"Why, why not? I hope there was nothing particular in the letter. I thought" "Oh, you odious blundering wretch!" she exclaimed, interrupting him, and bursting into tears; "it was nothing but an innocent, harmless valentine; and now look at all the mischief you have put into it." It was with a sorrowing heart that Charley wended his way homeward that evening, after enduring such a mortifying discovery, and the disagreeable consequences entailed thereon, and putting in extreme jeopardy his chance of the incensed Lucy, and her very desirable three thousand appurtenances; but as he passed the little inn where temporary sojourners in B were made as comfortable as the nature of the circumstances would permit, he caught a glimpse of the figure of a man standing in the hall, closely muffled and enveloped in that most successful of all disguises which a gentleman can assume, a rough pee-jacket. Could it be? it was decidedly like him; but what could bring him there? Nay, by Jove! it was the identical Mr Edward Fitzgerald himself, arrived, most unaccountably, at the very nick of time, to explain to Lucy how inadvertently her name had been alluded to, and thus get him out of the scrape. Led by this gleam of hope, he hurried up to the stranger, and eagerly claimed his recognition by seizing his hand without ceremony, and welcoming him to B "Down about business, I presume?" quoth Charley. No-yes-exactly," stammered the surprised new-comer. "Egad, you can do my business at all events," continued Charley. "I suppose you know by this time what a cursed mistake I made the other day about Miss Bindon's letter. Oh, you may laugh; but faith it has been no laughing matter to me. However, you can set all to rights, if you choose, by writing a few lines, saying how it occurred, and that it was quite an accident, and all that. Do now, like a good fellow, and I'll just run back with it, and make my peace.' "You mean," observed Fitzgerald, "that I should write to Miss Bindon. My dear fellow, I shall be delighted; but of course you'll deliver it under the rose. It would'nt be the thing, you know, to let the old lady into the secret;" and laughing heartily, and displaying the most laudable alacrity to extricate Charley from his dilemma, he led the way into the parlour, and having procured writing materials, sat down, wrote a few hurried lines, which he said would fully explain the whole occurrence and set it in a proper light, sealed his note, and delivered it to the anxious swain for whose behoof he had penned it, and who hastened away with his prize so quickly, that before the ink was dry, he placed it in the reluctant hands of the still pouting Lucy. "There!" exclaimed he, triumphantly; "since you won't believe me, maybe you'll believe that. Now, pray don't throw it into the fire," continued he, as a very unambiguous motion of the young lady seemed to imply was her intention; "only read it, and if that don't satisfy you, I'll say you're hard to be pleased, and that's all." Moved by this powerful appeal, Lucy cast her eye on the billet; a strange sort of emotion passed across her face, and she abruptly broke the seal, and proceeded to peruse the con. tents, while Charley applied himself, with equal zeal, to the perusal of her countenance. In it he could read, first, surprise, extreme and undisguised; secondly, confusion; and fastly, something undefinable, which at all events was not displeasure, for she concluded by looking fixedly at him for a moment or two, and then yielding to a most unladylike fit of laughter. "Well, Lucy, is all right ?" asked Charley, delighted at this demonstration. "All, all," she responded. Why, Charley, you must be canonized for your punctuality in the delivery of letters. But remember, not a word to mamma-mum, Charley. And now be off, lest she should come down, and ask what brought you back." "But, Lucy," interrupted the ardent lover, “now that's all settled, I think you might" "Well, here-take it anything to get rid of you." 66 Oh, Lucy! Lucy!" Next morning terrible was the hubbub in the household of Mrs Bindon. Miss Lucy was nowhere to be had; in fact, had eloped with a gentleman who had arrived at the inn the evening before, though by what means she could have communicated with him, or he with her, must, as the story-books say, for ever remain a mystery, unless we are to suppose the gentleman had the audacity to make Charley the bearer of his proposals in his exculpatory letter; at least, one to the following purport was found in her room next morning :"Dearest Lucy-So you have not forgotten me! It is needless to say I know you to be the writer of the sweet valentine I received last week. It has awakened new hopes in mehopes that I have ventured here to put to the test. In a word, will you be mine?-if so, we have nothing to hope from your mother. We must elope this night, and I shall accordingly have a carriage in readiness near your door until morning. Pray excuse the bearer all his mistakes, and this last particularly. Ever your own E. F." The dowager recognised the initials, but all the rest was heathen Greek to her. "Oh, Lucy! Lucy!" she exclaimed, in the bitterness of her grief, "did I ever think I was rearing you up to see you make a man of the house, at last, out of an attorney's skip!" A. M.C. WHY DO ROOTS GROW DOWNWARDS, AND STEMS TOWARDS THE HEAVENS? FIRST ARTICLE. IT cannot have escaped the observation of the most inattentive, the tendencies which roots have generally to descend into the ground, and which stems have as commonly to grow upwards towards the sky; yet the very commonness of these things may have prevented their obtaining the attention that they merit; for it must be acknowledged, that to a mind directed to them they appear, however frequent their occurrence, not the less difficult to explain. It is sufficiently hard to comprehend why roots and stems should grow in different directions, the one downwards, and the other upwards; but when we add to these the constant manner in which the darker surface of a leaf is turned upwards, and the part of a flower painted with the most gorgeous colours is directed always towards the light, the subject becomes more interesting, and the more vexatious ought to be our ignorance: and, then, there are phenomena, produced by unusual circumstances, calculated to puzzle us still further, and increase our bewilderment. Such are the manner in which a geranium, growing at a window, bends its stems and leaves towards the glass; the manner in which a potato plant, growing in a cellar into which the light is admitted by a single chink, will acquire a most unusual height, and follow a most devious and uncommon track to reach that ray of which it appears enamoured; and the mode in which a root will descend, along the face of a bare rock, an extraordinary distance, in order to arrive at some spring or stream. These are objects well worthy of contemplation. A remarkable example of one of the facts just alluded to occurred many years ago in the tower of an old cathedral in England: a potato plant grew to the height of between thirty and forty feet, to get at the glimmering light of a partially closed window. The final causes of many of these facts are easy to comprehend: the reason why a root grows down into the earth, is for the purpose of obtaining that sustenance which is necessary for the growth of the plant of which it is a part; and stems grow upwards, and towards the light, because the influence of this element is necessary for the elaboration of the sap; as a result of which process, stems grow in thickness, roots in length, flowers are developed, and the proper juices of vegetables become formed. We are likewise not without the means of explaining the proximate cause of one of these phenomena, for we have shown in our articles on Vegetable Sap that it is by the ascending sap that stems grow in length, and that, when light is excluded, no other sap can be formed; this causes the ascending sap to accumulate under such circumstances, and, consequently, in the dark, stems may be expected to acquire an enormous and very disproportionate length: thus we are enabled to understand why the potato, in the instance mentioned, should grow to so great a height. But admitting this explanation, how much seems incomprehensible in these common and too frequently neglected phenomena! We shall endeavour, in this and the following articles, to explain the manner in which these curious things occur. One might imagine that the reason why roots grow into the earth, and stems grow out of it, is on account of the former being attracted, and the latter repelled, by the materials of which that earth is composed; or, on the other hand, by the stems being attracted, and roots repelled, by atmospheric air. But such cannot be the case; for if seeds be made to germinate in the lower stratum of earth placed in a box furnished with holes in the bottom, the roots will descend into the air through those holes, while the stems will ascend into the earth. In a similar manner, it might and has been thought that roots are attracted, and stems repelled, by the moisture of the earth; but a seed made to germinate between two moist sponges will protrude its root downwards, and its stem upwards, without reference to the liquid in its vicinity. This explanation is therefore equally inadmissible. There are some who explain these, as well as all other things occurring in living beings, by the mysterious principle of life; but we only admit the existence of this principle, because there are some phenomena incapable of being accounted for by the ordinary laws that rule the universe, and that are common to all matter; and it is therefore unphilosophical to ascribe any effects to its operation, until they are found to be inexplicable by those ordinary laws. But we shall find that the facts in question do not in a great measure belong to these exceptions. The particular directions of stems and roots are produced by a combination of causes: if an onion plant, exposed to daylight, be laid horizontally on the ground, the extremities of the stem and roots will in the course of a few hours turn themselves in their natural directions, the one upwards, and the other downwards; if a similar plant be placed in a dark cellar, to which no light has access, the same things will take place; but that which happens in a few hours, in the one instance, will require as many days in the other; and thus we learn that in the production of these effects two causes operate: first, the light; and, secondly, some other principle distinct from light. It will occur to the reader that the absorption of water from the earth, by the most depending part of the plant, and its evaporation above, might, by swelling the lower portion and contracting the upper, produce the upward curving of the stem; to obviate this objection, the plant was placed in water, where no evaporation could occur, and absorption must take place equally over the whole surface; and still it was found that the same things happened. Light, therefore, is most powerfully influential in producing the particular directions of the parts of plants; but there is another principle, distinct from light, which acts in effecting the same phenomena in a minor degree, but not the less absolutely and even more generally. Let our readers bear in mind the existence of this principle, which will form the subject of a future article. For the present, we will examine the manner in which light operates in promoting the directions of stems and roots. the Sap: we have found that when light is present, the sap becomes elaborated in the green parts of plants; and the use of this elaborated sap is, by developing vegetable fibre, to increase the thickness of stems, and the length of roots. While the ascending sap, by forming vegetable flesh, lengthens the stems, and makes the root thick, the directions of the different parts of plants, by the agency of light, must be in obedience to these functions. We are now in a condition to comprehend the cause of some phenomena. A geranium (Pelargonium) stem, placed at a window, curves towards the light this takes place, because the portion of stem nearest the window elaborates most sap: consequently, in this portion most vegetable fibre is formed. The portion away from the light, on the contrary, has most ascending sap, which forms fleshy tissue, and lengthens the stem; the half of the stem remote from the light is therefore longer, that next the window is shorter; the former is fleshy and elastic, the latter is rigid and fibrous. Need we be surprised, then, that the short, rigid, and fibrous portion should draw down the long, fleshy, and elastic part, and curve it towards the light ?-it is but the bending of a bow, by the agency of its string. But why do roots curve away from the light? Neither is this difficult to understand. Roots do not elaborate the sap, nor form vegetable fibre of their own: what vegetable fibre they contain is pushed down through them from the stem : more of this vegetable fibre will force its way downwards, from the part of the stem nearest the light, than from that which is most remote: two forces of unequal intensity will push downwards, through opposite portions of the root; the greater pressure may be expected to overcome the lesser, and in obedience to this, the root will curve away from the light. We have now endeavoured to demonstrate the manner in which light operates in causing the directions of stems and roots: but it will be recollected that there is another principle, less powerful but more universal, which shares in the production of these effects. The consideration of this will form the subject of our next article. J. A. CAROLAN THE HARPER.-Respecting the origin of Carolan's fine air of different account from that given on O'Neill's authority. It Bumper Squire Jones," we have heard a was told us by our lamented friend, the late Dean of St Patrick's, as the tradition preserved in his family, and was to We have before hinted that the tendency of the organs of or great grand-uncle of the dean, happened to be enjoying tothe following effect: Carolan and Baron Dawson, the grand vegetables towards the light, bears a direct relation to the gether, with others, the hospitalities of Squire Jones at Modepth and brilliancy of their colours; roots which are usually neyglass, and slept in rooms adjacent to each other. The destitute of colouring matter grow away from the light: the bard, being called upon by the company to compose a song or upper surfaces of leaves are always the most deeply coloured; tune in honour of their host, undertook to comply with their and in those erect leaves which are equally exposed to light, request, and on retiring to his apartment, took his harp with both surfaces are similarly coloured; if the outer surface of a him, and under the inspiration of copious libations of his faflower be richly tinted, it is pendent; in erect flowers, on the vourite liquor, not only produced the melody now known as contrary, the internal surface is always the most brilliantly painted; and in some cases the direction of the flower and words to it. Bumper Squire Jones," but also very indifferent English fruit is different, connected with similar conditions. But in the judge was not idle. Being possessed of a fine musical While the bard was thus employed, however, all these instances we have reason to believe that the organ ear as well as of considerable poetical talents, he not only is not directed towards the light, because it is highly colour-fixed the melody on his memory, but actually wrote the noble ed; but that it is highly coloured, because it is presented to the light. In plants growing in the dark, all the organs are result may be anticipated. song now incorporated with it before he retired to rest. The colourless; it is only when exposed to the light that they morning, when Carolan sang and played his composition, At breakfast on the following acquire their various hues. Even the extremities of the roots Baron Dawson, to the astonishment of all present, and of have been found in a singular experiment of Dutrochet's the bard in particular, stoutly denied the claim of Carolan to to acquire a green colour by exposure to the influence of light. the melody, charged him with audacious piracy, both musical Is this tendency of the coloured parts of plants to turn and poetical, and, to prove the fact, sang the melody to his towards the light, due to an attraction exerted by this agent, own words amidst the joyous shouts of approbation of all his or is it produced by a peculiarity of growth determined hearers, the enraged bard excepted, who vented his execrathrough its influence? A curious experiment has settled this tions on the judge in curses both loud and deep.-Dublin question: A leaf, attached by its footstalk to a pivot, was so University Magazine. arranged that it could freely turn in every direction: under these circumstances, its under surface was exposed to light. If an attraction existed between the most deeply coloured portion and the light, the leaf might be expected to revolve on its pivot, in obedience to this attraction: but instead, the footstalk took on a spiral or corkscrew growth, by means of which the upper portion became in time presented to the light. Now, this experiment sufficiently showed that the manner in which light acts, is by its influence over vegetable growth. But what is the influence of light over vegetable growth? We have already answered this question in our articles on The two most precious things on this side the grave are our reputation and our life. But it is to be lamented, that the most contemptible whisper may deprive us of the one, and the weakest weapon of the other. A wise man, therefore, will be more anxious to deserve a fair name than to possess it, and this will teach him so to live as not to be afraid to die.--Colton. Printed and published every Saturday by GUNN and CAMERON, at the Office of the General Advertiser, No. 6, Church Lane, College Green, Dublin.Sold by all Booksellers. THE Castle of Monea, or Castletown-Monca-properly Magh an fhiaidh, i.e. the plain of the deer-is situated in the parish of Devinish, county of Fermanagh, and about five miles northwest of Enniskillen. Like the Castle of Tully, in the same county, of which we gave a view in a recent number, this castle affords a good example of the class of castellated residences erected on the great plantation of Ulster by the British and Scottish undertakers, in obedience to the fourth article concerning the English and Scottish undertakers, who "are to plant their portions with English and inland-Scottish tenants," which was imposed upon them by "the orders and conditions to be observed by the undertakers upon the distribution and plantation of the escheated lands in Ulster," in 1608. By this article it was provided that "every undertaker of the greatest proportion of two thousand acres shall, within two years after the date of his letters patent, build thereupon a castle, with a strong court or bawn about it; and every undertaker of the second or middle proportion of fifteen hundred acres shall within the same time build a stone or brick house thereupon, with a strong court or bawn about it. And every undertaker of the least proportion of one thousand acres shall within the same time make thereupon a strong court or bawn at least; and all the said undertakers shall cause their tenants to build houses for themselves and their families, near the principal castle, house, or bawn, for their mutual defence strength," &c. or Such was the origin of most of the castles and villages now existing in the six escheated counties of Ulster-historical memorials of a vast political movement-and among the rest this of Monea, which was the castle of the middle proportion of Dirrinefogher, of which Sir Robert Hamilton was the first patentee, From Pynnar's Survey of Ulster, made in 1618-19, it appears that this proportion had at that time passed into the possession of Malcolm Hamilton (who was afterwards archbishop of Cashel), by whom the castle was erected, though the bawn, as prescribed by the conditions, was not added till some years later. He says, 66 Upon this proportion there is a strong castle of lime and stone, being fifty-four feet long and twenty feet broad, but hath no bawn unto it, nor any other defence for the succouring or relieving of his tenants." From an inquisition taken at Monea in 1630, we find, however, that this want was soon after supplied, and that the castle, which was fifty feet in height, was surrounded by a wall nine feet in height and three hundred in circuit. The Malcolm Hamilton noticed by Pynnar as possessor of "the middle proportion of Dirrinefogher," subsequently held the rectory of Devenish, which he retained in commendam with his archbishopric till his death in 1629. The proportion of Dirinefogher, however, with its castle, was escheated to the crown in 1630; and shortly after, the old chapel of Monea was converted into a parish church, the original church being inconveniently situated on an island of Lough Erne. Monea Castle served as a chief place of refuge to the English and Scottish settlers of the vicinity during the rehorror recorded in story; but we shall not uselessly drag bellion of 1641, and, like the Castle of Tully, it has its tales of them to light. The village of Monea is an inconsiderable one, but there are several gentlemen's seats in its neighbourhood, and the scenery around it is of great richness and beauty. P. ON THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS BY MEANS ON SERPENT-CHARMING, AS PRACTISED BY THE MANY of my readers will doubtless recollect that in a paper Even in scripture we find the practice of serpent-charming noticed, and by no means as a novelty; in the 58th Psalm we are told that the wicked are like the "deaf adder that stoppeth her ear, which hearkeneth not unto the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely!" And in the book of Jeremiah, chap. viii, the disobedient people are thus threatened" Behold, I will send serpents, cockatrices, among you, which will not be charmed." These are two very remarkable passages, and I think we may, without going too far, set down as snake-charmers the Egyptian magi who contended against Moses and Aaron before the court of the proud and vacillating Pharaoh, striving to imitate by their juggling tricks the wondrous miracles which Moses wrought by the immediate aid of God himself. The feat of changing their sticks into serpents, for instance, is one of every-day performance in India, which a friend of mine has assured me he many times saw himself, and which has not been satisfactorily explained by any one. : The serpent has long been an object of extreme veneration to the natives of Hindostan, and has indeed, from the very earliest ages, been selected by many nations as an object of worship; why, I cannot explain, unless it originated in a superstitious perversion of the elevation of the brazen serpent in the wilderness by Moses. In India the serpent is not, however, altogether regarded as a deity-merely as a demon or genius and the office usually supposed to be peculiar to these creatures is that of guardians. This is perhaps one of the most widely spread notions respecting the serpent that we are acquainted with. Herodotus mentions the sacred serpents which guarded the citadel of Athens, and which he states to have been fed monthly with cakes of honey; and adds, that these serpents being sacred, were harmless, and would not hurt men. A dragon was said to have guarded the golden fleece (or, as some think, a scaly serpent), and protected the gardens of the Hesperides-a singular coincidence, as it is of gardens principally that the Indians conceive the serpent to be the guardian. Medea charmed the dragon by the melody of her voice. Herodotus mentions snakes being soothed by harmony; and Virgil, in the Æneid, says (translated by Dryden), "His wand and holy words the viper's rage Even our own island, although serpents do not exist in it a blessing for which, if we are to put faith in legendary lore, we have to thank St Patrick has numberless legends and tales of crocks of treasure at the bottom of deep, deep lakes, or in dark and gloomy caves, in inaccessible and rocky mountains, guarded by a fierce and wakeful snake, a sleepless serpent, whose eyes are never closed, and who never for a second abated of his watchful care of the treasure-crock, of which he had originally been appointed guardian; and, further, we are told how the daring and inventive genius of the son of Erin has often found out a mode of putting a "comether" on the "big sarpint, the villain," and haply closing his eyes in * See numerous legends of the "Peisté," slumber, while he succeeded in possessing himself of the hoard which by his cunning and bravery he had so fairly won; in other words, charming the snake and possessing himself of the spoil. Having thus glanced at the antiquity and wide spread of serpent-charming, shall proceed to lay before you a short description of the mode in which the spell is cast over the animals by the modern jugglers of Arabia and India. Of all the Indian serpents, next to the Cobra Minelle, the Cobra Capella, or hooded snake (Coluber Naja), called in India the "Naig," and also "spectacle snake," is the most venomous. It derives its names of hooded and spectacle snake from a fold of skin resembling a hood near the head, which it possesses a power of enlarging or contracting at pleasure; and in the centre of this hood are seen, when it is distended, black and white markings, bearing no distant or fanciful likeness to a pair of spectacles. The mode of charming, or, at all events, all that is to be seen or understood by the spectators, consists in the juggler playing upon a flute or fife near the hole which a snake has been seen to enter, or which his employers have otherwise reason to suppose the reptile inhabits. The serpent will presently put forth his head, a portion of his body will shortly follow, and in a few minutes he will creep forth from his retreat, and, approaching the musician, rear himself on his tail, and by moving his head and neck up and down or from side to side, keep tolerably accurate time to the tune with which his ears are ravished. After having played for a short period, and apparently soothed the reptile into a state of dreamy unconsciousness of all that is passing, save only the harmony which delights him, the juggler will gradually bring himself within grasp of the snake, and by a sudden snatch seize him by the tail, and hold him out at arms' length. On the cessation of the music, and on finding himself thus roughly assailed, the reptile becomes fearfully enraged, and exerts all his energies to turn upwards, and bite the arm of his aggressor. His efforts are however fruitless; while held in that position, he is utterly incapable of doing any injury; and is, after having been held thus for a few minutes before the gaze of the admiring crowd, dropped into a basket ready to receive him, and laid aside until the juggler has leisure and privacy to complete the subjugation which his wonder-working melody had begun. When charmed serpents are exhibited dancing to the sound of music, the spectators should not crowd too closely around the seat of the juggler, for, no matter how well trained they may be, there is great danger attending the cessation of the sweet sounds; and if from any cause the flute or fife suddenly stops or is checked, it not unfrequently happens that the snake will spring upon some one of the company, and bite him. I think that it will not be amiss if I quote the description of Indian snake-charming, furnished by a gentleman in the Honourable Company's civil service at Madras, to the writer, who vouches for its veracity: "One morning," says he, "as I sat at breakfast, I heard a loud noise and shouting among my palankeen bearers. On inquiry I learned that they had seen a large hooded snake (or Cobra Capella), and were trying to kill it. I immediately went out, and saw the snake climbing up a very high green mound, whence it escaped into a hole in an old wall of an ancient fortification. The men were armed with their sticks, which they always carry in their hands, and had attempted in vain to kill the reptile, which had eluded their pursuit, and in his hole he had coiled himself up secure, while we could see his bright eyes shining. I had often desired to ascertain the truth of the report as to the effect of music upon snakes: I therefore inquired for a snake catcher. I was told there was no person of the kind in the village, but, after a little inquiry I heard there was one in a village distant three miles. I accordingly sent for him, keeping a strict watch over the snake, which never attempted to escape whilst we his enemies were in sight. About an hour elapsed, when my messenger returned, bringing the snake catcher. This man wore no covering on his head, nor any on his person, excepting a small piece of cloth round his loins: he had in his hands two baskets, one containing tame snakes, one empty: these and his musical pipe were the only things he had with him. I made the snake catcher leave his two baskets on the ground at some distance, while he ascended the mound with his pipe alone. He began to play: at the sound of the music the When he snake came gradually and slowly out of his hole. was entirely within reach, the snake catcher seized him dexterously by the tail, and held him thus at arms' length, whilst the enraged snake darted his head in all directions, but in vain: thus suspended, he has not the power to round himself so as to seize hold of his tormentor. He exhausted himself in vain exertions, when the snake catcher descended the bank, dropped him into the empty basket, and closed the lid: he then began to play, and after a short time raised the lid of the basket, when the snake darted about wildly, and attempted to escape; the lid was shut down again quickly, the music always playing. This was repeated two or three times; and in a very short interval, the lid being raised, the snake sat on his tail, opened his hood, and danced quite as quietly as the tame snakes in the other basket, nor did he again attempt to escape. This, having witnessed it with my own eyes, I can assert as a fact." I particularly request the attention of my readers to the foregoing account, as, from the circumstance of its having been furnished by an eye-witness, and a man whose public station and known character were sufficient to command belief in his veracity, it will prove serviceable to me by and bye, when I shall endeavour to disprove the ridiculous assertions of Abbé Dubois and others, who hold that serpent-charming is a mere imposition, and assert, certainly without a shade of warranty for so doing, that the serpents are in these cases always previously tamed, and deprived of their poison bags and fangs, when they are let loose in certain situations for the purpose of being artfully caught again, and represented as wild snakes, subdued by the charms of their pipe. I shall, however, say no more at present of Dubois, Denon, or others who are sceptical on this subject, but shall leave the refutation of their fanciful opinions to another opportunity-my present purpose being the establishment of facts, ere I venture to advance a theory. I shall therefore conclude my present paper, and in my next, besides adducing many other important facts relative to serpent-charming, shall endeavour to throw some light upon the real mode by which it is effected. H. D. R. Description of the People of India, p. 469. GRUMBLING. If it be no part of the English constitution, it is certainly part of the constitution of Englishmen to grumble. They cannot help it, even if they tried; not that they ever do try, quite the reverse, but they could not help grumbling if they tried ever so much. A true-born Englishman is born grumbling. He grumbles at the light, because it dazzles his eyes, and he grumbles at the darkness, because it takes away the light. He grumbles when he is hungry, because he wants to eat; he grumbles when he is full, because he can eat no more. He grumbles at the winter, because it is cold; he grumbles at the summer, because it is hot; and he grumbles at spring and autumn, because they are neither hot nor cold. He grumbles at the past, because it is gone; he grumbles at the future, because it is not come; and he grumbles at the present, because it is neither the past nor the future. He grumbles at law, because it restrains him; and he grumbles at liberty, because it does not restrain others. He grumbles at all the elements-fire, water, earth, and air. He grumbles at fire, because it is so dear; at water, because it is so foul; at the earth, in all its combinations of mud, dust, bricks, and sand; and at the air, in all its conditions of hot or cold, wet or dry. All the world seems as if it were made for nothing else than to plague Englishmen, and set them a-grumbling. The Englishman must grumble at nature for its rudeness, and at art for its innovation; at what is old, because he is tired of it; and at what is new, because he is not used to it. He grumbles at everything that is to be grumbled at; and when there is nothing to grumble at, he grumbles at that. Grumbling cleaves to him in all the departments of life; when he is well, he grumbles at the cook; and when he is ill, he grumbles at the doctor and nurse. He grumbles in his amusements, and he grumbles in his devotion; at the theatres he grumbles at the players, and at church he grumbles at the parson. He cannot for the life of him enjoy a day's pleasure without grumbling. He grumbles at his enemies, and he grumbles at his friends. He grumbles at all the animal creation, at horses when he rides on them, at dogs when he shoots with them, at birds when he misses them, at pigs when they squeak, at asses when they bray, at geese when they cackle, and at peacocks when they scream. He is always on the look-out for something to grumble at; he reads the newspapers, that he may grumble at public affairs; his eyes are always open to look for abominations; he is always pricking up his ears to detect discords, and snuffing up the air to find stinks. Can you insult an Englishman more than by telling him he has nothing to grumble at? Can you by any possibility inflict a greater injury upon him than by convincing him he has no occasion to grumble? Break his head, and he will forget it; pick his pocket, and he will forgive it, but deprive him of his privilege of grumbling, you more than kill him-you expatriate him. But the beauty of it is, you cannot inflict this injury on him; you cannot by all the logic ever invented, or by all the arguments that ever were uttered, convince an Englishman that he has nothing to grumble at; for if you were to do so, he would grumble at you so long as he lived for disturbing his old associations. Grumbling is a pleasure which we all enjoy more or less, but none, or but few, enjoy it in all the perfection and completeness of which it is capable. If we were to take a little more pains, we should find, that having no occasion to grumble, we should have cause to grumble at everything. But we grow insensible to a great many annoyances, and accustomed to a great many evils, and think nothing of them. What a tremendous noise there is in the city, of carts, coaches, drays, waggons, barrel-organs, fish-women, and all manner of abominations, of which they in the city take scarcely any notice at all! How badly are all matters in government and administration conducted! What very bad bread do the bakers make! What very bad meat do the butchers kill! In a word, what is there in the whole compass of existence that is good? What is there in human character that is as it should be? Are we not justified in grumbling at everything that is in heaven above, or ir. the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth? In fact, gentle reader, is the world formed or governed half so well as you or I could form or govern it?-From a newspaper. VULGARITY. THE very essence of vulgarity, after all, consists merely in one error-in taking manners, actions, words, opinions, on trust from others, without examining one's own feelings, or weighing the merits of the case. It is coarseness or shallowness of taste, arising from want of individual refinement, together with the confidence and presumption inspired by example and numbers. It may be defined to be a prostitution of the mind or body to ape the more or less obvious defects of others, because by so doing we shall secure the suffrages of those we associate with. To affect a gesture, an opinion, a phrase, because it is the rage with a large number of persons, or to hold it in abhorrence because another set of persons very little, if at all, better informed, cry it down to distinguish themselves from the former, is in either case equal vulgarity and absurdity. A thing is not vulgar merely because it is common. It is common to breathe, to see, to feel, to live. Nothing is vulgar that is natural, spontaneous, unavoidable. Grossness is not vulgarity, ignorance is not vulgarity, awkwardness is not vulgarity; but all these become vulgar when they are affected and shown off on the authority of others, or to fall in with the fashion or the company we keep. Caliban is coarse enough, but surely he is not vulgar. We might as well spurn the clod under our feet, and call it vulgar. Cobbett is coarse enough, but he is not vulgar. He does not belong to the herd. Nothing real, nothing original, can be vulgar; but I should think an imitator of Cobbett a vulgar man. Simplicity is not vulgarity; but the looking to imitation or affectation of any sort for distinction is. A Cockney is a vulgar character, whose imagination cannot wander beyond the suburbs of the metropolis. An aristocrat, also, who is always thinking of the High Street, Edinburgh, is vulgar. We want a name for this last character. An opinion is often vulgar that is stewed in the rank breath of the rabble; but it is not a bit purer or more refined for having passed through the well-cleansed teeth of a whole court. The inherent vulgarity lies in the having no other feeling on any subject than the crude, blind, headlong, gregarious notion acquired by sympathy with the mixed multitude, or with a fastidious minority, who are just as insensible to the real truth, and as indifferent to every thing but their own frivolous pretensions. The upper are not wiser than the lower orders, because they resolve to differ from them. The fashionable have the advantage of the unfashionable in nothing but the fashion. The true vulgar are the persons who have a horrible dread of daring to differ from their |