writing. He would therefore have been better pleased if his daughter's meditations had turned on her garden, or her pony, or her chickens; or even if she had desired to talk to him about her new straw bonnet, or on any other immaterial subject; for he had hoped to rest his mind as well as his eyes in this dim hour of twilight; and a little frivolous chat with those they love is the best refreshment to sensible hard-working men of busy habits. It is only those who lead idle lives, or whose daily employments bring with them no wear of intellect, who like, if they have any minds at all, to exercise them in serious, discussion around their own fire sides. But Mr. Morgan saw that his daughter was deeply interested in the subject she had started; and he knew that often, when the young are eagerly seeking counsel or sympathy in their mental troubles, a cold rejoinder, or an ill-timed jest, will close up the open heart, which, half in pride, and half in shame, resolves to make no more unvalued confidences. He therefore kindly pre- | pared to follow his daughter's lead: but, not knowing | how far she meant to push her researches this evening, he merely said, "My dear Isabella, they are, and they are not the rich are seldom hung or transported for their crimes, but you must be aware of the difference of their temptations. Among the rich, I suppose, you would include such as ourselves, who inhabit two parlours and a study, and keep a pony carriage;-you mean, in fact, all who are above want, and who hold a place in society?" Yes; Isabella meant to pass amongst the rich,-her case otherwise would fall to the ground,-so she agreed to be numbered amongst the wealthy, and thus proceeded :- "I know, papa, that the poor have great temptations which we never feel; particularly as to dishonesty, and poaching, and drunkenness, and all those sort of things; and they have not such good examples and instructions as we have from their childhood; so our principles ought, of course, to be much better than theirs; and I am sure much more must be expected from us in many ways. But that is not what I mean; it seems to me they have not the same feelings and affections that we have; and that is what puzzles me :-natural affection, surely, ought to be the same in all, that cannot depend on education. Yet, since I have seen more of the poor lately, now I am the only one at home, it does seem to me that they don't love their parents, and brothers, and sisters, as we do: that they are always thinking first of themselves, and are not at all ashamed of it; and it comes into my head very often, that they cannot be born with the same feelings that we have, for our love comes so naturally; but then, again, it seems wicked to think we are really superior to the rest of our fellow-creatures because we are so fortunate as to be better off in the world. I wish I knew the truth!" The tears that came into her eyes showed how seriously her mind was perplexed, and her father applied himself to satisfy her as well as he could: "There is nothing wicked in your feelings, my dear. The condition of the world, of ourselves, and our fellowcreatures, is a subject full of perplexities, daily and hourly increasing to a thoughtful disposition, which can only be solved in a spirit of faith and patience. The inequalities of our stations, when they first strike a young mind, appear an overwhelming difficulty. It is natural to feel, What am I, and what are my family and friends, that we should enjoy plenty and comfort, and leisure all day long to do what we please,-amusement when we are well, and attendance when we are sick,while a much larger proportion of our fellow-creatures, by some of whom we are always surrounded, have none of these blessings in their full extent, and many are daily suffering from the want of all? But this view of the case is not exactly what you mean to bring before me now; though I dare say it is a thought that has often floated through your mind." Isabella confessed that it had. are not so very strange and shocking, since I can guess at some without your telling me. But now let me hear what you met with particularly to-day at Susan Parker's to distress you more. She is a good, respectable young woman, and a favourable sample of her own class. She seems recovering now, and is getting over the loss of her baby, I hope?" 'Oh, yes," said Isabella, rather angrily, "she gets over that very well! You know, papa, her baby and Eliza's were born just at the same time, five weeks ago: and the day after Maria went away to stay with her, I walked up to Susan Parker's about the gruel and the baby-clothes, and she was very well, she said; and I saw her and her baby; and her sister from Cobden was come to nurse her. I thought how comfortable they must be together, for Maria was so delighted to go to Eliza, and I know the last time they wanted it very much, if you would have consented; and they were so glad when you said Eliza might have her now. And Susan Parker has two other little children nearly the age of Eliza's; and, altogether, I thought it must be just as they were at Coldwell, only, of course, every thing smaller and poorer: so I said to Susan Parker, How glad you must be that your father and mother can spare your sister to come to you now; I hope she will be able to stay a good while.' Mrs. Parker did not seem to think much of the pleasure of it, but she did say, Yes, 'tis a very good thing as I can have her; I could not get along without somebody; and she's very handy, and it comes cheaper than a regular woman ; but I hope by next week I shall be able to do without her.' I thought she was quite ungracious; but her sister did not appear at all hurt, and said she hoped so too, for she seemed getting on quite nicely: and so, I thought again, it must be only their way of wishing each other well. Now you know, papa, a few days afterwards poor Susan caught cold, and was dangerously ill, and in the middle of it her baby died, and I did not see them again till this morning, when you sent me about the broth. She was very weak and poorly, and was sitting by the fire, with a blanket wrapped round her; and her sister was there too. I did not mean to say anything about the baby, but she inquired after Eliza's; and when I told her it was very well, she said, 'I'm glad of it; 'twould be a sad job, I dare say, for Mrs. Dawson to have lost it: and then I said, I was very sorry for her, but I hoped she would not grieve much about it,-without quite thinking what I was saying; and it struck me directly I was very unfeeling to talk in that way, when the poor child had not been buried a week. But she said directly, 'No, miss, I don't grieve for it now-it seemed hard to part with it at first, but the poor little baby is out of all its troubles, and, as my husband says, 'tis a folly to take on now,-for God will provide for it better than we could. 'Taint the same with us as 'tis with gentlefolks.' To be sure, she seemed ready to cry; so perhaps she did feel more than she acknowledged:but, as to her sister Sally, she said, downright, that 'twas a blessed thing when the poor baby was taken, for it was so terrifying the last two nights, nobody could get a wink of sleep. Well, after this, I scarcely knew how to talk to them; they took everything so differently from what I expected; but I thought I must be right at last, when I said to Sally, How very fortunate it was that you were not gone before Susan was taken so much worse, how sorry you would have been if you had le her too soon!' So Sally said directly, Yes, 'twas a very lucky thing for she, as the carrier could not take me the day before ;--I don't know what she would have done, poor soul! I sat up with her three nights, and nobody to help me; but a neighbour, now and then, came in for an hour or so,--and then she was always wanting something or another! I've had no rest day nor night! so many fancies to be sure! As soon as she'd got one thing, 'twer'n't right,-she must have something else! And one day she was not quite in her mind, and "You see," said her father kindly, "your difficulties she kept calling out every minute to send for her hus band; she wanted him! Lord bless you,' says I, 'Susan, do hold your tongue, and don't keep on so-There's your poor husband's been up with you half the night, and now he's gone to his work, and who's to pay his wages if you sends for him home every minute!-I'm sure Farmer Curtis won't! And how are you to do without the money now, I should like to know-such an expense as 'tis with your illness day and night? So I heartened her up, what with one thing and another, and she's much better now, you see, miss, and only wants good living to come round again; and I hopes I shall get home next week, for I'm a most worn out.' Well, just then, papa, she said she must go and see after the children in the lane, little troublesome things, or they'd be getting into mischief. So she ran out; and I felt glad she was gone, for I was quite disgusted with her; and I could not help observing to Susan that her sister seemed to want to get back very much; and Susan said she hoped, in another week, she would be able to do without her, 'twas a great expense to have anybody for five weeks; and when people sat up, and worked so hard, they must have something more than common. I do assure you, papa, she seemed to think of the tea and sugar her sister drank more than any thing else; and then she said that Sally wanted to get back, for she could not afford to pay her much besides her keep; and then I exclaimed, To be sure, you don't pay your own sister for nursing you!' And she looked as much surprised at me as I was at her; and said: 'Oh, yes! she could not expect Sally to come for nothing; but 'twasn't much; and then Sally came in again, thumping one of the children, which was roaring with all its might; and I felt so shocked with them both for their selfishness and hardheartedness that I came away directly. Now, papa, how could I help comparing them with my own two sisters, who are just in the same situation? Maria would think nothing a hardship, I am sure, if Eliza were ill like Susan Parker; and they are so delighted to be together, I am afraid Maria will scarcely like to come home again. I never used to think there was any goodness in being fond of one's own family: I supposed it was all natural,-but it does not seem so with the poor people!-What can make the great difference, papa, which you must plainly see there is between us? Now only read, once more, part of Maria's last letter." It began with the interesting details of Mrs. Dawson's convalescence, and thus went on :-“ I am so delighted to be with dear Eliza, who says I am most useful to her, that I can never thank you enough for letting me come; and we both hope you will consent to my staying a fortnight longer. We spend our time so happily!--I am a great deal in her room, reading to her; and I nurse the baby very often; and when I am down stairs I have the two elder children, for their own nurse is gone home ill, and Eliza does not like them trusted entirely to Lucy, though she is very steady; and they are so good, they are no trouble. And I go to her school once or twice a week; and I have been very busy in the greenhouse with the gardener; and I order the dinner, and keep the accounts. But, with all this, I have found time for riding; and I have been out most days with Mr. Dawson, on the nicest pony: and he shows me a beautiful country, and I have made some sketches near home; and now Eliza and I both go out in the open carriage, which we enjoy very much. We have not had any company, of course, only some of Mr. Dawson's family for a day or two; and when his sisters were here we had a great deal of music together. Eliza desires me to tell you she has had the toothache these last few days, and so she thinks she is entitled to keep me till it is gone: as you promised not to recall me till she was quite well again." Mr. Morgan laid down the letter, and Isabella exclaimed 66 I do see a great difference between them," replied her father, "greater, I think, than you yourself perceive; but, as you have been all day in an investigating mood, how has it escaped your penetration, that the difference of their situations is so entire as scarcely to afford any room for comparison between them! Both are staying from home, I grant you, with a married sister, but all the other circumstances of the case are so totally opposite, that I cannot imagine them to have one feeling in common. "It seems they have not," replied Isabella; "but really, papa, I don't think the two cases can be so very different. I know Susan Parker and her sister have not the same luxuries that my sisters are enjoying, and they cannot spend their time in the same way; they have no carriage and no green-house, and they can't read such interesting books as we do; but then, their own occupations, I suppose, are the same interest to them as ours are to ourselves; and I don't understand why the pleasure of being together again ought not to be as great in every rank of life. Then, I was always told, that what we have never been accustomed to, we don't miss; and I have never pitied the poor for not having a carriage, and servants, and other comfortable things, any more than I have thought of pitying ourselves because we have not a lady's-maid and a housekeeper, as many people have." Nor would I wish you," rejoined her father, “to expend your pity on either case. Those who have never enjoyed luxuries cannot, certainly, feel the want of them as much as others who lose them. The same may be said with respect to what we call common comforts, of which the cottagers have, at all times, a very scanty allowance; but there are privations and hardships which must be felt alike by all who are made of flesh and blood; and, under these trials, I grant you that the patience and temper of the poor generally give way; and their good offices, in a lingering illness, lose much of their value, in our eyes, by the ungracious manner in which they are often tendered: but these trials never fall with their full weight on the rich, as we have agreed to call ourselves; and we can claim no merit for carrying our small burdens more gracefully than they drag along their heavy load. Sally told me nearly every thing that you heard with so much displeasure; and allowing for a bruquerie of manner, I thought it all very reasonable, and was pleased with her as a sensible active young woman; but, at your age, perhaps, I should have felt as you do. Her mother takes in washing, and the two women support themselves and the father entirely by it. Now Sally is the main-stay, for the mother has bad health; and, whilst she is away, they must hire a woman twice a-week to help. Mrs. Mills works very hard to get on with that; and both the daughters agreed she could not stand it long. Susan Parker only pays her sister as much as they are obliged to give the washerwoman, that they may not lose every way. I am sure you will be glad to hear that she makes no profit from her nursing. Now what was Sally doing when you were there?" "She was hard at work washing; and I have always seen her busy about something." "Just consider, my dear Isabella, what sort of a visit hers has been. She has sat up, night after night; and, at the best, has slept with her sister, and had her rest constantly broken by the sick woman, or the poor baby. Who do you think has dressed and looked after the other children,-mended their clothes and their father's, -got through their washing, cooked their victuals, and attended besides to the whims and fancies of a poor half-delirious creature? She seems to have soothed her in a rough way, to be sure; but what time had she for the gentle humouring and management with which one lady might wait upon another? Besides all this, think of the constant attention to economy that is necessary -not to waste a spoonful of tea or a handful of coals feeling, most likely, feverish and poorly herself, wanting the feelings of her poorer friends thus vindicated, and better food than common, and knowing that her brother-placed more on an equality with her own; and she was in-law could hardly afford to keep her at all. Surely it most vexed with herself for having thought a whole is no disgrace to the poor girl, that she is quite tired morning on the subject without having struck out what out, and anxious to get away! Now, as you insist on appeared now the plain truths of the case; but she still comparing them, let us consider what Maria has been answered evasively, and in rather a mournful tone:doing at the same time." "You will say, I know," interrupted Isabella, "that Eliza has not required the same nursing as Susan Parker, and so the case is different; but indeed, papa, I am sure Maria would have nursed her day and night if she had been very ill, and she would never have named her own fatigue, especially before Eliza; but she would not even have thought of it herself." "I trust and believe she would not," replied Mr. Morgan; "but our school of good manners is much stricter than theirs; such an outbreak of impatience as Sally Mills's, from one lady to another, would be contrary to the habits and modes of proceeding which we have been trained to observe, and would therefore be felt by the invalid as an intentional cruelty. But it is not so with them they are given to plain speaking, and accustomed to get and to take hard blows from each other; you did not think yourself that Susan seemed to feel her sister was unkind?" : "No; I can't say that I did; and that provoked me again, I thought she should have felt it." Mr. Morgan smiled, and warned his daughter not to go to the cottage any more, or she would certainly set the sisters quarrelling in good earnest, whilst trying to teach them high notions of benevolence and fine feeling. "But I cannot let you off," he continued, "about Maria. What have been her fatigues and privations? Perhaps she has sometimes been sitting in Eliza's room, when she would have preferred a walk, whilst the day was fine; but I am quite at a loss what greater inconvenience to surmise for her. Can you help me to think of any?" Isabella was silent. "Even if dear Eliza had been seriously ill, and had required her constant care, the trial would have fallen very far short of Sally Mills's. There would have been nurses to assist, servants to wait on the children, medical advice at all hours, and no thought of economy in anything. But, as it is, what has Maria's visit been but one of uninterrupted pleasure--as I hoped it would be when she went? She has had leisure for reading, drawing, and music; and, when away from Eliza, a most agreeable companion in your brother-in-law, who always spoils you both. She is the sister, and the guest, and so made more of than she can be at home. Besides, Mr. Dawson's establishment commands luxuries and elegancies which we cannot afford; and there is something in all that." "Oh, papa, papa!" cried Isabella, almost in tears, you don't think we care more about Eliza because she is richer? It is not for their horses, and carriages, and green-house, that we like to go there! We should love them just as much if they were a great deal poorer than ourselves; indeed, papa, you don't think very well of your own daughters!" I My dear," said her father, "you mistake me. think I have three very good girls, and I am truly thankful for the blessing. It is you who do not keep close to your own subject: we are comparing the two sisters, on your suggestion: I tell you I should never have thought of it, but since you bring them before me for judgment, I must declare that it is most unjust to condemn Sally because she does not act and speak like Maria. If your sister were to stay at Coldwell on the same terms for a twelvemonth, what would she have done that would equal Sally's exertions in her sister's cottage for one fortnight ?" Isabella had no reply ready for this searching question. She felt driven from the high ground whence she had been so anxious gracefully to descend, and the sensation was different. She was not sorry, though, to have "Then I suppose, papa, you think, that, if ever we were really tried with great fatigue, and anxiety, and poverty, as I know ladies sometimes come to be, we should lose our tempers, and get as snappish and impatient as Sally Mills?" No," said her father; "I should still hope better things of you. You are very young, my dear; but I see no reason to suppose that your character will be inferior to your sisters'; and of them I can say that their duties have not invariably been pleasant ones, for I have known their patience and temper tried at different times fully as much as is common at their age, and in their station of life; and I have had the happiness of seeing that, on the whole, they stood the trials well. "I believe that those who show a conscientious regard to their duties in smaller matters, whatever they may be, for they cannot always be plasant,-will not be found wanting if the time of strong mptation or trouble should arrive. I have generally seen this to be the case; and most painful would it be to me to imagine my own daughters would prove an exception. But I wish to impress on you that we cannot be sure of ourselves; we cannot even be sure of those we love best, under circumstances of trial which have never yet been experienced. How Maria would act, if she and Eliza were suddenly reduced to a state at all resembling Susan Parker and her sister, we cannot therefore tell; and I hope we shall never know. But those who have been differently brought up from their birth have, by nature I would say, if it were not a contradiction, but have at least acquired from second nature, a courteousness of manner and a self-restraint quite unknown to the lower ranks. Part of what displeased you in these two women was, I grant, human selfishness undisguised by civility; but the greatest part was only a bluntness of speech, neither intended nor taken as offence. "Has my explanation satisfied you, my dear Isabella, that we are not on all points so much better than our poorer fellow-creatures?" Isabella declared that it had :-and so, relieved from the feeling of great moral superiority, which had been distressing her for some hours, she cheerfully began making tea, and the discourse wandered, as usual, into different channels. M. C. ACCOUNT OF A JEWISH WEDDING. WITH pleasure I acquicsced in the proposal of an American lady, to accompany her on a wedding visit to | the family of a fair "Jessica," the daughter of a Bagdat merchant in the fort. Leaving our residence for this purpose together, we threaded the crowded and narrow of a portion of the populous bazaars, until then unways known to me; and, as the palkees neared each other, and I caught occasional glimpses of my veiled companion, her gorgeous tiara, and flashing jewels, the strange locality, and the novelty of the expedition, brought the inimit able tales of the Arabian Nights strongly to remem brance; and I almost imagined myself attending the splendid wife of Haroun al Raschid, through her ancient city of Tabriz. Arrived at our destination, we were introduced into a large upper apartment, where | several turbaned infants lay sleeping on Arab mats, attended by Jewish women, having small chowries to protect their repose. After a short detention, a distant door opened, and the bride, with her mother and sisters, gave us a most courteous welcome. As the appearance and attire of the younger women nearly resembled each other, I shall content myself with attempting to describe the person of the lady, for whom our visit was most particularly intended. The bride was certainly not more than fourteen years of age; yet, notwithstanding her extreme youth, there was no lack of feminine expression, in her fair and placid countenance. Her eyes were hazel, and her soft features differed from the common Jewish physiognomy, which, however handsome in youth, frequently acquires harsh distinctiveness at a maturer age. It is customary for the Jewish women to marry at an early period; and the elder sister of the bride, a girl about sixteen, was, I found, the mother of two of the sleeping infants, who had first attracted my attention. The costume of the fair Jewess brought to my remembrance, yet, "with a difference," Mr. Lane's admirable sketch of that adopted by the dancing girls of Cairo. It consisted of a fine white muslin under-dress, plaited in exquisitely small folds from the throat to the waist, and felling to the embroidered yellow slippers, shrouding pretty feet. A satin tunic of Tyrian purple, sloped ‹ on the bosom, was clasped at the waist by a single st. the sleeves falling loose and open from the middle of arm, fringed with a double row of gold buttons. A shawl, of the finest loom of Cashmere, encircled the waist; and costly ornaments, worn after the usual manner, encumbered, where they could not adorn. To complete the costume, a small red velvet cap fitted closely to the head, bound round the brows with a scarf of most vivid hues, and a handkerchief depending from it at the back, passed loosely under the chin; a very trying arrangement, even to the most lovely face. With due exception to this single portion of the attire, all was tasteful and well arranged, flowing and antique; fashion in the East is not a mutable goddess; consequently, its form was probably the same with that in which the fair Esther, the advocate of her people's rights, appeared before Hegai, in the regal palace of Shushan. According to an eminently disfiguring custom among the Jewish ladies, the hair of all is parted in long crisped locks upon the forehead, and stained an orange tawny colour by the use of henna. At the back, its raven and glossy tint remains, where it is plaited in long ends, each suspending a golden coin. Observing the curiosity with which I noticed the several articles of their dress, the young Jewesses proposed that I should proceed to the dressing room, to amuse myself with an inspection of their wardrobe. The apartment was surrounded with japanned and curiously inlaid cabinets, filled with rich tunics, and various "raiment of needlework," with "vestures of gold, wrought about with divers colours." The chudders, or envelopes, destined to be worn in public, were all of fine white cotton, ingeniously embroidered, to allow the wearer full liberty of observation through the interstices of the delicately wrought flowers which composed it. With the exception of the Màlà, or talisman, the necklaces, head-ornaments, bracelets, and bangles, were chiefly composed of small coins, suspended by ornamental chains. The largest adopted for this purpose was the zechin, but many were extremely minute, with a superscription differing from any I had before seen. Three eastern languages appeared equally familiar to all the members of this family. Some jocose traveller in a continental diligence, has recorded his surprise at hearing the children of the villages speak such admirable French. A Haileybury student, groaning over the roots of the most difficult and copious language in the world, would have been similarly struck to find grammatical Arabic lisped from the mouths of babes; and Persian, soft harmonious Persian, flowing sweetly from (1) See a spirited drawing in this author's intelligent and interesting work on the "Modern Egyptians." (2) Chudder, literally a sheet. a girlish voice, and sounding as if it should be "writ on satin." With myself they chatted in the harsher Hindostanee, a language fit only to be spoken to a slave, being full of authority and command, brief and uncourteous. I am now, however, speaking somewhat ungratefully of the means by which I acquired a great deal of interesting information from my amiable companions, on the manners of their people. The bride, more particularly, gave me a distinct account of the ceremonies observed at her late marriage, which to me were quite novel. It appears that a youth desiring to form a union with one of the fair daughters of his tribe, consults his mother on the occasion, who, deciding on the maiden she prefers among her acquaintance, refers to the parents for their consent. This obtained, she formally invites her female friends to accompany her to the nomination of her son's betrothed. The intended bride, being duly acquainted with the time of the expected visit, is found seated on a rich cushion, closely veiled, her hands and feet dyed with henna, and surrounded by a group of Jewish maidens. The mother of her suitor, after a fitting conversation, presents her with a costly ring, as the act of betrothment; the women then join in singing the praises of the bride, and engage in mirth and festivity until the morrow. When the period arrives for the celebration of the marriage, a curtain is drawn across the principal apartment in the house of the bride's father, on one side of which the lady is seated, with her female relations and friends, and, on the other, the bridegroom, with the priest of the synagogue, and the male relatives of both families. A rabbi then fills a cup with wine, and drops into it metals of three kinds, copper, silver, and gold. The bridegroom, after drinking a portion of it, returns the cup to the priest; it is then carried to the bride, who, after draining the contents, throws the vessel upon the ground. When the bride, at the conclusion of this ceremony, is about to quit the apartment, a goat is slain at the threshold, and the nuptial party step over it in rotation; as the bride herself passes, a cake of unleavened bread is broken over her head, and the fragments divided among the relatives. Nuptial festivities are continued for seven days; and on the eighth a feast is given, to which the priest, relatives, and friends are generally invited. At its conclusion, every guest offers a trifling gift of money or jewels to the rabbi, who, as he accepts each, repeats aloud the name of the donor, which is received with a general cheer. An epithalamium is then sung, and the marriage is complete.-Mrs. Postans. Poetry. [In Original Poetry, the Name, real or assumed, of the Author, is printed in Small Capitals under the title; in Selections, it is printed in Italics at the end.] DESCRIPTION OF A SUMMER'S EVE. Down the sultry are of day The burning wheels have urged their way; (1) See Engraving, p. 385. For 'twas but two nights before, CHILDHOOD'S SORROW.! On! childhood's woe is bitter; The fountam in its gush. It is a sight for pity, That tearless, choking grief, When sobs are inly struggling, That may not find relief. Alas! when age forgetteth The pangs of early years, And striveth to debar them The privilege of tears. Ye may forbid the murmur, Nor yet for crying spare; But chide ye not their weeping, Whose lot it is to bear. Those tears that flow so quickly Shall prove an April shower, That passeth soon, and leaveth No stain upon the flower. Woe worth the worldly wisdom, That, in its iron mood, H. K. White. Would teach the young heart hardness, And deem such hardness good! The stoic's stern enduring Is no lesson of our God; He would not have His children Miscellaneous. "I have here made only a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own, but the string that ties them."-Montaigne. THE austere lectures which he (Lord Ellenborough) sometimes read flippant pedantry or hopeless imbecility, are often remembered and qu with malicious glee, for they possess a character of quaint and grave sarcasm peculiar to the man. An eminent conveyancer, who prided himself on having answered thirty thousand cases, came express from the Court of Chancery to the King's Bench to argue a question of real property. Taking for granted, rather too rashly, that common lawyers are little more acquainted with the Digest of Cruise than with the laws of China, he commenced his erudite harangue by observing "that an estate in fee-simple was the highest estate known to the law of England." "Stay, stay!" interrupted the Chief Justice, with consummate gravity, "let me write that down." He wrote, and read slowly and deliberately the note which he had taken of this A. B. C. axiom "An estate in fee-simple is the highest estate known to the law of England. The Court, sir, is indebted to you for the information." There was only one person present who did not perceive the irony, and that was the learned counsel who incurred it. Bat though impervious to irony, it was impossible even for his self-love to avoid understanding the home-thrust lunged by the judge at the conclusion of his harangce. He had exhausted the year-books and all the mysteries of real property law, in a sleepy oration which effectually cleared the court. Insensible alike to the grim repose of the Bench and the yawning impatience of the ushers, when, at the close of some parenthetical and apparently interminable sentences, the clock struck four, and the judges started to their feet, he appealed to know when it would be their pleasure to hear the remainder of Lis argument. "Mr. P." rejoined the chief, "we are bound to hear you, and shall do so on Friday, but pleasure kas been long out of the question."--Townsend's Lives of Eminent Judges. Ir is a fearful mistake to believe, that, because our wishes are not accomplished, they can do no harm.Gertrude. A MAN finds in the productions of Nature an inexhaustible stock of material upon which he can empley himself, without any temptations to envy or malevolence; and has always a certain prospect of discover ing new reasons for adoring the Sovereign Author of the universe.Dr. Johnson. YOUNG minds cannot be too strongly impressed with the simple wonders of creation by which they are surrounded. In the race of life they may be passed by, the occupation of existence may not admit attention to them, or the unceasing cares of the world may smother early attainments, but they can never be injurious: they will give a bias to a reasoning mind, and tend, in some after thoughtful sobered hour, to comfort and to soothe.-Knapp. (1) From Scenes of Childhood. Nottingham: Dearden, 1843. London:-Published by T.B. SHARPE, 15, Skinner Street, Snow-hill Printed by R. CLAY, Bread Street Hill. |
