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for familyconsumption; the Hottentot herdsmen and their families, as weil as the farmer's own household, being chiefly fed upon mutton, at least during summer, when beef could not be properly cured. The carcases were hung up in this place, it appeared, chiefly to prevent waste, by being constantly under the eye of the mistress, who, in this country, instead of the ancient Saxon title of "giver of bread" (plæfdiga lavedy, whence our term lady), might be appropriately called the "giver of flesh." Flesh and not bread, is here the staff of life, and the frontier colonists think it no more odd to have a sheep hanging in the voorhuis, than a farmer's wife in England would do to have the large household loaf placed for ready distribution on her hall table. At this very period, in fact, a pound of wheaten bread, in this quarter of the colony, was three or four times the value of a pound of animal food.

In regard to dress there was nothing very peculiar to remark. That of the females, though in some repects more slovenly, resembled a good deal the costume of the rustic classes in England about thirty or forty The men wore long loose trowsers of sheep years ago. or goat skin, tanned by their servants and made in the family. A check shirt, a jacket of coarse frieze or cot ton, according to the weather, and a broad-brimmed white hat completed the costume. Shoes and stockings appeared not to be considered essential articles of dress for either sex, and were, I find, seldom worn, except when they went to church or to merry-makings. A sort of sandals, however, are in common use, called veld schoenen (country shoes) the fashion of which was, I believe, originally borrowed from the Hottentots. They are made of raw-bullocks hide, with an upper leather of sheep or goat skin, much after the same mode as the brogues as the ancient Scottish Highlanders.

Having previously heard that the industrious dame, Juffrowe Coetzer, sometimes manufactured leather dresses for sale, I bespoke a travelling jacket and trowsers of dressed Springbok skin, the latter to be faced with leopard fur, the price of which altogether, was thirteen rix dollars, or about one pound sterling. I purchased also the skin of a very beautiful leopard, which one of the young Coetzers had lately shot, for half a pound of gunpowder.

Old Coetzer and his family, like the remote Dutch colonists generally, were extremely inquisitive, asking a great variety of questions, some of them on very trifling matters. Englishmen are apt to feel annoyed by this practice, but without sufficient reason; for although it betokens a lack of refinement, it is not at all allied to rudeness or impertinence; it is simply the result of untutored curiosity in the manners of people living in a wild and thinly inhabited country, to whom the sight of a stranger is a rare event, and by whom news of any description is welcomed with avidity. Instead, therefore, of haughtily or sullenly repelling their advances to mutual confidence, I readily answered, all questions, including those that respected my own age, the number, names, and ages of my family and relatives, the direction and extent of my present journey, and the like. In return, I plied them with similar and still more various interrogatories, to all of which they not only replied with the utmost openness, but seemed highly pleased with my frankness.

In this manner I soon learnt that my host had eight or ten brothers, all stout frontier graziers like himself, and all with numerous families. His own family consisted (if I rightly recollect) of six sons and as many daughters, several of whom were married and settled in the neighbourhood. Two of his sons, with their wives and families, were at present living at this place in cottages adjoining to his house. The old dame informed me that she was herself by birth a Jourdan, and was descended from one of the French Huguenot families, who settled in the colony after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. Her father, she said, could speak French; but she herself knew no language but Dutch. Her manner and address, however, retained something of the French urbanity and politeness, which contrasted agreeably with the Batavian bluntness of her husband.

After exhausting the usual topics of country chat, I suggested a walk round the premises, and we sallied forth, accompanied by old Winzel and his son Arned. They led us first to the orchard, which was of considerable extent, and contained a variety of fruit, all in a thriving state. The peach trees, which were now in blossom, were most numerous; but there were also abundance of apricot, almond, walnut, pear, apple, and plum tree, and whole avenues of fig and pomegranates. The outward fence consisted of a tall hedge of quinces. There was also a fine lemon grove, and a few young orange trees. The latter require to be sheltered during the winter, until they have attained considerable size, the frost being apt to blight them in this upland valley. All the other fruits are reared with care; peach trees often bearing fruit the third year after the seeds are put in the ground. From the want of care, however, or of skill in grafting, few of the fruits in this part of the colony are of superior sorts or of delicate flavour. The peaches especially are but indifferent; but as they are chiefly grown for making brandy, or to be used in a dried state, excellence of flavour is but little regarded. Some mulberry trees, which had been planted in front of the house, were large and flourishing, and produced I was informed, abundance of fruit. These were not the wild or white mulberry, raised in Europe for feeding silkworms; but the latter sort also thrive extremely well in most parts of the colony.

The kitchen garden was very deficient in neatness, but contained a variety of useful vegetables. Onions were raised in great abundance, and of a quality fully equal to those of Spain. Pumpkins, cucumbers, musk and water-melons were cultivated in considerable quantities. The sweet potatoe was also grown here. Adjoining to the garden and orchard was a small but well kept vine-yard, from which a large produce of very fine grapes is obtained, but these, as well as the peaches, are chiefly distilled into brandy.

The whole of the orchard, vineyard, and garden ground, together with twenty acres of corn land adioining, were irrigated by the waters of a small mountain rill, which were collected and led down in front of the house by an artificial canal. This limited extent was the whole that could be cultivated on a farm com

prising about six thousand acres. But this is quite sufficient for the wants of a large family; the real wealth of the farm, so far as respects marketable commodities, consisting in the flocks and herds raised on its extensive pastures. This old Winzel himself hinted, as, shutting up a gap in the garden hedge with a branch of thorny mimosa, he led us towards the kraals, or cattle folds, exclaiming, in a tone of jocund gratulation, while he pointed to a distant cloud of dust moving up the valley,-"Naar daar koomt myn kee-de beste tuin!" ("But there come my cattle, the best garden.")

On approaching the cattle-kraals, I was struck by the great height of the principal fold, which was elevated fifteen or twenty feet above the level of the adjoining plain, and my surprise was certainly not diminished when I found that the mound on the top of which the pen was constructed, consisted of a mass of hard, solid dung, accumulated by the cattle of the farm being folded for a succession of years on the same spot. The sheep folds, though not quite so elevated, and under the lee, as it were, of the bullock-kraal, were also fixed on the top of similar accumulations. The several folds (for those of the sheep and folds consisted of three divisions,) were all fenced in with branches of the thorny mimosa, which formed a sort of rampart around the margin of the mounds of dung, and were carefully placed with their prickly sides outwards, on purpose to render the enclosures more secure from the nightly assaults of the hyænas, leopards, and jackals. Against all these ravenous animals the oxen are, indeed, quite able to defend themselves; but the hyenas and leopards are very destructive to calves, foals, sheep, and goats, when they can break in upon them, which they sometimes do, in spite of the numerous watch-dogs which are kept for their protection, and the cunning jackal is not less destructive to the young lambs and kids.

While we were conversing on these topics, the clouds of dust which I had observed approaching from three different quarters, came nearer, and I perceived that they were raised by two numerous flocks of sheep, and one large herd of cattle. First came the wethers, which are reared for the market, and are often driven by the butcher's servants even to Cape Town, seven hundred miles distant. These being placed in their proper fold, the flock of ewes, ewe-goats, and lambs, was next driven in, and carefully penned in another, those having young ones of tender age being kept separate. And finally, the cattle herd came rushing on pell-mell, and spontaneously assumed their station upon the summit of the guarded mound, the milch cows only being separated in order to be tied up to stakes within a small enclosure nearer the houses, where they were milked by the Hottentot herdsmen, after their calves, which were kept at home, had been permitted to suck for a certain period. Not one of those cows, I was told, would allow herself to be milked, until her calf had first been put to her; if the calf dies, of course there is an end of her milk for that season. About thirty cows were milked; but the quantity obtained from them was scarcely as much as would have been got from eight or ten good English cows.

The farmer and his wife, with all their sons, daughters, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren who were about the place, were assiduously occupied, while the herds and flocks were folding, in examining them as they passed in, and in walking among them afterwards, to see that all was right. I was assured that, though they do not very frequently count them, they can discover at once if any individual ox is missing, or if any accident has happened among the flocks from beasts of prey or otherwise. This faculty, though the result, doubtless, of peculiar habits of attention, is certainly very remarkable; for the herd of cattle at this place amounted to nearly 700 head, and the sheep and goats to about 5,000. This is considered a very respectable, but by no means an extraordinary stock, for a Tarka grazier. Every individual of an African farmer's family, including even the child at the breast, has an interest in the welfare of the flocks and the herds. It is their

custom, as soon as a child is born, to set apart for it a certain number of the young live stock, which increase as the child grows up, and which having a particular mark regularly affixed to them, form, when the owner arrives at adult age, a stock sufficient to be considered a respectable dowry for a prosperous farmer's daughter, or to enable a young man, though he may not possess a single dollar of cash, to begin the world respectably as a Kee Boer, or grazier. After the folding of the cattle was over, my host shewed us his corn mill, which was of very small dimensions and simple construction. The water-wheel which was driven horizontally by the little canal of

irrigation on its passage to the orchard, was only about five feet in diameter, and the mill-stones not more than two. A slender iron axle, of which the lower end was fixed in the horizontal water-wheel, passing through a small hole in the centre of the nether mill-stone, was mortised into the upper one, which by this means was put in motion. The corn was supplied by an orifice in the upper stone, and the flour conveyed by a little wooden spout into a leathern bag; and this was the whole machinery. I was informed it would grind about a bushel of wheat in eight hours.

On returning to the house, the feet of all the family, commencing with Winzel and his wife, were washed in succession by an old slave woman. Supper was then served up, consisting chiefly of mutton broiled and stewed, with excellent wheaten bread, butter-milk, and some dishes of vegetables and dried fruits. Supper (avond-stuk) is the principal meal throughout the interior of the colony; the only other regular meal being breakfast, which consists of nearly the same viands, and is taken about eight in the morning. Grace was said before and after meat by one of the young girls, daughter of our host.

My companion and I slept on feather beds spread on mats for us in the voorhuis, which is the usual dormitory allotted for strangers in houses of this description, where there are seldom spare beds or bed-rooms. On subsequent occasions, when I happened to spend a night at this house with my wife on our way to Cradoek, we had a bed allotted to us in the principal sleeping chamber, old Winzel and his wife occupying another bed in the same apartment. Some other of our neighbours who had superior accommodations, such as Basend Baster on the Tarka, and William Prinslo of our own valley, always had a separate chamber for for us, however numerous might be their guests.




M. ROBINEAU, a round, bustling little clerk, about seven and eight and twenty, suddenly finds himself possessed, by the death of a relation, of what is to his notions a handsome fortune. From an economical, thrifty quill driver he is changed into an anxious aspirer after grandeur and distinction. He must immediately have clothes, horse, carriage, servants, house, and, above all, a name, more sounding and genteel than that he was born to. A chateau, situated in Auvergne, is offered to him for purchase; it is a real castle, a castellated castle, and is called la Roche Noire! (the Black Rock) Admirable! In France, a man may take the name of his estate. "Mosieur de la Roche Noire!" What an acquisition of a name for ci-devant little clerk! Nothing will content him but immediate possession; before the place is put in repair, or servants engaged. He sets off post, accompanied by his two friends, Alfred de Marcey, the heir of a rich marquis, and Edward Beaumont, a young author, who kindly give Robineau their countenance and instruction while he becomes initiated in the mysteries of house-keeping and gentility. On the day of their departure, Robineau placed himself in the chaise before the horses were put to. Three times he sent for his friends. At length they arrive, the luggage is fixed, they set off, and Robineau exclaims "Now we are on the road to my castle.''

At the little town of Clermont Ferrand, Alfred and Edward insist upon abandoning their carriage, and pursuing the remainder of their journey on foot; although Robincau would have been better pleased to enter his domain in greater style. At the door of the post-house a man was indolently sitting on a stone bench, his dress was poor, or rather vagabond. He appeared about forty-five or fifty years of age, but his mean dress, neglected beard, and black hair, hanging in matted locks about his face, made his age difficult to be decided upon. Still, in spite of these disfigurements, his face exhibited the remains of beauty. His nose was handsome, his mouth well-formed, but almost devoid of teeth, his eye-brows black and arched, and his large black eye had an ironical expression which well accorded with the sarcastic smile that from time to time played upon his lips. His figure was tall and firmly knit. In short, although dressed in shabby trowsers of grey-cloth, a red waistcoat covered with stains, a great coat to which, in many places, were adapted patches of far other texture, worn out boots, and a blue handkerchief round his neck, he had something in his face which announced more than a common origin, and in his manners an air of ease and almost haughtiness, which contrasted strangely with his costume.

This man overhearing the gentlemen speak of walking to the chateau, which was six miles distant, offered himself to be their guide, but Robineau thought he recognized something of the brigand in him, and declined his services.

Alfred and Edward harass Robineau by their admira tion of the beauties of Nature, which delays his approach to la Roche Noire. Their benign philosophy leads them astray into a village, where Edward writes verses; and Alfred joins a rustic girl in a dance. With much persuasion, Robineau gets them away from their pastoral attractions; but they have not got far on the way, ere they find they are overtaken in a miserable aml, by thedark night. They knock up some peasants,

sible: One of her goats goes astray, and Isaura runs
after it. Edward watches the grace and freedom of
her action with admiration. He falls into a train of
reflection. Her equivocal situation, her beauty, the
solitude, his youth! He begins to think less charita-
bly of her than before; and almost determines to try
how far she is really to be tempted. While he is yet
buried in reflection, Isaura returns; she comes again
to his side, smiling as she says "Here I am!" There
was in this action, and in her countenance so much of
the confidence of goodness, and so much openness of
manner, that Edward was ashamed of the thoughts
which had come over him; and it was not till his pulse
was calmed that he dared again look at Isaura. He
declined her invitation to breakfast, and returned to
the Chateau; determining on his way not to inform
Alfred where he had been. Alfred, however, guesses;
and next morning, when Edward rises, he finds Alfred
has stolen a march upon him. He follows as fast as he
can; and finds the more enterprising Alfred seated in
the cottage, with a plentiful breakfast before him; not
a bit of which has he touched. The lively fellow, too,
lets out that Vaillant had aided her mistress in avoiding
a kiss, which he would unceremoniously have given her.
Edward cannot conceal his jealousy; and Isaura is
surprised and terrified at the appearance of anger be-
tween the young men. They put a stop, however, to
this folly, and agree to start fairly and frankly in rival-
ship, and as a preliminary, never to visit Isaura, ex-
cept together. The reconciliation and quarrel were
equally unintelligible to her.



Time passes away, but not a morning escapes with-
out the two friends paying a visit to Isaura. At length
M. de la Roche Noire having completed his repairs,
gives a plentiful bustling fete to some of the neigh-
bouring gentry, full of mock heroical pretensions and
ludicrous accidents. That day de Marcey and Beau-
mont would not abandon their kind hearted little
host. The party breaks up late, and Alfred sleeps
heavily in the morning. Edward slept not at all. That
day was the first he had passed in the chateau without
having seen Isaura in the morning. He rose early, and
Alfred was not ready to depart. Should he wait
for him? He knew that Alfred's feelings were less se-
rious than his own; and, for once breaking his pro-
mise, he left the chateau without his friend. Isaura
had passed a wearier day than usual; she missed the
society of kind friends, who interested her, and took
such an interest in her. She did not attempt to hide
the pleasure she felt in seeing Edward again.
you are," said she, "Ah! I thought you were not
coming again!" Edward explains the cause of his ab-
sence. Isaura confesses that she has become so ac-
customed to see her two friends that she fears she
will never be so happy again when they are gone.
Edward cannot contain himself; he avows his affec-
tion and asks Isaura whether she can love him. "Mon
Dieu !" cried she, "I love to see you ·
both of you
-" 'Both!-equally?" The young girl blushed;
she could not say what she felt. Edward drew closer,
and passing his arm softly round her waist, said ten-
derly, "If Alfred did not come again, you would be
sorry?"" I should think of him sometimes;-we
would talk of him together!”—“ And if I did not re-
turn, would you console yourself the same way, talking
with him?" "Never! never!" cried Isaura, in an
accent which came from her soul.-Edward presses
Isaura to become his wife and accompany him to
Paris. He traces with enthusiasm the happy life they
shall pass together. Isaura's delight is damped: she
cannot leave the neighbourhood of the White House!
"Why?-is she not alone-an orphan?-Has she re-
lations living?"-No; but still she cannot leave the
White House; nor can she explain the reason. Her
tenderness and the frankness of her manner, in spite
of this mystery, convince Edward of her honest affec-
tion. They part, secure at least of seeing each other
on the morrow. On his return to the chateau Edward
encounters de Marcey. Indignant at his treachery, en-
raged with jealousy, Alfred bitterly reproaches him,
and without listening to his defence challenges him on
the spot.
Edward bethinks himself of his own happi-
ness and of Alfred's disappointment, and reminds Alfred
of their friendship. "Friendship!" cried de Marcey,
"I no longer believe in yours." Alfred, I have but
one thing to say." Alfred, surprised, confesses that
his own intentions were not so serious, and frankly
gives up the contest to his friend.

Edward now passed every morning alone with
Isaura. He would sometimes press her to become his
wife; but she always urged the necessity of delay. His
jealousy was at length excited. He watched her some-
times after he had parted from her. She was the
whole time alone; nor attempted to go to the White
House; if she turned her eyes that way her counte-
nance was instantly saddened. One day, after he had
taken leave of her, he proceeded to the White House.
It was a stormy September day, and he knew Isaura
would be confined to the cottage. A gap in the high
wall admits him to the garden. At every step his feet
are entangled in the weeds and branches that overgrow
the paths. All is gloomy and silent. He gets through
a window into the house. It is furnished; he sees a
library, the source of Isaura's reading; and on the
table there are pistols. But there is no appearance of
living thing within the walls; all is deserted. He has
discovered nothing.


and demand a guide; but the road to la Roche Noire is
White House," which
through a lonely valley, by the
is said to be haunted. Its history may be briefly told.
A thrifty peasant and his wife occupied a little cottage
in the middle of a fertile valley. In the course of time,
Andrew Larpiotte, the peasant, built a house near his
cottage, with a view to profit by its sale. About this
time his wife took a child to nurse, which they said
was of poor parents; and soon after Andrew sold his
house to a gentleman named Gervair; the house was
furnished, but not inhabited. Lights occasionally seen
in it at night were the only signs it possessed of inha-
bitants of any kind. In process of time, the old couple
died, and left their foster child, Isaure, who had grown
up into a charming girl, in possession of their little
cottage. She still possessed it, unterrified by the mid-
night lights that sometimes (so frightfully to the pea
santry) broke the solitary and desolate look of the
White House. Nay more, she herself shared the ill-
fame of the house; for somehow or other she cured a
neighbour's cow or so; had attended a wounded dog;
and, per contra, many an accident that had happened to
the flocks of the neighbouring goatherds was attributed
to her arts. There was even a talk of a large black
demon, that relieved the solitude of her life with his
Isaura was left thus alone at the age of
fifteen, and had continued to live so; cheerful, busy
with her garden, her goats, and her household cares;
gradually more and more shunned by her neighbours
and unharmed by the neighbouring horrors of the
White House.

As Robineau and his friends could not procure a guide, they were obliged to pass the night in the miserable hut of their informant.

On the morrow, under the cheering influence of daylight, the peasant set out to show them their way. Arrived at the White House, Alfred stopped to examine it, and knocked at the gate to see if it was really desolate. There was no answer to his knocks. The barkings of a large Newfoundland dog at the cottage attract their notice, and while they regard the noble animal with admiration, "There she is!" cried the peasant, pointing with his finger up a hill. The young men turned their eyes that way, and perceived a young girl, who, driving her goats before her, descended rapidly into the valley. Alfred and Edward are immovable, and follow the young girl with their eyes. Now she descends a rapid slope, and her feet seems hardly to touch the ground-now she sportively leaps across a yawning fissure; at length she is in the valley, and her features are more easily distinguished. Her large eyes, of a deep blue, are shaded by long black eyebrows; and her eyelids, often half cast down, add to the sweetness of her look, which has an expression of simplicity and tenderness. Her nose is small and well made; her month a little large, and smiling, exhibits teeth as white as enamel; her flaxen hair falls in large curls on her forehead, and appears kept with more care than is usual with the peasantry. Her complexion is but slightly tanned, for a large straw hat shades it from the sun; her figure is of a middle height, but lightsome and graceful, her foot small, and her hand the dearest little thing in the world. A brown corset, and a shirt of the same colour, with a red and white apron, compose all that adorn her person; but there is a grace in the manner she wears them, that has little of the heavy and awkward appearance of the Auvergnates. She is charming," cries Alfred. Edward says nothing, but cannot move his eyes from her. "Yes," said Robineau, "she is pretty enough for a peasant." The little girl frankly invites the travellers to take what refreshment her cottage affords. While she prepares their breakfast, her dog Vaillant, by his mistress's orders, shews the travellers round the well-kept garden. Returning to the house, they find a breakfast of fruit, milk, butter, and bread, disposed upon a table with a taste and propriety that charms the sight. While the travellers are at their breakfast, she sits near them with her trusty guardian at her feet. Alfred told her that they had knocked at the White House; she betrayed some anxiety to know whether they had been answered. She confirmed his idea that the house was empty. At length Robineau persuades them once more to set off.

We must cut short his reception at the castle, where he made his appearance on an ass, which he had picked up by the way; he would have got off at a little distance, but the impatient donkey carried the unwilling Castellan into the stable. He had sent on his valet the day before, to prepare his vassals to receive him with dutiful attention; accordingly he is received by two old men, who had the care of the chateau, a few rustics, a schoolmaster, a veterinary surgeon, and 2 crowd of little children. The chateau is old and in miserable repair; but its antiquity and name more than reconcile Robineau to the necessary expences for repair. Henceforward he insists upon being called Monsieur de la Roche Noire.

In the morning Edward arises betimes, before Alfred has yet left his chamber, and with much philosophical meditation sets out to pay a visit to the fair goatherd. He finds her in the neighbourhood of her cottage, reading while she is tending her goats. He finds she reads much; and a work of Florian's is before her. Edward recommends her choice; "I did not chose it," said Isaura; "it was given me to read." Edward was on the point of asking "by whom?" but he could not summon courage; and yet he felt most uneasy, and desirous to know. Sometimes the young girl chatted with him, in the most frank and innocent manner pos

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One night M. de la Roche Noire's whole household are aroused with the alarming announcement that there is an apparition in the castle;-a light has been seen in an

old and uninhabited tower. While Edward remains to
secure the safety of the terrified ladies, for there are vi-
sitors in the chateau, Alfred undertakes to dislodge the
apparition. He goes, and returns somewhat graver,
but alleges that the alarm was in every respect ground-
less, and the household return to their respective beds.
Alfred had not told precisely the fact; there had been
a light in the tower, and on entering the top room in the
old tower he had found the same old man who had
offered himself as a guide at the inn at Clermont-
Ferrand, when they first came to Auvergne. They
had often met him in their walks since, and found him
to be fierce, sarcastic, misanthropical; a strange mix-
ture of blackguardism and philosophy; next kin to a
beggar, but refusing all assistance; he called himself
the vagabond. He had once sneered at de Marcey's
allowing Edward to continue his visits to Isaura alone
for he had perceived and watched their movements in
that quarter; and had even offered to carry her off
for him. Alfred indignantly repulsed him. He now
came to tell de Marcey that the young girl they so
much admired had already a lover; that a light had
been that night shown in the windows of the White
House; that upon perceiving it Isaura immediately
went there and was received in the arms of a man.
full hour elapsed before she returned to her own cot-


The following day being devoted to Robineau's marriage with the daughter of a neighbour, a most poor marquis, Edward was obliged to refrain from seeing Isaura. Next morning he rose full early and hastened to repay himself for the self-denial he had practised.


Isaura did not shew her accustomed delight at seeing
him. She is pale and sad. Edward enquires the
cause of her chagrin; with tender sorrow she tells
him that she shall always love him; but that he must
forget her; she had been forbidden to see him more.
"Ah, who has said this could I but find the person"-
"No" cried Isaura with terror, 'you must not even
seek him." "Him!-Isaura you betray yourself!
who then is this man? What right has he over you?"
Isaura does not know herself. She only knows that
she owes every thing to him; even her support with
the peasants who appeared to the world to have
adopted her. Edward rushes from her in despair.
leaving her hardly less miserable, though more resigned.

Edward communicated his unhappiness to Alfred de
Marcey, who told him of the vagabond's communica-
tion. They determine to unravel the mystery, and set
out at night to watch. They see Isaura leave her
house; she is received at the White House,-by
Alfred's father, the Marquis de Marcey! Edward's
plans of vengeance upon his rival fall to the ground.
Alfred now exerts himself to remove his friend from
the scene of his troubles, and to that end they take
leave of the newly married de la Roche Noire, who has
already began to give up his independance to his high-
born wife. Edward cannot resist taking a last look at
Isaura, and they seek the cottage. All is still. They
enter. Vaillant is stretched at length in the court,
bathed in his blood. Isaura is not to be seen! In
the immediate search after her, they encounter, with
mutual surprise, the Marquis de Marcey; who relates
the poor girl's history to them. The Marquis had
married twice. His second wife married him solely
from obedience to her father. On their wedding-night,
she attempted her own life, but was saved by the vigi-
lance of the Marquis. She then informed him, though
almost distracted with grief and shame, that she had
been attached to another, the Chevalier de Lavigny;
but that her father, discovering the attachment, and
disapproving of the dissolute habits of Lavigny, had
dismissed him, and forbidden his daughter to see him
again; not however before the libertine had effected
her ruin. The Marquis consoled his unfortunate
young wife the best he could, and promised to be to
her a tender brother. He immediately took her to
Italy, where she gave birth to Isaura. On their return
to France, he put the child under the care of Sarpiotte,
at the same time buying the White House. A few
years after his grateful wife died of a broken heart, and
ever since then he had continued to come down from
time to time to see her child; but always secretly,
making the White House his abode. Even Isaura knew
not her own history. Lately he had observed her
changed in manner. He questioned her, and heard
how she loved " Edward." He knew not who this
Edward was, nor his friend. He could only gather
from her description that they appeared to be young
men of fashion; and, if so, he feared for her happiness;
and thus had desired her to break off the connexion, ere
it should be too late.

Edward, in spite of the misfortune of her birth, was as anxious as ever to obtain the good, lovely, and innocent Isaura for his wife. The Marquis was rejoiced in her having gained so true a heart; for he had long known Beaumont as his son's most estimable friend; and Alfred desired nothing better than to love and be loved as the brother of both. The first step was to seek the lost treasure; and they all united in the search. Their suspicions, directed by Alfred, lighted on the vagabond. For some time they sought far and near, in vain. At length Vaillant, recovered from his wounds, aided them in his search. He leads them to a hut they had visited before.

Alfred's suspicions were not untrue. The vagabond had entered Isaura's unguarded cottage, and obliged her to depart with him. He carried her to a hut in a lonely place, among steep places, behind which was constructed an excavation in the hill, with a private

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entrance, with no other opening but to the sky.
Isaura remained for many a weary day. Her long
delayed hopes were suddenly revived; she hears Vail-
lant's bark; and now voices are calling to the inmates
to open the hut. The Vagabond enters the excavation,
a sword in his hand. There is no hope that he can fly
with Isaura, or evade the sagacity of her faithful dog.
He determines to take her life. Her prayers are of no
avail, he aims a fatal blow; but a hard substance in
her bosom receives the blow. It is a miniature of her
mother, which is driven from its gentle resting-place by
the violence. The vagabond starts. "Who is this?"
My mother," said the terrified girl. "Your mother!
Adila! then you are -" He seemed paralyzed.
Ere he recovered his self-possession, the three friends
enter the cave. The vagabond received a fatal wound
from the hand of Alfred, he fell, and, expiring, con-
fessed that he had taken Isaura for the Marquis's mis-
tress; and that his persecution of her he had meant
for retribution, for he was-Lavigny, her mother's
unworthy lover.


Isaura was insensible to the horror of her situation, for she had fainted when the entrance of her friends had assured her safety. Her father's degradation was kept from her: the dying Lavigny himself requested that she might not be taught to consider her father, and the worst enemy her innocence had had, as the same. The friends carefully conveyed her to the White House. Here she recovered, and was united to her loving Edward, and has lived since among the dear friends, whom misfortune had taught to appreciate her unvarying sweetness.

Robineau, three years after these events, abandoning castle, wife, name, and all his grand schemes, came up to Paris with the wreck of his fortune. The last we hear of him is that Alfred, who was married, still welcomed him as cordially as ever to his house, and had promised to procure him a clerkship, better than the one he had lost.


[From Mr. Alderson's Prize Essay (just published), on the Nature and Application of Steam; a treatise containing scientific knowledge with popular explanation, and illustrated by nineteen lithographic plates.]

STEAM is used for warming rooms, manufactories, and public institutions, of an ordinary temperature; hot-houses, forcing-houses, and woollen, cloth, cotton, and other drying houses, of a very high temperature. From the facility afforded of varying the heat of steam by increasing or diminishing the weight upon the safety valve, it is now generally used in chemical operations, which require an exact and certain degree of heat steadily exerted, and has almost superseded the use of the sand-bath, so frequently mentioned in works on chemistry.

It is used for the boiling of salt, several patents having been taken out for the peculiar modes of applying it; and immense salt-works are erected, both here, in England, and on the continent, carried on entirely

by steam.

In the manufacturing or refining of sugar it is also extensively employed, and patents are taken out for different modes of using it.

baths and cooking.

It is also used for destroying those noxious vermin called bugs, and for hatching chickens; destroying life by its intense heat in the one instance, and producing it in the other by its gentle and continued warmth.

sal joint, which would command all adjacent buildings. This is done in the flax manufactory of Messrs. Marshall and Co., of Leeds, and at many other places in the neighbourhood; and we have been informed by persons who have seen it tried, that its action is so effective as to make the ejected stream of water break the glass of the windows.

It is a desideratum to apply this active and powerful

agent to the common fire engines, and this has been
successfully attempted by Messrs. Braithwaite and

The machine is almost as small and compact, and
when properly made nearly as manageable as the com
mon fire-engine, with the advantage, that as soon as
the steam is up, it never flags or tires. It consists of
a boiler fixed on wheels, with springs similar to a
steam carriage, and a working cylinder and piston,
which by a crank of one or more throws works the
required number of pumps. An air vessel is necessary
to keep up an equable stream of water from the play-
pipe: hose, buckets, &c., are wanted as in the common

To protect the immense warehouses and other property on the banks of the Thames in and about London, a fire engine on the common construction is fixed in a wherry, to be rowed where wanted, and worked by hand, thus constituting a floating fire engine.

For cooking steam is much used, and particularly in
large establishments; almost all the large taverns and
the public halls of the city companies are provided
steam along a sort of sideboard, upon which is placed,
with a steam cooking apparatus. A pipe conveys the
in properly constructed dishes of tin, the food intended
to be cooked.
from the steam pipe into the several tin dishes, with a
Branch pipes of small diameter gu
cock to each to enable the cook or attendant to shut
off the steam.
vessel, to let off the waste steam. These vessels are
A cock is also left in the steam cooking
sometimes made double and sometimes single, accord-
ing to the kind of food to be cooked. The double
ones answer for roast, the steam being contained
between the two dishes, the other for boiled.

pipe to get the proper degree of pressure, in the same
A syphon is applied to the end of the main steam-
way as already described in the steam warming appa-


Patents have been taken out for ship's hearths for cooking by steam, and at the same time rendering saltwater quite fresh; the latter process is the same as that already described for making salt, excepting that here the evaporated water is the valuable commodity, is condensed as it rises and collected in vessels for and the salt the refuse. In this operation the steam the use of the ship, being the same process nearly as distillation. A ship's company need never run short of fresh water, so long as they retain a large kettle and the means of making a fire. The sea-water being put in the kettle and placed upon the fire, as soon as the steam issues out of the spout wet cloths are applied around it, which condensing the vapour as it arises, it from its saline qualities. An apparatus on this prinassumes its original form of water, but quite freed ciple neatly and properly constructed, and combined dered more compact and portable by piling the tin with the cooking apparatus already described, but rendishes upon each other, the lower one being inserted in the lid of the boiler forms what is called the "Patent Ship's Hearth."


of charcoal.

similar to Papen's digester, fixed upon a chaffing dish
For destroying vermin a portable boiler is made
attached by an universal joint, so that it can be turned
The spout should have a small tube
in any direction. When the steam is raised of a high
temperature, the spout should be applied to the crevi-
ces or other places containing the vermin, which by
its action it instantly destroys.

It is also in request for steaming wood, previous to its being used by coach and cabinet makers, ship builders, &c., in order to soften its fibres, and facilitate the bending of it to the required form.

order similar to the manner in which the parent bird
For hatching chickens the eggs are placed in regular
places them for incubation. The place in which they

are deposited is then warmed by steam, conveyed in

Patents have been taken out for washing by steam, but as "the women fowk canna be fash't we'it," the ingenious and well meaning inventors are, we believe, seldom applied to for licenses, and certainly have no ground of complaint for infringement of patent right.

pipes, backwards and forwards, through the place of
deposit, great care being taken to keep the place of an
equal temperature of 96° Fahrenheit or 32° Réaumer;
for at lower temperatures the living principle appears
to become torpid and unable to assimilate the nourish-
should not be laid upon the bare floor of the oven, but
ment provided for developing the embryo. The eggs

In' agriculture it is used chiefly for boiling, on a large scale, potatoes, turnips, &c., and the same for

domestic purposes on a small scale, as also for warming upon a mat, or bed of flax, or other non-conducting This was easily procured, and the party proceeded to




'Regulators" is a very gentle and judicious word! The utmost urbanity of utilitarianism is in it. The instance, have a trick of regulating people, not merely gentlemen, however, thus designated in the present with advice and remonstrance, and other spiritual modes of ruling, but with good bodily applications of twigs and stinging nettles; and if these fail in regulating the patient, a rifle-ball is administered.

The passage is taken from Mr. Audubon's most interesting and valuable work, entitled "Ornithological Biography, a production which has but just been put

freed from rror, and at length changing to useful and respectable citizens. The most depraved of these emigrants are forced to retreat farther and farther from the society of the virtuous, the restraints imposed by which they find incompatible with their habits and the gratification of their unbridled passions. On the extreme verge of civilization, however, their evil propensities find more free scope, and the dread of punishment, are the only means that prove effectual in rement for their deeds, or the infliction of that punishforming them.

In those remote parts, no sooner is it discovered that an individual has conducted himself in a notoriously vicious manner, or has committed some outrage upon society, than a conclave of the honest citizens takes place, for the purpose of investigating the case, with a rigour without which no good result could be expected. These honest citizens, selected from among the most respectable persons in the district, and vested with powers suited to the necessity of preserving order on the frontiers, are named Regulators. The accused person is arrested, his conduct laid open, and if he is found guilty of a first crime, he is warned to leave the pointed time. Should the individual prove so callous country, and go farther from society, within an ap as to disregard the sentence, and remain in the same him; for the Regulators, after proving him guilty a neighbourhood, to commit new crimes, then wo be to second time, pass and execute a sentence, which, if not enough to make him perish under the infliction, is at least for ever impressed upon his memory. The punishment inflicted is generally a severe castigation, and the destruction by fire of his cabin. Sometimes, in cases of reiterated theft or murder, death is considered necessary; and, in some instances, delinquents of the worst species have been shot, after which their heads have been stuck on poles, to deter others from following their example. I shall give you an account of one of these desperadoes, as I received it from a person who had been instrumental in bringing him to punishment.

both ourselves and our readers as well acquainted as
lovers of nature ought to be.

rived from the refuse of every other country. I hope
"The population of many parts of America is de-
I shall elsewhere prove to you, kind reader, that even
in this we have reason to feel a certain degree of pride,

as we often see our worst denizens becoming gradually

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The name of Mason is still familiar to many of the navigators of the Lower Ohio and Mississippi. By dint of industry in bad deeds he became a notorious from the eastern parts of Virginia (a State greatly celehorse-stealer, formed a line of worthless associates brated for its fine breed of horses) to New Orleans, and had a settlement on Wolf Island, not far from the confluence of the Ohio and Mississipi, from which he issued to stop the flat-boats, and rifle them of such provisions and other articles as he and his party needed. His depredations became the talk of the whole Western Country; and to pass Wolf Island was not less to be The horses, the negroes, and the cargoes, his gang cardreaded than to anchor under the walls of Algiers. ried off and sold. At last, a body of Regulators undertook, at great peril, and for the sake of the country, to bring the villain to punishment.

Steam has been successfully and extensively em. ployed for extinguishing that element from whence it derives its power, namely fire. stated by some that when supplied in large quantities, But although it is where there is no current of air, it is of itself sufficient to extinguish conflagration, yet the most common mode is by applying its mechanical power to the working of a force-water-pump. This may be done to great advantage in any place where there is already a powerful engine in use for driving machinery, as an air vessel can be fixed in a tower in a central situation in the yard, and connected by pipes with the pump of the engine. A play-pipe should be fixed on the top of the tower, connected to the air vessel with an univer- into our hands, but with which we purpose to make themselves on their horses, well armed with rifles

Mason was as cunning and watchful as he was active and daring. Many of his haunts were successively found out and searched, but the numerous spies however, as he was riding a beautiful horse in the in his employ enabled him to escape in time. One day mediately recognised him, but passed him as if an utter woods, he was met by one of the Regulators, who imstranger. Mason, not dreaming of danger, pursued his way leisurely, as if he had met no one. But he was dogged by the Regulator, and in such a manner as proved fatal to him. At dusk, Mason having reached him, hoppled (tied together the fore-legs of) his stolen the lowest part of a ravine, no doubt well known to horse, to enable it to feed during the night without

chance of straying far, and concealed himself in a

hollow log to spend the night. The plan was good,

but proved his ruin

The Regulator, who knew every hill and hollow of the woods, marked the place and the log with the eye o an experienced hunter, and as he remarked that Mason was most efficiently armed, he galloped off to the nearest house, where he knew he should find assistance.

the spot. Mason, on being attacked, defended himself with desperate valour; and as it proved impossible to secure him alive, he was brought to the ground with a rifle ball. His head was cut off, and stuck on the end of a broken branch of a tree, by the nearest road to the place where the affray happened. The gang soon dispersed, iu consequence of the loss of their leader, and life. in deterring others from following a similar predatory this infliction of merited punishment proved beneficial

The punishment by castigation is performed in the offence is led to some remote part of the woods, following manner. The individual convicted of an under the escort of sometimes forty or fifty Regulators. When arrived at the chosen spot, the criminal is made fast to a tree, and a few of the Regulators remain with him, whilst the rest scour the forest, to after which they form an extensive ring, arranging assure t emselves that no strangers are within reach,

and pistols, at equal distances and in each other's sight. At a given signal that "all's ready," those about the culprit, having provided themselves with young twigs of hickory, administer the number of lashes prescribed by the sentence, untie the sufferer, and order him to leave the country immediately.

within my immediate knowledge, was performed on a One of these castigations which took place more

fellow who was neither a thief nor a murderer, but who had misbehaved otherwise sufficiently to bring himself under the sentence with mitigation. He was taken to a place where nettles were known to grow in luxuriance, completely stripped, and so lashed with them, that although not materially hurt, he took it as a hint not to be neglected, left the country, and was never again heard of by any of the party concerned.

Probably at the moment when I am copying these notes respecting the early laws of our frontier people, few or no Regulating Parties exist, the terrible examples that were made having impressed upon the new settlers a salutary dread, which restrains them from the commission of flagrant crimes.


From the fifth volume of Mr. Cunningham's edition, one of the most interesting of the series, containing the poet's correspondence with the original publisher of his songs. It makes us feel no end of our admiration of Burns's disinterested love of his art, and his most gentlemanly patience with the publisher's criticisms.

"Laddie, lie near me," (says he in one of his letters, speaking of a song) must lie near me for some time. I do not know the air; and until I am complete master of a tune, in my own singing (such as it is), I can never compose for it. My way is: I consider the poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the musical expression; then choose my theme; begin one stanza-when that is composed, which is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down now and then, look out for objects in nature round me, that are in unison or harmony with the cogitations of my fancy, and workings of my bosom; humming every now and then the air, with the verses I have framed. When I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary fire-side of my study, and there commit my effusions to paper; swinging, at intervals, on the hind legs of my elbow-chair, by way of calling forth my own critical strictures, as my pen goes on. Seriously, this, at home, is almost invariably my way. What cursed egotism!"

It was modest in the poet to say that this was "egotism;" but how truly the-reader feels that it was no such thing, and how glad we should have been of more friendly communications of the same sort.

'Dumfries is a small town; a few steps carried Burns to green lanes, daisied brae-sides, and quiet stream banks. Men returning from labour were sure to meet him "all under the light of the moon,' sauntering forth as if he had no aim; his hands behind his back, his hat turned up a little behind by the shortness of his neck, and noting all, yet seeming to note nothing. Yet those who got near without being seen, might hear him humming some old Scottish air, and fitting verses to it."

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"Fancy a face full of wit and lore, Full of all that philosophers taught of yore, Save Plato, for little it owed to his store

'I'm lost!' thought the spell-bound student.

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"From the vision's lip flowed a silvery voice, Chanting, 'If wisdom and wealth's thy choice, Take me into the bargain, come on and rejoice!' 'It rings the right tune,' mused our student.

"Tho' Landgraves and Counts may woo,' sung she,
'Not my cousin the Baron can rival thee,'→
'What, is not thy cousin a demon?' quoth he;
'The devil a bit, sir student.'

"I'm the orphan heiress of earthly gold, My library hundreds of tomes doth hold, I will yield them all to the gay and bold!' 'That's me! cried the convert student."


The Pet of the Petticoats.-Our Journal is not theatrical, but our heart, for many good old reasons, is so; and for some special reasons, in addition to those general ones, we cannot but express a wish, that as many of our theatre-loving readers as admire a natural actress and a whole heap of attractive entertainments, will go to Drury Lane to-morrow to see the piece above mentioned, with Mrs. Fitzwilliam in it. It is from the tried and hearty pen of Mr. Buckstone, and founded on Gresset's charming mock-heroic poem, recording the gallantries of the Parrot of Nevers, whom the author, by a very natural metamorphosis, has converted from Poll into Paul,- -a little human rogue, instead of one with a beak. After the play, there is more of Mr. Barnett's music, and there is Mr. Phillips's singing, and Mr. Fitzwilliam's (who returns for the purpose, after an absence of several years) and there is Monsieur Albert's dancing, and Mr. Ducrow with his horses; in short, all sorts of gratifications for eye, ear, and imagination.

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Catching is not keeping.-"Here's to the blessed memory of Redmond O'Hanlon," cried Titus, draining a bumper. "And as to the story, did you ever hear mention made of one Captain Power? He was another brave boy, and quite the gentleman. Nicely he turned the tables on an ensign of musqueteers, that came out from Cork to seize him. You shall hear how it happened.

"This ensign had received intelligence that Power had taken up his quarters at a small inn, on the road leading from Kilworth, and being anxious to finger the reward offered for his apprehension, set out with a file of men. It was growing dusk when they reached the inn, and there, sure enough, was Power drinking, for they saw him through a window with his bottle before him, lighting his pipe, quite comfortable. 'Ha, ha,' thinks the ensign, my boy, I have you safe enough now, but knowing his man, and expecting a devil of a resistance, if he attempted to lay hands on the captain by force, he determined to resort to stratagem; so, entering the house, just as if he were on a recruiting party, he (the ensign) calls loud for whiskey for his men, and a bottle of port for himself, and marches into the room where Power was sitting, who got up to receive him very politely. Now, whether the captain suspected his intentions or not I can't say; at all events, he didn't let the ensign perceive it; but took his wine as pleasantly as we are doing now, with no suspicion of any thing in our heads-and no thoughts of any mischief brewing."


Exactly," said Jack; "I understand."

Well, the bottle was drawing to a close, and Power rose up to call for another, when the ensign, thinking it time, starts to his feet, presents a pistol to his head, and commands him to surrender. With all the pleasure in life,' replied the captain, that is, when you can take me; and knocking up the ensign's arm, so that he could not even pull his trigger, he threw himself upon him, effectually preventing his crying out, by stuffing his coat-pocket into his mouth; he then very coolly proceeded to divest the ensign of his grand uniform, and taking his purse and sword, and military cloak, tied him hand and foot, and telling him he hoped ne was satisfied with his reward, walked out of the room, locking the door on the other side unconcernedly after him, and putting the key in his pocket. The men, who were busy with their whiskey toddy, seeing their officer, as they thought, come out and motion them to keep still, never stirred a peg-but suffered Power to get clear away, without so much as a question.Rookwood.


WE wish we could give a distinct answer to every one
of our correspondents, and at as much length as each
could desire; but as this is impossible, and, for reasons
which they themselves would approve if they knew the
circumstances, not always the best for any party, we
have adopted certain rules for the occasion, which we
trust will not be thought incompatible with due con-
sideration for all.

To such correspondents as render a particular attention a matter of evident justice or courtesy, and to all such as request it, an answer will be given, as speedily as the nature of the publication will allow. But it is begged, on the Editor's part, for reasons which will be obvious to the considerate, that as few private answers will be required as possible; and no time is at present specified for the answers, because we do not yet know how long before the date of publication our Journal may be forced to go to press. But we undertake to keep nobody waiting longer than can be helped.

Correspondents, who are noticed only by their initials, or a simple acknowledgment of the receipt of their lettere, will conclude that we think it all they require.

Letters intended for insertion or extract, will receive notices to that effect.

And should no notice at all be given, the writers will conclude, either that we think they do not desire any, or that our silence arises from any feeling but want of courtesy, or (which is not at all impossible, and which it will be a good-nature towards us to suppose) that their communications have not come to hand.

We shall now proceed to act upon these rules with regard to letters already received; but the first that presents itself extremely puzzles us, particularly as it was the prototype of a heap of others. It is the one from the "Son of an Old Friend." He will see how we have, at least, treasured up his friendliness. What can we say to letters so very kind, so very flattering, so tempting to one's self-love to communicate, and yet impossible for any reasonable degree of modesty to shew! And yet we have, truly, an honest doubt on that matter with regard to some of them. We remember when we first had the editorship of a journal, we thought it a fine magnanimous thing to suppress every word of approbation on the part of our correspondents; but as we grew older, and less self-satisfied, we discovered that there were two parties concerned in these matters, instead of one, and that there might be a sort of modesty prouder than pride, or if you will, vainer than vanity, in thus treating the good opinion of others. Besides, the general encouragement to good-will is not to be lost sight of. We believe that when the correspondent in these instances has so written his letter as to render it available for purposes of entertainment or instruction to the general reader (for he also is a third, and the most important party, to be considered) the best way is to let the goodwill have its pleasure, and the friendliness be openly shewn and honoured,— always, of course, with due consideration to quantity as well as quality, and to times and seasons. In short, the social spirit, which is our only inspirer on any occasions, must be our warrant and excuse on these, whether we do too much or too little. We shall endeavour strictly to make it our arbiter. But we will give a taste of these puzzling but most delightful letters, that the reader may see how natural it is in us to make use of both of those epithets, and what credit we really deserve for at all withholding them (for we are resolved to make our merit out somehow!) The passage is from the communication above-mentioned. Who the writer is, we know not.

"Dear Sir,

March 3.

Welcome, thrice welcome back, to your own peculiar department of our literature. Much has been doneand much more attempted-since your secession from the editorial throne; but I have a suspicion, that your place still has remained unoccupied in the hearts of your readers; every man has kept sacred a corner at his fire-side for the all-loved Burchell. What agreeable soirées and pleasant jaunts have we not passed and enjoyed in your company in the Indicator; what delightful chit-chattery in the Tatler! And we are to have these fine times again, Sir! For one, I thank you; it is bravely determined on your part; may the resolution be as bravely appreciated."

Here follows a passage from a lady's letter (Griselda); and if encouraging letters from male correspondents are sometimes intoxicating, those from females may be allowed fairly to "take one off one's legs :-" "Dear Quondam Indicator,

"That which I have so long desired is at length accomplished; I mean your return to us in the hebdomadal way, which in by-gone days afforded both pleasure and instruction to many circles. Fifteen years since, when sitting at the tea-table with your paper, I have imagined myself one, living in the "Queen's time, whose taste was directed and conserved by an Addison."

We should be ashamed to repeat words like these, if it were not a greater shame to be ashamed of kindness from any body, much more from the intelligent and amiable. But we must give this lady's letter entire in a succeeding number, since it contains matter of general import.

The reader may judge, however, from these specimens how difficult it is to make one's way through much of this kindly perplexity, and we have had (thank our stars) a great deal of it! It has even now, on the very threshold of our acknowledgments, cut us short, and forced us to delay all our answers but two, to the next number. We will make greater despatch









The following (the only correct “Guides" extant) are now ready, corrected to 1834, Viz. :"KIDD'S PICTURESQUE POCKET





*** The capital expended on the production of these unqiue little works, is not far short of SEVEN THOUSAND POUNDS; but, from the very liberal support received from the public at large, th the proprietor has issued them at almost as low a price as if they were without Engravings, (they contain, however, upwards of 1,000, from the pencil of G. W. BONNER,) and they have now become STANDARD LIBRARY VOLUMES.








The following have also been published in a collected form, for the convenience of Travellers:



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This Work, the first edition of which had no sooner appeared than it was out of print, removes all ground of Religious dispute, annihilates all Sects, and establishes "PRIMITIVE CHRISTIANITY" as the only True Religion.

"This is, indeed, the most extraordinary production that has Its prinappeared or will appear even in this enlightened age. ciples are incontrovertible, and have only to become known to be universally adopted."


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"It is a singular circumstance, that among the cheap publications of the day, that most terrible of all visitations-Gout, has hitherto passed unnoticed. This little manual, however, has amply supplied the desideratum, and being written in a very in.. telligent and concise form, it will be eagerly read.-The new remedies for the removal of theumatic affections are worthy especial notice."-Weekly True Sun.

11, Waterloo Place, June 14.

The Sixth Volume, price 5s. of

This day, price only 1s.


will appear on Wednesday the 18th.

RHEUMATISM,- - their nature, cure, and treatment. A Non medical Treatise, by one who has been many years a severe sufferer but who is now recovered.

W. Kidd, 14, Chandos Street, West Strand: of whom may be
had just published, price 1s. 6d.


By a Retired Occulist.-A new edition.




I leave this rule for others when I'm dead,

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The Author.

London: John Limbird, 143, Strand.







EVER PRINTED. The MINOR DRAMA, all Copyright Plays,

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XXIII of the M


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Third Edition, considerably enlarged, price 18s.

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LONDON: Published by H. HOOPER, 13, Pall Mali East.

CITY AGENTS-Messrs. Simpkin and Marshall, Stationers
Court, Ludgate Hill.

Burger, Hollywell Street.
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GLASGOW John Reid, and Co., Queen-street.
EDINBURGH-Messrs. Fraser, and Co. 54, North Bridge
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