THE CLIMATE OF CANADA. UEBEC may be regarded as the capital of British North America, and as the season is fast approaching when the annual tide of emigration proceeds towards the West, a a few observations on the climate and salubrity of Canada must be generally acceptable.

Considerable misapprehension appears to prevail in this country respecting the climate and salubrity of Canada. By a very large class of persons, the provinces of Canada are supposed to be unfavourable to the health of Europeansthat it is a dreary and an ice-bound country, fit only for Russians or Northern barbarians. It is difficult to understand how such notions can have been formed respecting this colony, more especially when large portions of it are known to be of the finest grain-producing districts in the world. It is perfectly true that a Canadian winter is considerably colder than the corresponding season in this country. For four months of the year, with unfailing regularity, winter fully realises the description of the poet, and

"Reigns tremendous o'er the fallen year-"

But to the Canadian settler, the season is one that is looked forward to with no gloomy apprehensions; but regarded as the approach of a time of increased healthy enjoyment. There are no fogs and alternate showers of sleet and rain; no rivers of flowing mud or melted snow pour down the streets of a Canadian city one day, to be cemented into dark and slippery ice the next; and no violent or rapid changes of temperature, such as take place in the winters in this country, try the constitution and shorten the lives of the people of Canada. Far as the distant horizon, there stretches over the whole of the country in Canada, a vast expanse of a hardened snowy surface, several inches, and sometimes feet, in depth, over which, as upon an excellent maca

damised road, the traffic is carried on. Distant towns and hamlets not yet provided with good roads, choose this period for carrying their stores to market; and at this period the sturdy axe of the emigrant rings more musical, and his shouts are heard to a greater distance as he levels the forest-trees, or bears them away upon sledges over the frost-bound earth. Unclouded skies, a clear atmosphere, a cold free from damp and moisture; snow which glistens in its frosty crystals, and plays, in its smaller particles, with the bracing wintry wind; the gay sledging parties, with the merry sounds of the bells on the horses, as they clatter over the frozen tracks, are the characteristics of a Canadian winter, exhilarating and cheerful in the cities and towns, health-inspiring in the villages, and of immense value to the agriculturist and the emigrant who knows how to avail himself of the advantages which it places at his disposal. While the winters are colder, the summers of Canada are hotter during some portions of the seasons than in this country. There is in this the proof of providential arrangement and foresight; for, beneath its powerful influence the summer sun brings rapidly to maturity the crops necessary for the support of the cattle, whilst it provides for a seasonable harvest. The grain crops of Canada ripen much earlier than in England, they are seldom injured by the weather, and when cut may be carried to the barn without that delay or loss of time which so frequently occurs in other countries; the whole of the harvest of Upper Canada is generally stored in the early weeks of August. Before winter sets in, there occurs what is known as the "Indian summer," a brief period of two or three weeks from about the middle of October to the beginning of November. The season is a peculiar one; delicious in its balmy warmth, it serves to quicken the vegetation of the newly sown grain, to perfect the buds that contain the embryo leaves and blossoms of the coming ear, before the stern winter shall bind them in his icy embrace.

It is called the Indian's summer, because in that brief period he is supposed to gather in his winter stores; and the sunset of each day is watched with lingering fondness by the Canadians, for they know not but that the morrow may cover their lands with a deep mantle of glistening snow. The vast inland seas of Canada produce very important effects upon the climate and temperature of the country. They serve to modify greatly the extremes of heat and cold which would otherwise prevail, and reduce the temperature to greater uniformity. The enormous amount of evaporation which must be constantly going off from the 100,000 square miles of inland water, increases the fall of rain, and renders the soil more productive. The old inhabitants speak of great changes in the temperature which have taken place during the present century, consequent upon the extensive clearings of the forests which have taken place; and the energy and perseverance of the Anglo-Saxon settlers will yet affect greater and more important changes in the character and climate of the country.

THE BRIDE OF CHESTER. THERE is a certain church in the city of Chester which I have

always regarded with peculiar interest, on account of a marriage there solemnized, under very singular circumstances, in my grandmother's girlhood. That venerable lady chanced to be a spectator of the scene, and ever after made it her favourite narrative. Whether the edifice now standing on the same site be the identical one to which she referred, I am nos antiquarian enough to know. It is a stately church, surrounded by an inclosure of the loveliest green, within which appear urns, pillars, obelisks, and other forms of monumental marble, the tributes of private affection, or more splendid memorials of historic dust. With such a place, though the tumult of the city rolls beneath its tower, one would be willing to connect some legendary

interest.

The marriage might be considered as the result of an early engagement, though there had been two intermediate weddings on the lady's part, and forty years of celibacy on that of the gentleman. At sixty-five, Mr. Ellenwood was a shy, but not quite a secluded man; selfish, like all men who brood over their own hearts, yet manifesting, on rare occasions, a vein of generous sentiment; a scholar throughout life, though always an indolent one, because his studies had no definite object, either of public advantage or personal ambition; a gentleman, high-bred and fastidiously delicate, yet sometimes requiring a considerable relaxation, in his behalf, of the common rules of society. In truth there were so many anomalies in his character, and, through shrinking with diseased sensibility from public notice, it had been his fatality so often to become the topic of the day, by some wild eccentricity of conduct, that people searched his lineage for an hereditary taint of insanity. But there was no need of this. His caprices had their origin in a mind that lacked the support of an engrossing purpose, and in feelings that preyed upon themselves for want of other food. If he were mad, it was the consequence, and not the cause, of an aimless and abortive life.

The widow was as complete a contrast to her third bridegroom, in everything but age, as can well be conceived. Compelled to relinquish her first engagement she had been united to a man of twice her own years, to whom she became an exemplary wife, and by whose death she was left in possession of a splendid fortune. A gentleman considerably younger than herself, succeeded to her hand, and carried her to London, where, after many uncomfortable years, she found herself again a widow. It would have been singular, if any uncommon delicacy of feeling had survived through such a life as Mrs. Dabney's; it could not but be crushed and killed by her early disappointment, the cold duty of her first marriage, the dislocation of the heart's principles, consequent on a second union, and the unkindness of her young husband, which had inevitably driven her to connect the idea of his death with that of her comfort. To be brief, she was the wisest, but unloveliest variety of woman, a philosopher, bearing troubles of the heart with equanimity, dispensing with all that should have been her happiness, and making the best of what remained. Sage in most matters, the widow was perhaps the more amiable, for the one frailty that made her ridiculous. Being childless, she could not remain beautiful by proxy, in the

person of a daughter; she therefore refused to grow old and ugly, on any consideration; she struggled with Time, and held fast her roses in spite of him, till the venerable thief appeared to have relinquished the spoil, as not worth the trouble of acquiring it.

The approaching marriage of this woman of the world, with such an unworldly man as Mr. Ellenwood, was announced soon after Mrs. Dabney's return to her native city. Superficial observers, and deeper ones, seemed to concur in supposing that the lady must have borne no inactive part in arranging the affair; there were considerations of expediency, which she would be far more likely to appreciate than Mr. Ellenwood; and there was just the specious phantom of sentiment and romance, in this late union of two early lovers, which sometimes makes a fool of a All the wonder was, how the gentleman, with his lack of worldly woman, who has lost her true feelings among the accidents of life. wisdom, and agonizing consciousness of ridicule, could have been induced to take a measure, at once so prudent and so laughable. But while people talked, the wedding day arrived. The cere mony was solemnized in open church, with a degree of publicity that attracted many spectators, who occupied the front seats of the galleries, and the pews near the altar and along the broad aisle. It had been arranged, or possibly it was the custom of the day, that the parties should proceed separately to church. By some accident, the bridegroom was a little less punctual than the widow and her bridal attendants; with whose arrival, after this tedious, but unnecessary preface, the action of our tale may be said to commence.

The clumsy wheels of several old fashioned coaches were heard, and the gentlemen and ladies, composing the bridal party, came through the church door, with the sudden and gladsome effect of a burst of sunshine. The whole group, except the principal figure, was made up of youth and gaiety. As they streamed up the broad aisle, while the pews and pillars seemed to brighten on either side, their steps were as buoyant as if they mistook the church for a ball-room, and were ready to dance hand in hand to the altar. So brilliant was the spectacle, that few took notice of a singular phenomenon that had marked its entrance. At the moment when the bride's foot touched the threshold, the bell swung heavily in the tower above her, and sent forth its deepest knell. The vibrations died away and returned, with prolonged solemnity, as she entered the body of the church.

"Mercy! what an omen," whispered a young lady to her lover.

"On my honour," replied the gentleman, "I believe the bell has the good taste to toll of its own accord. What has she to do with weddings? If you, dearest Julia, were approaching the altar, the bell would ring out its merriest peal. It has only a funeral knell for her."

The bride, and most of her company, had been too much occupied with the bustle of entrance, to hear the first boding | stroke of the bell, or at least to reflect on the singularity of such a welcome to the altar. They therefore continued to advance with undiminished gaiety. The gorgeous dresses of the time, the crimson velvet coats, the gold-laced hats, the hoop-petticoats, the silk, satin, brocade and embroidery, the buckles, canes, and swords, all displayed to the best advantage on persons suited to such finery, made the group appear more like a bright coloured picture, than anything real. But by what perversity of taste, had the artist represented his principal figure as so wrinkled and decayed, while yet he had decked her out in the brightest splendour of attire, as if the loveliest maiden had suddenly withered into age, and become a moral to the beautiful around her! On they went, however, and had glittered along about a third of the aisle, when another stroke of the bell seemed to till the church with a visible gloom, dimming and obscuring the bright pageant, till it shone forth again as from a mist.

This time the party wavered, stopped, and huddled closer together, while a slight scream was heard from some of the ladies, and a confused whispering among the gentlemen. Thus tossing to and fro, they might have been fancifully compared to a splendid bunch of flowers, suddenly shaken by a puff of wind, which threatened to scatter the leaves of an old, brown, withered rose, on the same stalk with two dewy buds; such being the emblem of the widow between her fair young bridemaids. But her heroism was admirable. She had started with an irrepressible shudder, as if the stroke of the bell had fallen directly on her heart; then, recovering herself, while her attendants were yet in dismay, she took the lead, and paced calmly up the aisle. The bell continued to swing, strike, and vibrate,

marriage words, all marked the funeral of earthly hopes. But as the ceremony proceeded, the organ, as if stirred by the sympathies of this impressive scene, poured forth an anthem, first mingling with the dismal knell, then rising to a loftier strain, till the soul looked down upon its woe. And when the awful rite was finished, and with cold hand in cold hand, the Married of Eternity withdrew, the organ's peal of solemn triumph drowned the Bell.

TO EVELINE.

Child of my heart! to me as dear
As child to father e'er can be,
Amid my thousand sorrows here,
My only comfort is in thee!

Child of my heart! though oft I mourn,
By cruel fortune trampled down--
When smiles thy cherub face adorn,
I care but little for her frown.
Child of my heart! though glory's sun
Shall never consecrate my fame,
When call'd by thee thy "dearest one!"
I cannot ask a prouder name!
Child of my heart! by all the rest
On earth should I forsaken be,
So thou wert mine, I were most blest,
For thou art all the world to me!
Child of my heart! whatever ill

On my unsheltered head may fall,
When on thy lip my kisses thrill,

That moment I forget it all!
Child of my heart! the hours I share
With thee alone to me are sweet
And absence I can only bear,

;

By thinking that we soon shall meet. Child of my heart! how oft to thee

My soul exclaims, "Sweet Eveline," God bless thee, as thou blessest me,

And soothe thy sorrows, as thou mine!"

MICHAEL ANGELO.-It is often expedient on public occasions to humour the little caprices of self-important but amiable functionaries. A pleasant anecdote of this kind is told of the gonfaloniere Pietro Soderini. When, on the appointed day, the ceremonial of elevating the statue into its proper position had been gone through in the presence of a vast crowd of spectators, Michael Angelo himself superintended the removal of the guardboards. Soderini, who was at this moment just beneath the statue, expressed himself as perfectly enchanted:-" There is, however," he added, "one slight defect, which can easily be corrected, the nose is rather too thick." Michael Angelo saw that the worthy magistrate was so placed as to be incapable of really judging of this feature, but as there was no time for discussion, he seemed to assent to the criticism, and catching up unperceived some marble dust, and mounting a temporary bridge on the side of the statue, affected to work lightly on the nose with a file, letting fall at the same moment some of the dust in his hand on the head of Soderini. He then called out, "How does it look now?" "I am perfectly satisfied," replied the gonfaloniere. "You have actually imparted life to it." The artist descended quite as much pleased with the success of his stratagem as the worthy functionary with his own critical discernment.

MEDICAL MEN AND WOMEN IN THE ELEVENTH CENTURY. -The clergy and the Jews were the leading men of the medical profession during the tenth and eleventh centuries. From 1131 down to 1163 the Popes took occasion to thunder against practising ecclesiastics. A chief-justice, about the year 1223, recommended to the Bishop of Chichester one Master Thomas, an army surgeon, as one who knew how to cure wounds, a science particularly needed in the siege of castles. Barbers assisted in baths, shaved, and applied ointments. Henry V. at Agincourt, with 30,000 men, had one surgeon and fifteen assistants. During the reign of Henry VIII. there were twelve surgeons in London. In 1512 physicians and surgeons had to be approved of by the Bishop of London or the Dean of St. Paul's. Females were everywhere to be met with practising the healing art. The tooth-drawers, now the dentist's art, is not of recent date. Sir John Belgrave, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, had all his teeth drawn, and afterwards had a set of ivory teeth in again. Otter, in Ben Jonson's "Silent Woman," says all her teeth were made in the Black Friars.

FLORAL CHIT-CHAT FOR MARCH. BY G. M. F. G.

"Not a tree,

A plant, a leaf, but contains

A folio volume: we may read, and read,

And read again, and still find something new;
Something to please, and something to instruct,
Even in the humble weed."

AS we all require some kind of pastime, there is none (as I have

in a former paper intimated) that surpasses that of gardening. What other recreation is there that can open up such a vast treasury of useful knowledge? What can be imagined more delightful than to be able to walk through a tastefully laid-out garden, and be in a position to say "this is my own laying out, these flowers have been cultivated by me?" I repeat, nothing! And again, where can we look, or expect to find such true lessons of love and wisdom as those conveyed to us through the painted pages of beautiful flowers? Nowhere. By all means, then, cultivate a closer acquaintance with those emblems of innocence and truth, designed doubtless with the view of proving to man that he is indebted to the creator for every blessing he receives.

I need hardly state that vermin signifies every description of insect which preys upon and injures either vegetables or flowers, to which snails slugs and caterpillars are particularly destructive.

In the evening they wander about in search of food, returning at daybreak to their respective haunts. The best advice that can be given for the removal of these intruders is to "rise by times, to search vigorously, and destroy every one you can catch." However, as you may not know the most effectual method of catching them, I will put you in the right way to set about it. If you are an early riser, and you ought to be, you may cut off their day retreats, or you may lay a few cabbage leaves in various parts of the garden, particularly on the beds they visit most; examine these leaves every morning as soon as you are up, and you will find a great many, taking advantage of this temporary retreat? there are hundreds of ways to get rid of them, but this (unless, indeed, they are very numerous) is as certain a way as any. Grubs, earwigs, and butterflies are equally destructive to vegetation, consequently they require your attention, although not just at the present time.

Collect together at your leisure, peat, loam, sand, &c., which you will be sure to require before long; also preserve every bit of rubbish for the dungheap, such as decayed leaves, turves, the parings of vegetables, and, in fact, anything and everything that would be thrown away; and prove that you are not for getful of the proverb,

"Wilful waste makes woeful want."

Look well to your dahlias during the present month; that is to water, especially over the foliage; search among them for earsay, give them every protection from sun, supply them well with wigs; and though last, not least, make cuttings if you want a further supply. Auriculas, which are growing fast, should have their side shoots removed for the purpose of throwing more strength into their bloom; let them have the benefit of warm showers, if such a thing should occur, which I very much question. The present is a favourable opportunity for planting out chrysanthemums. Carnations are extremely impatient of wet or confinement, as they suffer very acutely from mildew; notwithstanding that they are a hardy kind of flower. Give them the benefit of the fresh air whenever an opportunity presents itself. Pinks should be covered with litter in frosty weather, but, at the same time, if the weather is anything like favourable, let them have all the air you possibly can. Piccotees may be treated in precisely the same manner as recommended for carnations. Protect hyacinths and tulips from frost, by means of hoops and mats, or a little dry litter, if in the borders in any great quantity; but if in small patches, an inverted flower-pot will answer all the purpose; also let them have plenty of air when the weather is mild. The directions given for pinks will equally apply to panAutumn-sown annuals may now be planted out, and hardy annuals may be sown in the borders. If you have any ranunculuses or anemones out of the ground, lose no time in planting them. They will be a kind of succession to the early The seed of the tree primrose, French honeysuckle, foxglove, holly-hock, and in fact, most of the different kinds of biennial and perennial plants. Sow tender annuals in heat, or in other words, let them be sown in pots and placed in a hot-bed to grow. Dig and cleanse the beds and borders containing bulbs, as soon as they show themselves sufficiently to prevent accident.

seys.

ones.