as unmeaning in England as that of privy councillor in Germany. What the designation originally meant, is ascertained by the origin of the word, which is traced to the Latin scutifer, or shield bearer. They were men-at-arms, and attended knights to the wars.' Camden enumerates five orders of the rank, the last being such as hold any superior rank, public office, or serve the prince in any worshipful calling.' This is sufficiently vague, to take in a very large class of persons; hence it has been a subject of great dispute and much doubt amongst our wisest lawyers, to whom the title of esquire properly belongs. Blackstone and Coke have written on the subject, and the question has been recently agitated with great vigour by the worshipful petty sessions of Kensington.

merit or any other qualification. Absurd or insignificant, however, as they too frequently are, they may be considered as not altogether useless. Classing them with many other things which philosophy would disown, they are to be viewed as in some respects essential to the present tastes and habits of society, and therefore worthy of all the toleration usually accorded to social arrangements in themselves indifferent or unobjectionable.

Titles are in this country a part of our political system, and as such, receive the sanction of many friends of our institutions, who otherwise care little about them. The example of America shows that they may be formally excluded from a country, whilst a strong inclination to use them, however obliquely, still remains. In that republic all such distinctions are theoretically renounced as unworthy of a free and enlightened nation. Mere honorary distinctions are not by the constitution allowed; yet in no country in the world are titles so worshipped. M. de Beaumont, a French traveller, who may be considered disinterested, declares, Whether you shall be received with enthusiasm in America, very well, decently well, or coldly, depends on whether you are a duke, marquis, count, or nothing. The meanest driver,' this writer continues, of a diligence styles himself gentleman, and no one who has attained a position the least above the mass of men ever fails to take the title of esquire.' The members of congress, and every local legislature, is styled the honourable Mr So and So,' which is the only civil rank, except esquire, in vogue. Yet all the means and appliances of titular nobility are eagerly adopted. Heraldic insignia are much affected, and even spurious vanities are sported on family vehicles.

One class of people, who abound in America, namely, the Society of Friends,' abandon every vestige of titular distinction, be it ever so simple; and in this respect are at least consistent, for they scrupulously practise what they preach. Excepting this upright class of men, we know of no portion of mankind, civilised or otherwise, who disdain to seek for or to use titles. In this, indeed, there seems remarkably little distinction. To the high, titles appear almost a necessary part of their existence, although we have heard them complained of as a load which would be very willingly resigned. To the most humble in station they are perhaps still more fondly clung to. Every workman is desirous of being spoken to as Mr; and his respectable wife, who requires no such adjunct, is addressed as Mistress. In short, from high to low, throughout all grades, is this craving manifest. Viewed in the abstract, titles are not things worthy of desire, and they must be considered as failing in their object when applied without distinction as to

THE LEGEND OF THE HAPPY VALLEY. ONE of the chief delights of travelling, especially in the woods, wilds, and prairies of the vast American continent, is to light upon some strange and quaint wanderer who can beguile the hours of repose with anecdotes and recollections of his past life. I rarely failed, on putting up at a hotel, whether it was the far-famed Tremont of Boston, the somewhat less celebrated Tremont of Galveston, a road-side shanty, or venerable log, to find one of these retailers of traditionary lore in the shape of backwoodsman, leather-stocking, bee-hunter, or red man. The latter was ever most welcome; for though the hunting scrapes of the former were always interestliever in their elevated character, demeanour, and intellect-there was yet on all occasions something new, fresh, and to a European, however sceptical concerning their good qualities, something of secret and mysterious interest. This feeling is so strongly implanted in our nature from early association of ideas, and from the opinions we have formed of the native inhabitants of Columbia in the fascinating pages of the American novelist, that we endeavour, when coming in contact with Indian tribes, and finding our preconceived opinions very much shocked, to persuade ourselves that we have fallen on a bad specimen of the great family-that we have but to travel further, to explore more carefully, and we shall find that all are not so dirty, lazy, and treacherous as those we have met with. Be this as it may, I shall not easily forget the emotions of pleasure which filled my mind when, on dismounting after a weary day's journey, and crossing the threshold of the low shanty which served the purpose of an inn, at the upper ford of the Sabine, I saw standing erect before the fire, habited as nearly as possible in the costume of a white American hunter, an Indian. He was one of those who, without exactly dwelling either with his tribe or with the settlers, lived on the confines of both. In the village of the Wacco Indians he had his wigwam: true, he had no squaw, and his sons had all followed the warpath to return no more. In the white man's settlements there were whisky, tobacco, and powder, and the Indian's rare skill as a hunter enabled him to exchange the produce of his untiring labour for such articles as he most coveted. In the wigwam of White Hawk were more knives, and blankets, and guns, than in any other, though he had no squaw or young men; but White Hawk distributed his goods with a liberal hand among his people, and was a great chief. These facts I learned in a very few seconds from my landlady, the thin, yellow, but still healthy wife of a borderer. I intimated my intention of supping, and invited the Indian to join me. He did not decline the offer. Thirty years of constant intercourse with the invaders of his soil had taught him their habits and language, and White Hawk could use a knife and fork, relish salt, drink whisky-toddy, and, what is more, speak English, all with equal facility and readiness. French, indeed, was better known to him-perhaps no Louisianian creole spoke it more purely-but then the languages bear more affinity one to another than his and ours, and we accordingly conversed in French, especially considering the fact, that it was the native dialect of our hostess. We talked animatedly for hours; I listened, however, more than I spoke, and wondered still more. The man had travelled immensely. In every state of the Union he had left a trail behind him, and in Texas his footsteps

crossed one another in all directions. He told me many and wonderful stories, and among others one to which I listened so eagerly, that the Indian could not refrain from a smile. Though, I believe, to such Americans as have wandered beyond the edge of their vast frontier it is not unknown, to few of my English readers can it be familiar, unless in some obscure hints which travellers may have thrown out concerning it. I would give it in the Indian's words, but I fear few would thank me for my fidelity. Preserving, then, the facts without addition, retrenchment, or alteration, I lay it before the public.

Nawata-taoni was the chief of a small tribe of Peorias who inhabited the foot of the Rocky Mountains, between Fort Leavenworth and the bursting of the Arkansas from its rocky prison, and who hunted buffalo during the summer on the wide and boundless prairies which stretch from that great Alpine chain to the abodes of men. The Sioux, that fierce and indomitable tribe of warlike Indians, who claim an extent of territory equal to some of the most powerful empires of Europe, and who, in support of that claim, go about like raging wolves seeking whom they may devour, took it one day into their heads to destroy this little band of Peorias. Knowing the deep cunning and valour of Nawata-taoni, they chose a day when he was absent in treaty with a neighbouring chief of the Kaskaskias, and falling upon the village unawares, took the scalp of every warrior, and bore the women and children into captivity. The men who did this deed were sixty in number, and though thus far successful, they knew that the squaws would mock them, the old men shake their heads, and deny them the title of braves, if they brought not in the tuft of Nawata-taoni. The chief returned to his village to find it desolate, destroyed, annihilated; and, though alone, he vowed vengeance upon his persecutors. Life had lost all its charms; there was nothing left but to revenge and die. Knowing well that his enemies were thirsting for his blood, he thought it prudent to hide for some time, until they should have returned to their winter-quarters, when he could come forth and lay his deep and hopeful plans of retaliation. With his faithful bow, his quiver full of unerring arrows, he turned to the mountains, there to secrete himself. He moved but slowly, as he used the most careful precautions to conceal his trail; walking in the bed of running streams, taking his way with his face to the spot whence he came, leaping through a dense forest for miles, without ever touching the ground, the trees being his path, until at length, at the expiration of a week, he found himself on a ledge of hard rock, that could not leave even the most faint trace of human footsteps. The chief followed it. It led between two lofty hills, becoming every moment more narrow; at length he reached its termination, and a sight burst upon the Indian's view which even at that desolate moment made his heart leap with gratitude and unspeakable emotions. At his feet lay a lovely valley, or rather hollow, for, save where he stood, there appeared no gap or break in the hills; a sward, green and smooth as a lawn, ran down from the crest of the rock to a lake which bristled with sparkling springs, each rising like a jet d'eau of art, and falling again into the bubbling bosom of that sweet piece of water. Groves dotted the scene all around, and on the sides of the hills were dense thickets and woods, which promised abundance of game. The chief walked slowly down to the banks of the lake; it was teeming with fish. He walked nearly round it; a river escaped from one end, a mighty stream in its very birth, and at some distance was heard the roar of waters. But nowhere did the restless searching eye of Nawata-taoni detect the slightest evidence to prove that mortal man had ever trod that spot. A smile of grim satisfaction passed over the warrior's face, as he determined to take up his abode in it, there to baffle his enemies for a time, and then to found another tribe; once more to have wigwams about him, and then-his dark eye glistened, |

and became big with deadly meaning-he was thinking of the fifty reeking scalps which hung up in the lodges of his hated enemies the Sioux. His first care was to build a small and convenient hut, to manufacture traps for beaver, and fishing-tackle for the speckled trout. Of both, the lake and stream afforded abundance. Then, laying aside his bow and arrows, he plunged into the river-whose high, rough, and precipitous banks forbade any other mode of exploring itto find where it led to, and to discover if it afforded any facility for the secret advance of an enemy. He swam along quietly, his eyes scanning every gap and fissure in the rocks, until he felt the current become violent, the roar of waters more loud, and, dashing out, he made the right bank of the stream. Clambering amid pointed rocks and loose stones, he soon gained a spot from whence he saw the river of the Happy Valley escaping in a gigantic fall of some hundred feet or so into another and equally extraordinary place. The chief sat down upon a fragment of granite, and gazed around him. The bed of the river presented a singular aspect; in the middle it was a smooth though rushing stream, while on both sides were caverns, and arches, and gullies, through which the mad water fiercely bubbled, escaping through vents which its own impetuosity had carved out. Nawata approached to the very edge of the cliff, looked down upon the smooth grass and green woods of this other valley, and smiled; then, as if satisfied with his survey, he leaped once more into the water, and returned to his hut. On a first inspection, he had imagined that the lake and stream were one body of water; but a more careful survey caused him to discover, that though the river took its origin certainly in the hundred springs of this lively sheet of water which supplied him with fish, beavers' fur, and beavers' tails, yet the river burst from a cavern some twenty feet from the lake, the connecting interval being subterraneous.

Almost a month had passed, and Nawata-taoni began to think he had baffled his enemies. There was, he found, no lack of beaver or trout; the woods afforded him squirrels, and racoons, and turkeys; and in the immense valley below the falls he had seen, though as yet without pursuing them, many a buffalo. Every day added to his knowledge of the locality, and every day to his settled determination of peopling the valley of Nawata, as in his pride he called it. He had already enlarged, ornamented, and garnished his hut with furs and skins, and placed it where a village could conveniently surround it; he had laid out the line of wigwams in his eye; the maize fields for the squaws to labour in; the tree which was to be hewn down on the days which should summon his new tribe to the warpath, to follow the trail of the murdering and lying Sioux. About the dusk of one evening, which gave sign of a stormy and disagreeable night, Nawata sat at his tent door, resting on a luxurious heap of beavers' skins, and smoking out of a rude pipe the most aromatic leaves of the forest. His keen restless eye ranged all around; his nice ear, alive to the faintest sound, was ever listening for the footsteps of the foe. Why does Nawata start, lay aside his pipe, and stand erect on the threshold of his hut, clutching with eager grasp the handle of his tomahawk? Next minute his bow is bent, an arrow flies from it, a loud cry is heard, and fifty dark and yelling forms burst from the narrow entrance whence Nawata had gazed upon the peaceful and Happy Valley, now changed into the abode of wild and infuriated savages; who, rushing down the gentle slope with triumph glaring in their eyes, seek to clutch their victim. It was the Sioux who had laid waste his peaceful village, and Nawata-taoni, feeling that to live was necessary to his revenge, fled. To leap into the lake, to swim under water until his breath could be held no longer, then to rise at a distance and shake his clenched fist at his pursuers, who, discharging a hasty flight of arrows, threw down their bows and followed him, was the work of a few minutes. The bubbling springs con

fused his pursuers, and some were at fault; but there were enough who were not, and Nawata-taoni soon found that these were gaining on him. The darkness was not sufficient to hide any very palpable object from the sight; and when, reaching the point where, in a kind of whirlpool, the lake rushed into its cavernous passage to the river, the Sioux saw their victim plunge into the vortex, an awful yell rent the air. The whole fifty warriors in an instant were on the land, which gave a distinct view of both pieces of water. Another yell, half of pleasure, half of admiration, followed, when the opposite cavern gave up the apparently lifeless body of Nawata-taoni. Every dark form, which a moment before was filled with bitter sensations of disappointment, now dilated with joy, and, plunging after the chief, each man sought to be the winner of the prize. The end of the chase appeared no longer doubtful. Nawata, bewildered, stunned, almost senseless, however, rapidly recovered, but not so rapidly as to be any match for his pursuers, who, fresh, strong in numbers, and eager for his scalp, dashed after him with an intense violence, which showed how much they valued their prey. Nawata laughed aloud, a laugh of taunting, bitter irony, as he cried, "The Sioux are squaws-the Sioux are dogs!' Still they rushed on, more eager than ever, their yells mingling with the boiling waters, when suddenly Nawata plunged headlong under water. A yell of horror, terror, agony, burst from the foremost of the Sioux as they strove to turn, but it was in vain; those behind pressed them on; man clung to man, men to men. One gigantic warrior clutched a point of rock; the Sioux became as one dark mass; they were stationary. The whole fifty or sixty warriors were hanging by the single arm of the gigantic chief; they were in the very leap of the cataract; the current was too impetuous to be stemmed: there was no hope. A loud taunting laugh caused them to raise their eyes to the bank, on which stood the avenger pointing to the abyss below. A cry then arose so horrible, so piteous, so deathlike, that even Nawata was appalled, and he returned to his hut, without one living enemy within hundreds of miles, with a heavy heart. But he had had his revenge; the place was now deserted; no one would dwell in it-certainly not Nawatataoni; and,' said the Indian, Nawata dwelt with the pale faces, and hunted for them, and the Waccos became his friends, and called his name White Hawk.'

I started; the conclusion was unexpected. Thirty years had passed, and Nawata-taoni was an old man. I told the chief how deeply his tale had interested me; but neither he nor I cared about any other that night; and over an excellent cup of coffee, prepared by our French hostess, we dwelt for hours on the recollections which had been awakened in both our bosoms by the Legend of the Happy Valley.

THE GRINDERS OF SHEFFIELD.

[Abridged from the London and Edinburgh Journal of Medical

Science, as given in the Medical Times.]

'DR G. CALVERT HOLLAND, of Sheffield, has published a series of communications of great importance and value on the grinders of that town, more especially with reference to their physical condition, the manner in which it may be alleviated, the discases to which they are subjected, chiefly those of the pulmonic system, the pathological changes induced in their lungs, and the treatment that should be adopted for their relief. He says his attention was directed several years ago to the condition of the grinders, in the hope that something might be devised to mitigate the evils under which they labour, and the lengthened investigations into which he has entered are the result of much thought and personal observation. His object was less to study the phenomena of disease, than to induce the legislature, by a statement of general facts, to take the appalling circumstances into consideration, with the view to enforce measures for their correction; and he thinks he has reason to believe that the legislature will interfere. When it is considered that in Sheffield some

thousands of individuals pursue the pernicious occupation of grinding, and that many thousands depend upon these for their daily bread, it becomes an imperative duty to endeavour to correct evils fraught with so much misery and wretchedness, not only to the artisans and their fami lies, but injurious in the extreme to the town at large." A plan of Mr Abraham for saving grinders from the effects to which they are exposed having in a great measure failed, from its application being voluntary on the part of the men, another and much more effectual means of preventing the dust from being swallowed has been invented. 'A wooden funnel, from ten to twelve inches square, is placed a little above the surface of the revolving stone, on the side the furthest from the grinder, and this funnel terminates in a channel immediately under the surface of the floor; or we may consider the channel simply as the continuation of the funnel, in order to avoid any according to the situation of the grinder, in reference to confusion in the explanation, The channel varies in length, the point where it is most convenient to get quit of the dust. If we suppose that eight or ten grinders work in the same room, each has his own funnel and channel, and they all terminate in one common channel, the capacity of which is, perhaps, twice or three times as great as each of the subordinate or branch-channels. The point where they terminate is always close to an external wall. At this point, within the general channel, a fan is placed, somewhat in form like that used in winnowing corn, and to this is attached a strap which passes upwards, and over a pulley, also to revolve. The pulley is placed in connection with the so that whatever puts the pulley in motion causes the fan machinery which turns the stone, so that whenever the grinder adjusts his machinery to work, he necessarily sets the pulley and the fan in motion. The fan, acting at this point, whatever may be the length of any of the subordinate channels, causes a strong current to flow from the mouth of each funnel, which carries along with it all the gritty and metallic particles evolved, leaving the room in which the operations are pursued free from any perceptible dust. When the whole apparatus is perfect and in excellent condition, the atmosphere of the place is almost as healthy as that of a drawing-room.

manufactory belonging to Messrs Yeoman and Shaw, where The efficiency of this apparatus is shown in a spindle it is kept in beautiful order. The dust, which is thoroughly removed, is conveyed by the general channel into a trough of water on the outside of the building. The quantity which accumulates in it in a few weeks is very great, and in raising it in a mass, it seems to have almost the specific gravity of metal. The expense in the construction of the apparatus would scarcely exceed the proportion of a sovereign to each grinder. The funnel will cost only a few shillings, and the channel, if the grinder work on the earth, and placing bricks over it, or it may be constructed ground-floor, may be formed by the excavation of the entirely of bricks. The fan and pulley may be purchased for a mere trifle. The branch or subordinate channels should be under, and not, as they are occasionally, above the floor. In the latter case, especially if made of wood, they are liable to accidents, and may be so damaged as to destroy their utility, the dust escaping into the room, and rendering the atmosphere exceedingly impure.'

Scissor-grinding is described as exceedingly pernicious to health; but the more destructive the branch, the more ignorant, reckless, and dissipated are the workmen, and the greater is the tendency to marry, and at exceedingly early ages. Where the circumstances of the occupation are favourable, the average duration of life will be high, where otherwise, low; consequently the ages of the workmen in the respective branches of grinding are a general indication of its healthy or prejudicial nature. In the scissor-grinding branch, 161 of the 213 employed are under 40 years of age, thus affording direct evidence of the destructive tendency of the business. Of these 213, 11 have not worked at the trade for several years, from different causes, and only one of the 213 has reached the age of 60. The majority of deaths occur respectively from the ages of 26 to 30, and from 36 to 40. Of 102 deaths, 86 took place under 45 years of age, and five only exceeded 50; of 1000 scissor-grinders, not one has reached the 65th year, while of an equal number of operatives in Manchester, there are 45 living at that age, and in the agricultural county of Northumberland 119. Many of the artisans in this branch are emaciated and shattered in constitution at an age considerably under the prime of life, owing to the pernicious

nature of the pursuit. Of the 213, 145 were found to have suffered, or were at present afflicted with the following diseases: 24 had been affected with inflammation in some part of the chest, which had required medical treatment; 24 had had spitting of blood; 24 had suffered from rheumatism, and often in a very severe form; 33 complained of some affection of the urinary organs, frequently pain in micturition, or the deposition of numerous small particles of sand; 12 had had fever, in most cases typhus; and 18 had unequivocal organic disease of the lungs, exhibiting difficulty of breathing, urgent cough, and expectoration. The grinders themselves never seem to be sensible of the incipient stages of pulmonary disease, though invariably accompanied with cough, and some degree of difficulty of breathing on exertion. They complain only when disease interferes with the ability to pursue the occupation.

The educational condition of the scissor-grinders is low. Of the 213, 98 can read and write, but very indifferently; 17 can read only, and 98 can neither read nor write. More than half of these are under 35 years of age. The apprentices in this branch are not much better educated,

Fork-grinding is considered as a branch of the work of such destructive tendency, that other artisans frequently refuse to work in the same room with the fork-grinders, and many sick-clubs have an especial rule against their admission, as they would draw largely on their funds, from frequent and long-continued sickness. There are 87 men and 100 boys employed, and an immense proportion of them die under 30 years of age. In 1820, it was found that one-fourth of the number employed died every five years, a rate of mortality exceeding everything previously known in any branch of manufacture, or in any pursuit or occupation. Of the 61 who died from 1825 to 1840, 35 died under 30 years of age, and 47 under 36. Out of 1000 deaths of persons above 20 years of age, the proportion between 20 and 30 in England and Wales is 160; in Sheffield 184; but amongst the fork-grinders, the proportion is the appalling number of 475; so that between these two periods, three in this trade die to one in the kingdom generally. Between the ages of 30 and 40 a still greater disparity presents itself. In the kingdom, 136 only in the 1000 die; in Sheffield 164; but in the fork-grinding branch 410; so that between 20 and 40 years of age, in this trade, 885 perish out of the 1000, while in the kingdom at large only 296.

Needle-grinding is not very extensively carried on in Sheffield, where it has been introduced only of late years. Dr Holland's remarks are therefore based upon his observations at Hathersage, in Derbyshire, where there are several manufactories. He says that he had frequently heard of the pernicious tendency of this particular occupation, and though prepared to believe much, from elaborate investigations into similar pursuits, he thinks that the physical evils produced by it exceed all that imagination has pictured. He had no conception that men could be found so reckless of consequences as to engage in the trade, when protracted suffering and death were the certain results. The new hands are taken fresh from the plough with vigorous constitutions, at a time of life when the animal system possesses considerable energy-that is, from the ages of 17 to 20-are employed only six hours a-day, having the rest of their time for gardening and other amusements, and yet the majority of them are killed off under 30 years of age, after two or three years of suffering. Such details are fearfully sickening.

The number of needle-grinders at Hathersage in 1822 was 7; in 1832, 14; and in 1842, 23. The average age of the 23 is 254; that at which they began the business, 18. Of 12 who have died at Hathersage, the average duration of life, after commencing needle-grinding, is 13 years and 4 months, the longest period being 24 years, the shortest 5. The man who continued thus employed for 24 years began to work at 18; 9 of the twelve died of the grinder's disease. There are 10 needle-grinders in Sheffield, who present the same general facts as the preceding 23. They generally work the entire day. When the needle-grinder is exceedingly ill, suffering from a constantly distressing cough, and great difficulty of breathing-symptoms which usually continue for several years-he follows his occupation until his strength is quite unequal to any exertions. He is then a miserable object; his figure is bent forward, his looks haggard, his frame emaciated, and a train of other symptoms indicative of wretchedness are obvious to the superficial observer. The average of individual suffering of the 9 workmen who died at Hathersage of the grinder's disease was 15 months, the longest period being 36 months, the

shortest 5 weeks. The needle-grinders are ignorant, and mostly dissipated. One-half can neither read nor write. The dust which is evolved in the process of needle-grinding contains a much larger amount of steel than is produced by any other kind of grinding.

Razor-grinding Dr Holland considers to be accompanied with greater evils than the two preceding. It is much more laborious, requiring, in some of the stages, a continual concentration of muscular power, while at the same time the trunk is bent at a right angle over the revolving stone, a position which is peculiarly unfavourable to respiration. The back and tang, or small end of the razor, are invariably ground on a dry stone, the rest on a wet one. During the latter process, the artisan says, a gaseous matter is evolved, not only exceedingly disagreeable, but prejudicial, and which is necessarily inhaled. There are 275 adult workmen, 154 of whom are under 31 years of age, only 20 above 45. This falling off in numbers before the prime of life is owing to the destructive tendency of the occupation.

Pen-knife-grinders use both the dry and the wet stone; the atmosphere they breathe is exceedingly injurious, though less so than that used by the fork-grinders. There were, in 1811, 319 persons employed, of whom 295 are under 46 years of age; 33 of the 319 have been removed for various periods from the baneful influence of the trade, having been in the army or navy, or otherwise employed: 67 have died since 1832, 52 of whom died under 42 years of age; and of the 15 above it, 5 were not fully exposed to the destructive agencies of the employment, by not having worked regularly at it.

Table-knife-grinding is almost always effected on the wet stone, but the artisans are more or less exposed to the dust caused by dry grinding, from working in the same room. Their condition, in regard to health and longevity, is intermediate between the most deleterious and the least pernicious branches. Table-knife-grinding is practised partly in the country and partly in the town.' Saw, file, and scythe-grinding is less pernicious. Scythes are entirely ground on the wet stone. The occupation is laborious, but not injurious to health. The men live and work in the country, and are a fine healthy set: they are 30 in number: there are 10 apprentices. They can all read and write. They are better educated, and live longer than other workmen, with the exception of the saw-grinders.'

of the more pernicious influences to which the grinders, as From the preceding statements, we may infer that some a class, are exposed, are susceptible of modification, and that their present painful condition is greatly aggravated by a general want of education, and by intemperance.

THE DANSEUSE.

THE suppleness and agility attained by stage-clowns, posture-masters, and dancers, is a marvel to every on-looker, while to the physiologist it is an interesting illustration of the effect of use or exercise in improving the physical powers. The training required for the buffoon and dancer is commenced in their childhood, when the system is soft and pliable, and it is continued incessantly till they have become more or less accomplished in their art. It involves a constant practice of leaping, tumbling, twisting, and bending of the body into all sorts of odd attitudes, besides the throwing of the somerset, which is justly reckoned amongst the most difficult of all such feats. To attain eminence in the profession, not only an unusual degree of industry must be exerted in this course of education, but an uncommon degree of personal elegance and vigour, and perhaps also some extraordinary mental faculties are necessary. In all this, there is involved a good deal of hardship, while in some branches, as in that of the female rope-dancer, there is superadded a deprivation of delicacy which it is extremely painful to contemplate.

Female stage-dancers, or danseuses, are not exposed to so much degradation; but their education is not less tardy and painful. The primary object is to bring, by sheer exercise, the joints of the limbs and feet to a state of extreme agility, as well as strength: even in the education of the two great toes, so as to make them capable of standing and pirouetting upon these extremities, a vast amount of labour and care is expended. And not only must this power be acquired, but it must be sustained, for which purpose constant exercise is required; as, otherwise, the joints would become stiff, and relapse to an ordinary degree of strength. To acquire afterwards skill and grace in

the movements of the dance, is a subordinate object. Paris is the metropolis of the world of the dance, and to it accordingly do the aspirants of this art resort from nearly all parts of the civilised world, in order to obtain the last and finishing graces of their profession. To bring even a naturally well-qualified danscuse to perfection, requires a degree of application, a subjection to a series of torturing devices, and an expenditure of money, from which all would shrink with dismay, were it not for the enormous remuneration which she has the chance of obtaining. A danseuse who reaches the first rank in her profession-a Taglioni, for example-will clear hundreds of pounds by a single exhibition, and gain more money, perhaps, in a season, than men of science will obtain for a lifetime spent in the most valuable services to mankind. In a publication called La Monde Musicale, an account is given by a member of the corps de ballet of the nature of the education which fitted her for her high calling. We present the following passages for the amusement of our readers, taking only leave to hint, that the account is perhaps a little overdrawn.

Ah, sir, if you did but know how much courage, patience, resignation, and unremitting labour a poor girl must command-if you did but know what excruciating tortures she must submit to, and how many involuntary tears she must stifle-even to become a "mediocre" dancer, you would at once be moved with terror and compassion. Scarcely was I seven years when I was despatched to the class of M. Barrez. Oftentimes I was sent early in the morning, with nothing in my stomach but an equivocal cup of coffee, without socks to my feet or a shawl over my shoulders. I oftentimes arrived shivering and half-famished; then commenced the daily torture, of which, however exact my description might be, I should fail in giving you a just idea. Banished from our code, torture has taken refuge in the class for dancing.

Every morning my feet were imprisoned in a groove-box, heel against heel, and knees turned outwards; my martyred feet accustomed themselves naturally at last to fall in a parallel line. This is what is called "se tourner.”

After half an hour of the groove, I was subjected to another variety of torture. This time I was obliged to rest my foot on a bar, which I was obliged to hold in a horizontal line with the hand opposite the foot I was exercising. This they term "se casser."

After these labours were over, you imagine, perhaps, that I enjoyed the charms of repose; repose for me, indeed! as if a dancer knew what repose was! We were like the wandering Jew to whom the Barres and the Coulons were perpetually crying out "Dance, dance." After these tourners and cassers, we were obliged, in order to escape from professional reprimand or maternal correction, to study as siduously les jetés, les balances, les ronds de jambes, les joutelles, les cambrioles, les pirouettes sur le condepied, les rauts de busques, les pas de tourrées, and, finally, the entre-chats á quartre, á six et á nuit. Such, sir, are the agreeable elements of which the art of dancing is composed: and do not believe that this rude fatigue lasts only for a time; it is to last and to be renewed without intermission; on this condition only can the dancer preserve her souplesse and her légèreté. A week of repose must be redeemed by two months of redoubled incessant toil.

I have seen Mademoiselle Taglioni, after a two hours' lesson which her father had just given her, fall exhausted on the carpet of her chamber, where she was undressed, sponged, and resuscitated, totally unconscious of her situation. The agility and marvellous bounds of the evening were insured only at a price like this. Now, the example of la Taglioni is strictly followed by the other opera-dancers. There are some even who, by nature having greater difticulties to surmount, martyrise themselves with a barbarity yet more ferocious. Nathalie Fitzjames was an example of this; she invented a new method, de se tourner, et se casser, Perhaps you are not aware that the art of dancing is divided into branches-en Ballonne and en Tacquete. The Ballonne is the school of Taglioni; it is lightness combined with grace-the dance which seems to delight in and float on the air. The Tacquetè is vivacity and rapidity; 'tis the little sparkling steps and measures on the point of the feet; in a word, it is what Fanny Elssler is.

at one and the same time.

You are aware that a similar profession cannot be exercised with impunity. From the multitude of simulated dangers, the dancer accustoms herself to real oncs, as the soldier in war-times accustoms himself to pillage. Now she is suspended to lines of wire, now she is seated on

pasteboard clouds; she disappears through traps, she ascends through chimneys, she makes her exit by the window. In the first act of the new ballet, La Peri, there is so dangerous a leap, that I consider Carlotta Grisi risks her life every time she executes it; the mal-adresse of a moment in shifting the trap-door, and Carlotta would dash her brains out against the plank. There is a certain Englishman who never misses a performance of this ballet; he is persuaded that it will prove fatal to Carlotta, and he would not for the world be absent on that night. This is the same Englishman who followed Van Amburgh for three years, ever believing that the moment would arrive when the wild beasts would sup on their master.'

Dignity of Labour.-In early life, David kept his father's sheep; his was a life of industry; and though foolish men think it degrading to perform any useful labour, yet in the eyes of wise men industry is truly honourable, and the most useful man is the happiest. A life of labour is man's natural condition, and most favourable to mental health and bodily vigour. Bishop Hall says, 'Sweet is the destiny of all trades, whether of the brow or of the mind. God never allowed any man to do nothing.' From the ranks of industry have the world's greatest been taken. Rome was more than once saved by a man who was sent for from the plough. Moses had been keeping sheep for forty years before he came forth as the deliverer of Israel. The Apostles were chosen from amongst the hardy and laborious fishermen. From whence I infer that, when God has any great work to perform, he selects as his instruments those who, by their previous occupation, had acquired habits of industry, skill, and perseverance; and that, in every department of society, they are the most honourable who earn their own living by their own labour.-Rev. T. Spencer.

Waste of Land.-If we consider it to be a waste to employ land in the production of articles to be used in forming intoxicating liquors, the waste must be immense. A writer in a newspaper makes the following calculation:-'There hops, and one million acres of land employed to grow are 45,769 acres of land employed in the cultivation of barley, to convert into strong drink. According to Fulton's calculation, if the land which is employed in growing grain for the above purpose were to be appropriated to the production of grain for food, it would yield more than a four-pound loaf to each of the supposed number of human beings in the world; or it would give three loaves per week to cach family in the United Kingdom! If the loaves (each measuring 4 inches by 12) were placed end to end, they would extend 160,225 miles, or would more than describe the circumference of the globe six times!' But vast as this waste is, it is a trifle when compared with that on the continent of Europe, where whole districts are devoted to the culture of the vine.

instrument. It produces stranger vibrations, according to Tact in Begging.-The human heart is a curiously strange the skill of the hand that seeks to get music out of it. The successfully arousing its emotions, is one that every man art of approaching the mind from the right quarter, and does not understand. Some seem to have the gift of doing this thing very adroitly. We give the following as a specimen: An English preacher advocating the generous support of an important charitable object, prefaced the circulation of the contribution boxes with this address to his hearers:-From the great sympathy I have witnessed in honoured me with, there is only one thing I am afraid of, your countenances, and the strict attention you have that some of you may feel inclined to give too much. Now, it is my duty to inform you, that justice, though not so pleasant, yet should always be a prior virtue to generosity; respective pews, I wish to have it thoroughly understood, therefore as you will be immediately waited upon in your that no person will think of putting anything into the box who cannot pay his debts. The result was an overflowing

collection.-Boston Recorder.

The editors respectfully announce that they do not require any communications in prose or verse.

The half of a five-pound Bank of England note has been received for Mrs Reston from an Englishman.'-Dec. 20, 1843.

Published by W. and R. CHAMBERS, Edinburgh; and, with their permission, by W. S. ORR, Amen Corner. London.-Printed by W. and R. CHAMBERS, High Street, Edinburgh.