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diameter decreases as the distance increases, to find what the apparent diameter of the sun would be at double its present distance, we have this proportion, viz:

"As twice the present distance is to the present distance, so is the apparent diameter at the present distance to the apparent diameter, as it would be at double the present distance." Now if the real diameter of the sun was only sixty-four minutes, then at 95,000,000 of miles, it being reduced to thirty-two minutes, I agree at the distance of 190,000,000, it would be reduced to twelve minutes. But, unfortunately for my mathematical review. er, there is said to be a real diameter of 780,000 miles to begin with; and which he has very prudently kept out of view. He sends me back to my "horn book ;" but really I think he requires one as much as I do. He will now have no objection, I presume, to my stating the question, as I understand it. If a real diameter of 750,000 miles is reduced to an apparent diameter of thirty-two minutes at the distance of 95,000,000 of miles, what will the apparent diameter of thirty-two minutes be reduced to at 190,000,000? Or at the same distance 95,000,000? His "figures" prove very conclusively, that the real diameter of the sun ought to be no more than sixty-four minutes, instead of 780,000,000 miles. This is all they do prove. And it may be true too, for

I will now ask my reviewer, if the exact distance of the earth from the sun has ever been ascertained? I know what the mathematicians say, and I know what Sir John Herschel says of their "ill-conditioned triangles." Well, my reviewer must know that the exact distance is not known; then why would he so far attempt to deceive his readers as to say that the practical astronomer made any use of either the distance or velocity of the pla. nets? Practical astronomy has been in a state of uniform improvement for thousands of years, and has at length arrived to, perhaps, the highest degree of perfection, as it relates to our own solar system. But this science has progressed regularly-as well under the burthen of the loops and curves of the Egyptian phy. sical system; and at times and places with the most absurd schemes of both distances and motions, until the time of Newton; who was a practical astronomer, and who combined his physical views with his practical views, or rather practical facts, and which he so intermixed with his physical views as to triumph over all opposition at the time-and strange as it may appear, though practically true, yet, physically, it is but a tissue of errors from beginning to end. My reviewer may be a very good practical astronomer for aught I know; but he had better let the physical department alone. Brewster says, "We have already discovered the absolute motion of the solar system, and it now re-aught I know, or he knows. We see a dark body surrounded mains to discover the means by which the Almighty has bound the whole together." Is my reviewer afraid that adequate means may be discovered? And the very means, too, pointed out by Newton himself? He ought to recollect that Galileo had learned judges and Fulton had sneerers in abundance. I put him in mind of these occurrences for his own good, not for mine. His opposition does me no injury-it only proves his own attachment to educational error. I wish him to review my paper on the tides, and review it according to his views of dynamics-his views of mechanics.

To show how the planets and satellites are wielded by electromagnetic machinery, may lead the way to discoveries of more importance than even the discoveries which followed the use of steam. That force which keeps the sun and planets in their places, and drives them on in paths, if once understood, mechanism may receive a new impulse from new agencies, heretofore but little thought of.

My reviewer knows that the two departments of the science have been by modern astronomers kept separate, and are treated

separately in all our books of astronomy. He also knows that many efforts have been made to place the physical department on a more satisfactory basis. He shows from his own review, that he would willingly do this himself; but the difficulty to be encountered in so applying the ether of Newton, as to produce the effects, has so far prevented it. This difficulty has arisen chiefly from our want of knowledge of the true nature of magne. tism. But if he will look around him, he will find that this knowledge is beginning to display itself in several ways. This alone, independently of other considerations, shows the onward progress

of the sciences.

He seems to lay great stress on what has been called Kepler's rule, "That the squares of the periodical times are as the cubes of the distances." Well-admitting this, and what then? It is of no use to the practical astronomer, and for the plainest of reasons, the exact distance of the earth from the sun is not known. The practical astronomer requires exact data in his department. He knows the times and positions of all the planets, and their satellites. He knows that they are all more or less disturbed in their paths, and the physical astronomer teaches him to consider these disturban

ces the results of their mutual attractions. Now I ask my reviewer what other aid does the practical astronomer derive from the physical department? The discovery of the planetary purturba. tions belongs to the practical astronomer; and it is the effects, and not the cause, that he calculates; and it is of no consequence to him whether Newton called the cause attraction, gravitation, or any thing else. But, physically, it is of vast importance for the philosopher and the mechanic to ascertain, if it can be ascertain

ed, how the electro-magnetic material is arranged so as to produce mechanically the effects the planets exhibit to the mathema. tical eye of the practical observer-the practical calculator. I say the times of the planets are proportioned to their distances from the sun, simply. Well, this rule stands on the same footing that Kepler's does. Neither is of any importance to the practical astronomer, as distance and velocity never enter into his calcu

lations.

Speaking of the sun, my reviewer says: "Since the apparent

by an immensity of light, and the inhabitants of all the planets may see it just as we do; as well the Mercurian as the Herschelian.

In conclusion, I must express my surprise, that my reviewer should have so far departed from correct quotation, as to make me say, "they are destitute of common sense"-meaning those who differ with me. Reviewers ought not to misrepresent the reviewed.

ON A MINIATURE PORTRAIT.

TO A YOUNG LADY.

I know a young lady,-pray who can she be?
If you look in the mirror perhaps you may see—
A painter once tried her resemblance to trace,
But his picture seem'd nought but a form and a face :
The form was complete, and the features were fair—
But the something, I know not, was all wanting, there.
I sought for the painter, and questioned him why
He had left out the dance of her bright, sparkling eye;
I asked him how could he neglect to embrace
The expression, along with the lines of the face;
The picture might well with the masters compare,
But the something, I know not, was all wanting, there.
I told him, moreover, the beautiful form
Stood out from the ivory, glowing and warm;
But in vain did I look for the ease and the state,
That betrayed her a goddess, at once, by her gait;
The picture was perfect, again I declare-
But the something, I know not, was all wanting, there.

The painter, impatient, made haste and rejoined--
Can man shadow forth the invisible mind?
Can aught, but Omnipotence, hope to portray
The varying grace of the spirit at play?
Then seek not that beauty, nor question me why
I traced not the spirit that sports in her eye.
Oh, then, I exclaimed, 'tis a sin to transfer
To the ivory lifeless, a being like her!
For, such must mock ever the pencil's control,
Whose forms are all life; and whose faces, all soul;
And surely the mortal deserves to be sainted,
Who the something can paint, that can never be painted!
Camden, S. C.

B. W. H.

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But while the lingering winter yet

Throws fitfully its feathery snow-The russet turf is cold and wet,

And keen the early spring winds blow,—

'Tis then the little May-Flower blooms, And in its lonely, leafless bower, Opens such treasures of perfumes

As 't were earth's only incense-flower.

Who owns ?-who loves a kindred lot?

Blest in her native sphere to move, And home, her own, sweet, hallowed spot, Cheer with her purest heart of love?

Oh, her's is bliss -the purest-best ;By woman crav'd-to woman given ;Here is her heart's sole, sacred rest, Beneath the smile of home and Heaven.

They tinge, as with sunbeams, the shadows of care;

Bid the weary forget to repine;

Wake the flowers of hope on the soil of despair,

And each vision of gladness, refine.

Like goodness, they catch an additional grace,
For every charm they impart;

And, oh! shall we ever deny them a place,
Because they are brief, in the heart?

Are beauty's warm blushes less fair to the eye,
That their life is the life of a breath?

Do roses lose fragrance, or flowers, their dye,
When fancy foretokens their death?

And shall man, the false ingrate, forever invest
Each bliss with a premature shroud;

Make life's sunlight more fleet, because fleeting at best,
And soon to be dimm'd by a cloud?

Earth were but a desert, if clouds were no more;
Seal up the deep fountains of Heaven,
And seed-time and harvest and fruit would be o'er,
Though sunshine eternal were given.
But the sands of the tropic, or ice of the pole,
Would out-rival humanity's clod,

If clouds never shadow'd the sky of the soul,
With their dews from the river of God.

Then hush'd be the murmur that pines at the thought,
How the brightest are soonest to fade;

In various colors life's tissue is wrought,
And light ever softens the shade.

If 'tis wisdom to turn from each good as it falls,
Because blessings come wing'd for a flight—
Let us shut out the glory of day from our halls,
For e'en day must be follow'd by night.
Camden, S. C.

THE ELYSIAN ISLE.

Maine.

ELIZA.

BY PARK BENJAMIN.

LIGHTS OF LIFE.

BY B, W. H,

Life's canopy sparkles with hues that are given
To glow with a meteor smile;

Like tints that spring out, when the windows of Heaven
Are ope'd on this air-girted isle:

Tho' transient their sojourn, yet large is their sum;
Tho' fleeting, yet brightly they glow;

They are brief, but to gladden our souls when they come,

Not to waken our tears when they go.

Yon glorious traveller, whose path is the sky,
No glory like their's can unroll;

He comes--and his coming gives joy to the eye,
But a day-spring is their's, to the soul.
In pencils of light they illumine our path,
As if shower'd from cherubic wings;
For a token of Heaven their radiance hath,
Which Fancy adores while she sings.

"It arose before them the most beautiful island in the world.” Irving's Columbus.

"And to the voyager's eye, this island, clothed in the richest verdure, and bathed by the warm airs of the tropics, seemed to Anon. realize the poet's fabled Elysium."

It was a sweet and pleasant isle-
As fair as isle could be;

And the wave that kissed its sandy shore
Was the wave of the Indian sea.

It seemed an emerald set by Heaven
On the Ocean's dazzling brow--
And where it glowed long ages past,
It glows as greenly now.

I've wandered oft in its vallies bright,

Through the gloom of its leafy bowers, And breathed the breath of its spicy gales And the scent of its countless flowers.

I've seen its bird with the crimson wing
Float under the clear blue sky;
I've heard the notes of its mocking bird
On the evening waters die.

In the starry noon of its brilliant night,
When the world was hushed in sleep-
I dreamed of the shipwrecked gems that lie
On the floor of the soundless deep.

And I gathered the shells that buried were
In the heart of its silver sands,
And tossed them back on the running wave,
To be caught by viewless hands.

There are sister-spirits that dwell in the sea,
Of the spirits that dwell in the air;
And they never visit our Northern clime,
Where the coast is bleak and bare:

But around the shores of the Indian isles
They revel and sing alone-
Though I saw them not, I heard by night
Their low, mysterious tone.

Elysian isle! I may never view

Thy birds and roses more,

Nor meet the kiss of thy loving breeze
As it seeks thy jewelled shore,—

Yet thou art treasured in my heart
As in thine own deep sea;

And, in all my dreams of the spirits' home,
Dear isle, I picture thee!

NOTES OF A TOUR

This

ravines which discharge the mountain streams. line of mountain is in fact the great bank of the second plateau, elevated about one thousand feet above the former. In ascending to its top from Sparta, I observed that the horizontal limestone lay six hundred feet or thereabouts in depth above the lower plateau; then eighty or one hundred feet of sandstone-then as much limestone again; but finally all was sandstone to the top. This being attained, the road passes over a plain as broad as the Barrens below, that is, about fifteen or twenty miles. The surface is cut at intervals by ravines, but no sharp ridges occur. The road crosses the plateau diagonally, and the whole distance across, from Sparta to the eastern base, is about forty miles. The soil on the top is very poor, too poor to nourish stout forests, such as clothe the mountains of Virginia. Yet some families endeavor to extract a living from these dry sands. Chalybeate springs and a pure atmosphere, attract some visitors from the lower country in the hot season. I found a house, at the distance of nine miles from Sparta, that was filled with boarders, who drank the water of a fine chalybeate, spouting from the rocks in a ravine shaded with evergreens. It is only in a few ravines that I saw the Rhododendron, the Kalmia, the Hemlock, (Pinus Canadensis,) and other evergreens, so common in our mountains.

After travelling a few miles further over this plateau, I began to see the eastern ridge of the mountain stretch along the horizon. It rises about five hundred feet above the plateau, running in a single straight line parallel with the western bank of the plateau, and broken at intervals of some miles with gaps. The road leads

FROM VIRGINIA TO TENNESSEE, IN THE MONTHS to one of these gaps, and passes through with scarcely

OF JULY AND AUGUST, 1838.

By Rev. H. Ruffner, D.D., President of Washington College.

CHAPTER IV.

From West Tennessee, by the eastern route to Virginia.

From Sparta I crossed the Cumberland mountains by the main road from Nashville to Knoxville. These mountains part from the more eastern ridges of the Alleghanies, between Virginia and Kentucky, where they divide the waters of the Tennessee from those of the Kentucky and Cumberland rivers. They run by a straight course through the state of Tennessee, on the southern border of which they are broken by a chasm, affording the great Tennessee just room to press its contracted waters through, with a swift but unbroken current. The mountains extend into Alabama, till they gradually sink into the lowlands near the gulf.

The Alleghany mountains generally, are cut into sharp ridges and spurs, with narrow vales between them, or else broad vallies of limestone separating the chief parallel ridges. The Cumberland mountain, is of a different character: it is a single ridge with two broad plateaus or tables of land on the western side. In the preceding chapter, I described the Barrens of Tennessee, as a broad level space of sandy country, about four hundred feet above the rich limestone district of Middle Tennessee. This is the first plateau of the Cumberlands. You no sooner reach this upper level from below, than you see what is called the mountain, rise before you in a long straight line, broken at intervals by

an ascent, at a large farm called the Crab-Orchard. The soil improves in the neighborhood of the ridge; the sandstone ceases, and limestone appears again, seeming to constitute the body of the ridge. But this is not the recent shell-limestone of West Tennessee; it is the old blue limestone, in shapeless masses, so common in the valley of Virginia; and it shows that here, as well as elsewhere, the mountains are older than the plains.

Immediately on passing through the gap, the road begins to descend into the great valley of East Tennessee. The descent is much less than the total ascent on the opposite side, because this great valley is a much higher country than the low lands of the west.

To my sorrow I missed the sight of a remarkable curiosity, in descending the mountain; because I did not hear of its existence, until I had left it far behind. Near Nance's tavern, on the mountain side, a brook falls in a single cascade, to the depth of at least three hundred feet, into a narrow gloomy ravine. The bottom is said to be a wild romantic place, overshadowed with precipices and trees, where the visitor's sense of loneliness is increased to awe, and almost to terror, by the perpetual dash of the torrent, that seems to fall from the skies into this dusky glen. The scene inspires that sort of horror, which freezes the veins in reading stories of robbers, caves and deeds of blood, in solitary places. Such a deed was actually committed here, two or three years ago. A traveller known to have on his person a large sum of money, stopped at the tavern, and out of curiosity, clambered down the rocks by himself, into this wild chasm. Not returning to the

house, he was sought for, and his body found with the marks of murder on it, but no money. He lies buried, where he so mysteriously lost his life; and now the visitor, who descends to see this romantic water-fall, must stand by the grave of the unfortunate stranger, who "sleeps alone."

From the mountain to Knoxville, the road passes through a country of little interest to a traveller. There are vales of limestone land, more or less fertile, and watered by springs: the hills are dry and gravelly, and covered with oaks, sometimes goodly timber; but too often, especially about the Clinch river, miserable scrubs of the black jack pattern. The Clinch is a pleasant sort of river, one hundred yards wide, with some fertile low grounds. At Kingston, I looked for a fine water scene, at the junction of the Clinch with the great Tennessee; but I was disappointed: the junction, more than a mile below the village, is hidden from view by the dry gravelly hills of black jacks-the very image of tame poverty.

papers, the sickness appears to have been unusually severe, owing probably to the extraordinary drought. I found in this instance a confirmation of the remark formerly made, that opposite sides of stagnant waters are not equally affected by the pestilential vapors. The eastern, which is the leeward side of this creek, is more sickly than the western; because the western winds prevail, and blow the miasma, towards the cast.

My stay in Knoxville was too short to furnish me with notes on the character and manners of the inhabitants. Information leads me to believe that they are moral, sociable and hospitable, with all the essentials of true politeness, but with less refinement of mind and manners, than may be found in some older towns.

My venerable friend, Judge White, of the United States Senate, advised me to pursue a route to Abingdon in Virginia, less direct, but more pleasant, than the one usually travelled, through the Sequatchy valley.

Through the one street of the village, the road strikes | A stranger, he observed, would find more interesting off into the dry gravelly hills of black jacks, avoiding both rivers, and threading the intermediate country. The season was hot and dry; I was weary of the sandy plateaus of the mountain, and fatigued with travelling from Nashville on horseback; I longed for interesting scenery; I looked from the tops of the dry hills for a sight of the great Tennessee-but I saw nought except other dry gravelly hills of black jacks; from other hill tops, I looked again—and I saw-ditto, ditto. I was in a state of mind to be easily disgusted; and disgusted I was. Disgust leaves as durable impressions as pleasure. I have, and through all my days I shall retain, in my imagination, vividly pictured, the perfect image of dry gravelly hills covered with black jacks.

Farther up the country towards Knoxville, the hills were less tame and barren, the lands between them more spacious and fertile. A few miles below Knoxville, I was at length gratified with a sight of the Holstein, the chief branch of the Tennessee, but much smaller than the main river below the Clinch. The Holstein has a clear lively current, winding among hills, and bluffs, and low grounds.

On approaching Knoxville, I was struck with the conspicuous appearance of the college, seated on the flattened summit of a round hill below the town. The chief edifice, resembles a church. This occupies the centre of the area; around three sides of which are ranges of low dormitories. The institution is attended by eighty or ninety students. Classical studies are said to be pursued here with more success than the sciences.

objects on the southern route by Dandridge, Greenville and Jonesborough; and would moreover find the less frequented way, more shaded from the scorching rays of the sun, in such hot dry weather as then prevailed. Disagreeable intelligence from home induced me, desirous as I was to take the most pleasant route, nevertheless to pursue the most direct: so I went to Rogersville by way of Rutledge, in the long narrow vale of Sequatchy. The road enters this vale a few miles above Knoxville, and pursues the middle of it in a straight course for the space of some forty miles. The vale is about two miles, often less, in width. The Chesnut ridge separates it from the valley of the Clinch on the north-western side, and a range of hills less bold and regular from the valley of the Holstein on the opposite side. It maintains strictly the character of an Appalachian valley, in its direction, its almost uniform width, its limestone soil, and its being crossed by streams of water, which here cut the south-eastern hills and flow into the Holstein. It is nearly all under cultivation; the road lies between an almost uninterrupted succession of fields, with scarcely a tree to shelter the traveller from the fierce blaze of the sun, in dog-days. For a while the pleasant features of the scene, and the repose which seemed to reign among the inhabitants of this secluded valley, amused me; but the tedious uniformity of the whole, united with the fatigue of travelling, and the ceaseless glow of the sunshine, made it so wearisome at last, that I almost wished for a mile or two of the dry gravelly hills covered with black jacks. On the second day of my journeying through this quiet

change, in the loftier swell and closer approximation of the mountains ahead; the valley seemed to divide-a narrow portion of it ran up between the high mountains, another turned to the right: this latter was my route, and conducted me again to the valley of the Holstein. The scenery was now both various and pleasant. The road wound up again among the hills, and led me, by ups and downs, and turns of all sorts, among fields, rocks and hills, to Rogersville, two miles from the river.

I was dissappointed in my expectations of Knox-length of valley, I saw before me an evident sign of ville-I mean its external appearance. I had expected to find in the chief town of East Tennessee, something more than three hundred houses scattered over the hilly ground about two neighboring creeks. Near the upper and larger of these creeks, there is a street which for a hundred yards is almost compactly built. Unfortunately for this, the most populous quarter of the town, the creek is a mill-stream; dams have collected a large mass of stagnant water, and consequently the neighborhood is annually infested with fevers. The yearly visitation had already begun, when I arrived there about the 3d of August. From recent notices in the

Near the village I observed among the gray limestones, some rocks of extraordinary color. On breaking

off some fragments, I found them to be a calcareous breccia composed of small crystalline fragments, brown and white. On alighting at the village tavern, I observed that the windows were full of polished specimens of this breccia, exceedingly various and beautiful. Some were white, a little discolored with brownish grains; some black, but dusted with grains of lighter hue; most of them, however, were variously made up of brown and white pieces, round or angular, of different sizes and shades of color; often brilliant, and often displaying an intermixture of shells, and other animal remains, with the native stone. Some of them resembled, a good deal, the variegated marble of which the pillars in the capitol at Washington are made. Inexhaustible quarries of this marble might be opened about Rogersville. Some of it may find a market, by water carriage, down the Tennessee; but it is too remote from the seats of luxury, to be much used for ages to come, beautiful though it be. As yet but one stone cutter finds employment by it; he makes tombstones, and some articles of furniture.

Being now on the borders of Virginia, which I entered by way of Blountville, I will stop to make some observations on the country of East Tennessee.

On my return from the west, I would fain have passed through Cherokee on the southern border of East Tennessee, and the borders of the adjacent states. This last remnant of the once great territory of the Cherokees, embraces the south-western extreme of the Appalachian mountains. All reports agree in representing it as a beautiful country of hills and vallies: the hills sometimes gravelly and rather poor, but clothed with vegetation: the vallies rich and watered by perennial springs. The climate is the most temperate in the United States, and the whole region highly salubrious. Here the peach, the melon, and the grape, acquire their most delicious flavor: maize, yams and all the products of mild climates flourish abundantly. The mulberry could not find a more congenial soil and climate. The high hills and mountains will produce the grains and fruits of the north; the low warm vallies will mature some of the most valuable products of a tropical climate.

No wonder that the Cherokee loved his father-land, when it was so lovely in itself, and was moreover the seat of his tribe and the dwelling place of his fathers, from times beyond the reach of tradition. All that can attach mankind to the earth, attached him to the woody hills, the rich vales and the clear fountains of this beautiful region. No wonder that this, the most civilized of the Indian tribes, clung with fond affection to the delightful home which God had given to them:

Rogersville is a small village of sixty or seventy dwellings. Its marbles are its only distinction from ordinary villages. From this to Kingsport at the confluence of the north and south branches of the Holstein, the country presents nothing remarkable, except that the mountains in view assumed a bolder and more picturesque appearance. The road traverses an arable country of good limestone land, but hilly, as such lands commonly are. Kingsport is but a poor village; the scenery about it is, however, the finest on the whole of this route through East Tennessee. The ridge that separates the vallies of the Clinch and the Holstein | but the white man coveted, and would have it, because has been in view all the way from Kingston; but it has now risen to grandeur, and puts on quite a dominating aspect. Between the branches of the Holstein another ridge presents itself, and would seem, after running down from Virginia, to terminate here; but on turning your face southward, you observe a high ridge, arising from the rivers at their point of junction, and stretching away quite loftily towards the southwest; showing itself on examination, to be only the last mentioned ridge, continued, after a breach had been made for the south Holstein. From Ross's bridge over the north branch, a very sweet scene presents itself. You see the rivers meet a few hundred yards below, their banks shaded with fine trees; and an island just below the junction, with its thicket of willows and other trees, half hides and half displays the united waters, as they steal away under the shady foliage of the banks. This pretty scene was to me the more refreshing, because I saw it on a calm summer evening, after riding wearily under the beams of a scorching sun.

he could take it by force. A fraudulent treaty had been made, and was now, at the time of my journey in the process of execution by military coercion. The Georgians had already cast lots for their portion of the spoil, and threatened bloodshed if it were not immediately surrendered. Troops of soldiers were hunting the Indians, and driving them like cattle to the encampment. Like cattle the Indians submitted, and were peacefully gathered, preparatory to their removal. I was deterred by the confused state of the country, from taking this southern route on my way home.

The valley of East Tennessee, comprehending the space between the Cumberland mountain and the great Unaka or Iron Mountain on the south-east, is from forty to sixty miles wide, and two hundred long. It terminates in the hills of Cherokee, on the southern border between Tennessee and Georgia. It is but a continuation of the great valley of Virginia, spreading to a greater breadth by reason of the many waters which converge and form the Tennessee; thus joining Near the bridge is the residence of its wealthy pro- in one, several vallies before separated by continuous prietor, the Reverend Frederick A. Ross, whom I name mountains. The country is hilly, the atmosphere pure here as worthy of commendation for two enterprises, | and healthful. There is much good soil, but not much which, if imitated by the East Tennesseans, will greatly improve the condition of their remote valley. He has erected on the North Holstein a cotton mill with one thousand spindles. What is probably of more importance, he has planted thirty acres of the Chinese mulberry, to which the soil and climate of East Tennessee are well adapted; and so flourishing are the young trees, that by next year they will feed worms enough to make at least a thousand pounds of silk.

of first rate fertility.

The people are generally moral, sober, and plain in their manners; education is more attended to than in most parts of the south. Several institutions besides the one at Knoxville, have the name of colleges: they are rather academies, where many youth of the country obtain some knowledge of the classics and of several branches of science. The comparative poverty of the inhabitants is apparent to a traveller.

Few

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