses are provided with covered ways or verandahs, which offer an agreeable shelter, in winter against the snow, in summer against the burning sun. The lowest temperature occurs at the end of January or the beginning of February, the thermometer falling to—9° C. (15$4⁄5$° F.); the highest temperature in the shade, during the last days of July 1873, amounted to 33.5° C. (about 92° F.) When the weather is settled, in summer time during the night a land breeze always blows, while daily at about 9 a.m., a sea breeze seta in. In winter N. and N. W. winds prevail, interrupted by storms from S.W. to N. W., when, as soon as the wind changes to N., fine weather is re-established. I am indebted for the above data to Mr. Weber, who is a resident at Niigata and who makes daily meteorological observations.

To all appearances Niigata is splendidly situated for trade; the Shinanogawa being almost the only high-way for goods-traffic in Echigo, all goods which now go by pack-horses overland from the staple-places of trade, would be sure to go to Niigata if only that place were provided with good harbour accommodation. The bar which now lies before the mouth of the river and which has this year even silted up in such a degree that only 3 feet of water remains in the channel, is the cause that the trade of Niigata has in the last few years almost entirely disappeared; and there can be little doubt that

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 DRESSING TO PLEASE ONE’S HUSBAND. BY

ROBALIE

GRAY.

Dress became Mrs. Carlton, and she knew it well, She was not a blonde, with golden curls, and deep violet eyes, expressing al! of love and nothing more, whom you could array in some white, cloudy substance, and conceive to be a0 angel floating for a while out of her original sphere on this earth of iniquity. And yet I do pot wish to convey the idea that our friend’s character was not « lovely one. It was; but sweetness is not the word to use while describing

her. In the gipsy blackness of her eyes there was a depth of character never seen in the azure orba from which love looks forth and claims its place gapreme; her complexion was decidedly dark, and her cheeks almost colorless, except when heated up with the fire of excitement; her mouth was not small, but it was well shaped, and expressive of great energy and determina- tion; she was tall and well proportioned, grace- fol and dignified; in short, she was one of those persons who seemed formed to wear the richest and handsomest of dry goods which the skill of manufacturers can produce. So much for the lady; let us turn now to her worser half.

He was very fine looking, tall and large, with grey eyes and dark hair, and rather a stern expression. His most noticeable characteristic was what he conceived to be a perfect contempt fer dress; be scrupulously avoided all ornament in the way of a ring, breast-pin, or watch chain, and there never was a time in the recollection of his friends when Mr. Carlton msde his ap- pearance in any other than black clothes; so far and no farther, did he carry his indifference to dress in his own case. His cloth must always be of the finest quality, and his clothes must be & perfect fit. Bat the distinguishing trait in hie character was more particularly exhibited in his remarks upon the extravagance of ladies, their | conformity to fashion and similar topics. Of all this, indeed, Mrs. Carlton was aware before her. marriage, and she was told that she would have bo pesce of her life with such a man, that she | meter would be allowed to dress in any sort of syle or taste; but with s determined shake of the head she would always reply: ‘I'll manage: i”

“Bella,” said Mr. Carlton one fine morning: after they were married, ‘(I am going to bring a friend home to dine with me to-day, so look your prettiest; he is very anxious to be intro- duced to my bride,” and he bent down and kissed her fondly.

Our heroine knew she was fine looking, she had been informed of the fact too frequently to admit of any ignorance on the subject, and she knew too that she needed dress to set off her looks; it was therefore with conscious pride that she glanced in the mirror ere she descended to the drawing-room to await the arrival of her husband and his friend. Her rich raven tresses were twisted in heavy braids, and eo arranged as to set off to the best advantage her finely formed head; the roge-tint of her dress com- pared well with her complexion, and the flouncee lent additional pharma to the grace of her figure; her flowing sleeves seemed to fall modestly back, exposing to view a pair of beautifully rounded arms, and soft dimpled hands; and the diamonds on her tapering fingers sparkled and glistened as though in delight at the beauty of their mis- trese. Bella knew that she was looking uncom- monly well, and she secretly wondered if this would not reconcile her husband to her manner of dressing She noticed his pleased surprise as he entered and presented his friend Mr. Tucker to her. Fora moment he was dazzled by her beauty, but then with a half sigh ho refiected: ‘If she is ao lovely now, how much would her charms be enhanced oould she but be induced to leave off all this nonsense, and dress with perfect simplicity, thas showing that her attractions are her own, and not dependent upon any outward aid!”

No such ideas, however, were floating through the mind of our friend Mr. Tucker; he was entranced by her beauty, and hung with rapture npon her every word; and when Mr. Carlton, hent upon showing him the attractions of bis country-seat, took him to the garden and stables, nnd expatiated upon the swiftness of his steeds, the wonderful growth of the vegetables, and the merits and rarity of certain flowers, and told how Washington had probably rested under such and such a tree, his companion would give the most random replies, and seem scarcely to know the difference between a horee and arose. Before the day was over he had made up hie mind to