ment, which, if they are the sources of much of his strength are those also of more of his weakness.

We have had, since Blair's day, no poem on a similar subject comparable to 'The Grave,' unless, indeed, we except Bryant's Thanatopsis.' The latter, however, is a poem altogether of a different sort, and with a different object. It separates the thought of death and burial from that of human depravity, and looks at them simply in their poetical aspects. Of resurrection it makes no mention. Its main thought (a thought suggested by a line in the 'Grave'—

'What is this world?

What, but a spacious burial-place unwall'd!')

is that of the world a vast sepulchre, rolling through the heavens, and its moral is to inculcate upon the deathdevoted dust, which we call man, the duty of dropping into its kindred dust as quietly and gracefully as possible. In music, it is far superior to 'The Grave;' in moral, in theological truth, and in genuine poetic power, as far inferior. Blair, and not Bryant, remains the laureate of the

grave.

And yet, we could conceive the subject handled in a higher style than by either. The religious view of the grave entertained by Blair is rather harsh, that of Bryant is too soft. The grave, to Blair, is too much of an enemy; to Bryant, it is a mere mother, wrapping her children, whether wise or foolish, in her bosom for ever, with equal care, or rather with equal indifference. May not the true view lie between? Must it not lie between ? And were it not better to paint the sepulchre as simply a sublime pause-a rest to all, before the trial of the judgment-scat-a sleep of their bolies, preparatory to, and refreshing all for, the Grand As size? Alike the good and the bad, saints and criminals must sleep out their night's sleep, and touch their native earth, ere they can stand before the last tribunal, and confront those eyes of the Lamb, which are as a flame of fire. We could conceive the grandest poetical effects produced by a proper management of some such thought; and the sleep of the Furies, in that dread drama of Eschylus,' would appear tame and meaningless, when compared with the sleep of all men (their spirits away for a time to another region) in the antechamber of destiny, awaiting the blast of the resistless trumpet, and the opening of the doors which lead to the bar of eternal judgment! Enough, that Blair has admirably expressed his own idea of the grave -an idea true, so far as it goes, and which is still current in our general belief, and powerfully effective on the great majority of Christian minds.

our Scottish poets have been Roberts-and a Robert, too, was our greatest king!) lies alone, and without this evidence of his fame. So it is, but so it ought not to continue to be; and we have no doubt that Mr Whitelaw's disinterested and praiseworthy efforts will meet with a loud response, not only in Scotland, but in South Britain, and wherever the one powerful wedge of the poem of The Grave' has driven its way, and rendered the author's name for ever illustrious.

Were the Grave, in James Montgomery's bold thought, to burst silence, and to speak out, one of its messages might be that of indignant denunciation of the supineness of a public, which is permitting the dust of its most powerful poet to lie undistinguished among the vulgar dead'the common dung of the soil' around it.

СНЕСК-МАТЕ.

IT is more than a score of years ago, since, upon a particular evening of every week, at a particular hour, a loud and prolonged rat-tat-tat might be heard at our streetdoor, followed by the entrance of an individual, who immediately appropriated the vacant seat at our tea-table, as a matter of custom, and, though a guest, evidently considered himself quite at home.' Then commenced the arduous business of tea-making: one, two, three-nay, even to seven, eight, and nine good-sized cups full, being the ordinary quantity imbibed by our visiter, and slowly discussed by him with infinite gusto and satisfaction.

An ugly and snappish-tempered creature was Anthony Sibbald; and yet, strange to say, he was a petted favourite in our little household: the moment his well-known signal at the door was heard, so sure might be heard the exclamation, in a pleased tone, 'Now for the green tea, here's dear old Tony.'

Our spinster aunt, Miss Barbarina, always presided at the tea-table, and, like many single ladies of uncertain age, she had a decided weakness for the beverage; and this similarity of taste, to say nothing of her fondness for chess, might account for the sober kind of silent and undemonstrative understanding which existed between the pair. However, it was not her voice which was heard to exclaim, ' Here's dear old Tony;' that would have been undignified indeed; besides, Anthony Sibbald was her junior, and who ever dreamed of calling our Aunt Barbarina old! No, no, it was the thoughtless young folks who were so silly and so rude; and yet they all liked Anthony, and the expression was meant for an endearing one!

Now, the person designated as 'Old Tony' was an individual certainly a year or two on the right side of thirty -a tall, stout, ill-shapen, florid-complexioned hobble-dehoy! Young ladies always seemed to consider him a nondescript sort of animal, something betwixt an awkward

To rouse the dead man into rage,

And warm, with red resentment, the wan check.' His amiable and talented successor in Athelstaneford, the Rev. J. M. Whitelaw, deeply interested in the honour alike of his parish and of its poet, has, through our humble medium (we having written, at his request, a letter to the 'Scotsman'), appealed to the public on this subject. He has done more: he has organised in East-Lothian a most respectable and effective committee-has begun to collect subscriptions and is, in short, moving heaven and earth' to procure a suitable monument to the great poet of The Grave.' We wish him God-speed. We earnestly recommend the object to our readers. We call them to bestir themselves in the cause, from motives of individual gratitude, of national pride, and of religious feeling. What other Scottish poet of note has not now his monument? Robert Fergusson has his, erected by Robert Burns, and renewed by poor Robert Gilfillan; Robert Burns has more than one; Robert Tannahill, too, we think, has his; so has Campbell; Scott's proud pinnacle almost dwindles the Castle rock; Robert Nicol, Robert Pollok, Robert Gilfillan, and many inferior spirits, have theirs; but Robert Blair (how curious, by the way, that so many of

legged and taciturn, his eccentricities were privileged, his ill-tempers tolerated, and few persons who could play said 'No' to Anthony Sibbald, when he brought out his little chessboard, with a 'Come now, now for it.' Chess was the passion of his life-he was engrossed by it; and, at all times silent and moody, his observations were confined to the game; or, when obliged to reply to inquiries concerning the well-being of his mother, his irritation oozed out in some such reply as, 'She's full of fancies, like all the rest of you feminines;' and he became more deeply absorbed than ever in his favourite pastime. Yet chess was no pastime to Anthony Sibbald, it was the sole occupation and serious business of his existence; he had a room in his mother's house devoted to the purpose, having several small tables containing chessboards, the pieces arranged in battle array, and displaying different stages of complicated and interesting manoeuvres-being, in fact, games progressing with various antagonists, carried on by Anthony, either in person (which he best liked) or by correspondence in writing. Ladies were not admitted to this sanctum, and we opined that Anthony's visits to our house originated in no flattering partiality towards us, but for the sole and double purpose of enjoying green tea aď

libitum and beating Aunt Barbarina at chess, the latter always declaring, She did not mind being conquered by Mr Sibbald, because even the automaton stood no chance with him. He, on his part, boasted superiority to all feminine blandishments or allurements whatsoever; he had never been in love-he despised petticoat government -he never had been, and never would be, led or misled by a parcel of silly women, who were all good for nothing but to be threshed at chess.'

'In fact, when I meet with a womankind' who can give me check-mate,' said Anthony, with a sarcastic grin, then I shall confess myself conquered, and my heart check-mated for life.'

Aunt Barbarina gave a soft sigh, and we observed that she carried a chessboard to her chamber, and studied the game on scientific principles !

Anthony Sibbald's mother had lost her husband when her two sons were of too tender an age to know the extent of the misfortune they had sustained; the family sunk from affluence to poverty and obscurity, and Mrs Sibbald, a weak-minded but proud woman, consented to part with her youngest child, sooner than bring up either of the boys to be anything save 'gentlemen' (in her estimation, exemption from all employment alone entitling them to be called so).

Constantine was accordingly taken home by General Sibbald, the widow's brother-in law, an enormously rich old bachelor, whose passion for chess was supposed to be inherited by his nephew Anthony. Constantine had been well-educated and taken care of. He was not intellectual, or fond of intellectual pursuits, but he had a remarkably handsome person, and an aptitude for his uncle's cherished pursuit, which rendered him a delightful adversary, for Constantine not only was the most patient of chessplayers, but the most apathetic of losers, having never won a game from the General, notwithstanding the hundreds they had got through together. Constantine's a good lada very good lad, though no genius,' said General Sibbald, rubbing his hands complacently. Wo betide that unlucky individual who check-mated the sturdy veteran; they won the battle, certainly, but lost the General.

Many folks pitied Anthony, for he had a weary life of it at home, his mother always croaking and whining, and talking of the persons of consideration whom she had associated with;' he had been nurtured on ‘expectations,' and brought up in idleness, poor fellow, and yet we thought he understood the meaning of independence and manliness. But he was moody and reserved, endured his mother's follies patiently, and was an affectionate son, only muttering something about 'feminines,' when Mrs Sibbald boastfully expatiated on the immense fortune in store for her dear boys; for of course General Sibbald would leave it equally between them-who doubted that?

Some people shook their heads, and wondered what would become of Anthony when his mother died, if the General did not remember him in his will; for Mrs Sibbald's income was a life annuity only, and the General was eccentric, and had not seen his eldest nephew half a dozen times, when he betrayed symptoms of dislike towards poor Tony, whose manners and appearance were not prepossessing at any time, but, when placed in contrast with his handsome brother, became doubly disagreeable. Poor old Tony! the young lasses were as free with him as with their grandfathers; the children pinched his ears and pulled his hair when he sat engrossed over his game, and scampered off laughing, when they heard his low growl, and saw Aunt Barbarina's angry gestures.

We were not surprised, on learning from Mrs Sibbald, whose exultation was overweening, that Constantine was about to make a 'most delightful marriage;' that is to say, the lady was a wealthy heiress, and the General highly approved of the alliance; but at the same time lamented the loss he must sustain in Constantine's society. The proud mother and Anthony were invited to be present at the ceremony, and then to return with the General to Sibbald House, the distant seat where he usually resided. Even chess was neglected for a few days, during the fes

tive season of bridal rejoicings; but, when the trio were quietly established at Sibbald House, Mrs Sibbald brought out her knitting, and the General his chessboard.

"You play a different game to your brother, I suppose, Mr Tony,' quoth the old gentleman, as he arranged the pieces; he was a steady plodder, though he bothered me a good deal now and then. We were very near a drawn game once,' added the General, looking portentously serious.

'Well, I hope we shan't be near one now,' replied Anthony, with a grim smile, utterly unconscious of the precipice he was standing on, and intent only on rising a victor.

'I hope not, sir,' responded the veteran, in an undertone, which conveyed more than met the ear.

The battle commenced-slowly-very slowly increasing in interest: two o'clock in the morning, three, four, and still the pair never yawned or spoke; they had been at it eight hours.

Check-mate,' said Anthony, decisively.

'Very well, sir; very good, very good indeed,' responded the General, as he rose; and immediately taking his chamber lamp, vanished from the apartment.

Why, he cannot be really angry,' said Tony to himself, passing his hand through his hair with a puzzled look, as he stood contemplating the board; and yet the old fellow grew very white at the last.'

Next morning, to the surprise and mortification of poor Mrs Sibbald, a message was delivered to her by the General's confidential valet, purporting that sudden indisposition rendered it indispensable for General Sibbald to visit the baths of B-without delay; that his master hoped Mrs Sibbald and Mr Anthony would make themselves quite at home during his unavoidable absence, and not curtail their visit. In an hour, master and man were speeding away as fast as four horses could carry them from the fatal scene of the General's defeat. What was Nap's flight from Waterloo in comparison to this?

It's very extraordinary behaviour, I think,' said Mrs Sibbald, in a towering passion, not even to say farewell, and to go off like that. He was always an odd person, was General Sibbald; but to treat his brother's widow so! I wont stand it.' But Mrs Sibbald thought of Anthony and his 'expectations,' and suffered her wrath to cool down, remarking, there was no knowing how to take these eccentric people.'

Anthony kept his own counsel; never hinted at what had taken place, though he had his own private opinion on the matter; but, urging his mother to return to their humble home without delay, we were all surprised, and Aunt Barbarina not a little flustered, when, on the usual evening, at the usual hour, the well-known rat-tat came to our door, and in walked Old Tony' to his accustomed place at the tea-table.

He casually mentioned to us, in the course of conversation, the victory he had gained over so celebrated an antagonist as his uncle, not alluding to the General's sudden indisposition as in any way connected with himself or the false move' he had made. Aunt Barbarina listened attentively, and declared that Mr Sibbald was 'improved,' after having enjoyed an exciting two hours' contest.

Madam, you are an adversary worth contending with,' was the flattering reply.

The lady simpered and blushed, but, though she prac tised in a variety of ways, and check-mated us scores of times, yet the grand check-mate remained unachieved, and Anthony Sibbald unconquered.

Changes took place in our circle during the ensuing five years. Some of us were married; some alas! young and beautiful in childhood and innocence, laid low. But Aunt Barbarina was the same in all respects-not a day older, not a wrinkle added, not a plait disarranged; while Anthony Sibbald had now renown, which associated his name with victories (peaceful and bloodless) for years to come, in the annnals of chess. Mrs Sibbald thought it 'odd' that the old General had never taken the slightest notice of her numerous letters. Constantine had fixed his

residence abroad, with his wealthy wife, and his uncle was almost wholly their guest. Constantine was good-natured, and not uncommonly selfish; and he had vainly tried to ascertain what cause of offence existed between the General and his brother; for that something was wrong, he felt sure; though what that something was he did not guess. Mrs Constantine Sibbald hated chess; it was such an 'unsociable amusement.' The veteran succumbed, and the disastrous retreat from Sibbald House was almost forgotten. Forgotten? No! there was one individual who cherished the remembrance, but in what spirit yet remained to be proved.

Death, which usually obliterates wrongs, commemorated this imaginary one. Five years from the date of Anthony Sibbald's luckless visit to his uncle, the latter departed this world, bequeathing the whole of his large possessions to his beloved nephew Constantine and his heirs for ever. This will was dated subsequent to the fatal check-mate. There was no disputing it, and 'poor old Tony' was not even named. There was not a legacy for his mother. All, all went to Constantine, already with lavish means at his command. The blow was too inuch for the dowager Mrs Sibbald. She never held up her head again, but in six months from the General's decease breathed her last in the arms of her afflicted son; for Anthony proved himself a tender nurse during his mother's illness. He had even abandoned chess in a great measure, and gave himself up to cheer and solace the sufferer. But it would not do. The poor lady sank under the disappointment, and her eldest born was left entirely dependent on a younger brother. Anthony continued to reside in the same house after his mother's death, and report said that Constantine was not very liberal in his allowance; but then Mrs Constantine was extravagant; they had a family; and what could a single man like Anthony want with money? There was an increase of chessboards in the bachelor's house, and a sort of club met regularly there now; but otherwise Anthony continued much the same, evincing neither chagrin nor emotion. Still he was our regular visiter once a-week; still he battled with Aunt Barbarina, who had redoubled her attentions since his loss of fortune, and more than redoubled her assiduity in the deep study of the royal game.

At length the climax arrived-the tug of war-when desperate efforts were made on either side, and the wear and tear of anxiety was visible on the faces of the opposing parties. This game was not destined to come to a conclusion in one evening-no, nor in two or three; Aunt Barbarina only made one move, and that a little pawn, in four long hours, while Anthony made not one!

I think, madam,' he said, addressing Aunt Barbarina, 'that we had better conclude this momentous engagement through the medium of our peus. We can then continue it daily, while, in personal meetings, we may not be so speedy or so fortunate.'

6

As you please, Mr Sibbald,' replied Aunt Barbarina, modestly, it appears likely to be a contest more prolonged than those we usually have.'

It does indeed, madam,' responded Anthony, significantly, for he was perfectly aware the fair lady had the best of the game.

'She's a wonderful woman that,' he was heard to say, when speaking of our aunt; a most wonderful woman.' Every day missives were despatched between the houses. Aunt Barbarina shut herself up with the chessboard, night and day; and, as the finale drew near, could neither eat nor drink, while her sleep was broken and disturbed by visions of flying kings, queens, and rooks.

With trembling fingers she wrote the word 'check-mate,' but the few added lines we were not permitted to see. Cabalistic characters they must have been, from the results which ensued forthwith.

Anthony was conquered. He knelt at the victor's feet, 'a beggar,' as he blushingly expressed himself, but a grateful and admiring suitor!' Yes, Aunt Barbarina and her five hundred a-year were Anthony's for ever, if he felt disposed to receive them. He had never made the

offer, we were positive of that, though the mystery was never expounded to our satisfaction. But, on the tidings being communicated to Constantine, he came forward with more liberality than was to have been expected from one of his calibre, and the presents to the bride were munificent.

The most conspicuous ornament in their drawing-room was a superb set of rarely carved ivory chessmen, not for use, but set out beneath a glass-case, showing the exact position of the pieces when the game had been won. Anthony used to point it out to the observation of visiters, saying, with a half-sheepish laugh, and looking at the same time very sly and very happy, Behold how I was once beaten by a 'feminine.''

Aunt Barbarina, however, was a wise woman, and she contented herself with this one victory, and ever afterwards received with meek cheerfulness her contented husband's 'check-mate.' C. A. M. W.

THE JUVENILE MISCELLANY. LABOUR, or some reputable employment, is the basis of a happy life. A peasant tastes viands more delicious than his homely fare, and thinks how happy must be the lot of those who feast sumptuously every day, not knowing, simple man, that the delicious viands, in the course of time, would impair his natural appetite, which is the associate of labour. He intermits his labour, rests on a sunny bank, and, feeling delightful repose, fancies that a life of idleness is a life of felicity, not aware that from labour the sweetest pleasure of leisure is derived. This is a picture of human nature. Many of rank and education, who should have reflection and forethought, seem scarcely to be superior to the peasant in practical knowledge. Gratified with high living, they refine their taste to delicacy, apparently unconscious that the luxuries of the table destroy the natural appetite of health, and induce an artificial and capricious appetite, which ultimately proves its own destruction. Feeling transported with strong exhilaration, they conceive a phantom of ideal happiness, and vainly pursue what they cannot attain, seeming not to know that the cheerfulness of health, the satisfaction of duty, and a contented mind, compose the felicity which is destined to humanity.

It is better to give than to receive benefits, especially when you have to deal with one of a doubtful character, with whom you are obliged to hold intercourse. When you do a kindness to one, in some measure you bring him within the range of your sympathies. Now, it is surely better that you should draw him towards your virtues, than that he should draw you towards his delinquencies. If he bestows the obligation, either you may be attracted to him, and extenuate his defections with kind partiality, or you may be repelled from him, and deny him the grateful return to which he is entitled. In both cases, you may do discredit to virtue by your easy compliance or indis creet austerity. If you bestow the obligation, as virtue is lovely, particularly in her beneficence, he may be induced to compare your character with his own, and the com. parison, by the blessing of Heaven, may work out amend ment. At least, you will have the satisfaction of fulfilling a sacred injunction,' As often as you have an opportunity, do good to all men.'

A landscape and a family group: the landscape exhibits nature in its beautiful prime; the cattle graze or recline in the meadow, the sheep stray or recline on the hill, a band of haymakers push on their blithesome labour -all under a serene, azure sky. A thatched cottage, with its rustic garden, is near; the door is shut, no smoke curls from its chimney, and its inmates are absent. The peasant and his wife are among the haymakers; his mother, an aged woman, and the rest of the inmates, form the group by the roadside, at a short distance from the cottage. She sits on a grassy bank, reading with decent composure a Psalm-book of large type; her grandchildren -a little boy and girl-are resting near her, with smiling prattle, and sorting wild flowers which they had collected

from a neighbouring field. Her cow is feeding along the bottom of the bank, with a calf by her side; a cat, rolled up, lies behind the old woman-the picture of repose. I address the matron: she removes her spectacles, which have no handles, places them in the book, and lays the book down by her side; the children cease their playful labour, and turn towards me their bashful glances. She speaks in a homely and modest manner. A lovely scene of nature is pleasing to the imagination; a domestic group of smiling faces is interesting to the heart.

Maintain with inviolable constancy a straight onward course of sincerity, candour, and justice in your communication with the world. Why does a man yield to dissimulation? He assumes good qualities to which he has no claim, because they gain confidence, and promise to advance his interest. In this act, he pays a high compliment to virtue, at the same time that he evinces the folly and infatuation of his conduct. He chooses the external semblance in preference to the internal reality of virtue; not knowing, or not regarding, the fact, that it is easier to cultivate good qualities in the heart than to personate and preserve their appearance in the deportment. The labour of supporting the semblance of virtue is continual care and anxiety; the exercise of the reality is easy, consistent, and pleasant. The semblance is like the painted features, which may elude detection in the blaze of the ball-room; the reality resembles the natural and agreeable complexion that stands the scrutiny of the full light of day. If a man feigns a good character, and has the art to defend it for some time from exposure, what is his reward? Can he be pleased with his deceit? Deceit has no pleasure to bestow? Can he be gratified with a compliment paid to his assumed character? He is in the predicament of an actor in the theatre-he pronounces a generous and noble sentiment-it evokes a burst of applause; he hears it, and feels a pang of self-reproach. Difficult is it long to sustain a fictitious part; nature, true to herself, will burst through every restraint, and then the moral reputation of the hypocrite dies; and what is life to him who is cast beyond the pale of social confidence? Sincerity of principle and integrity of action are the soundest policy in business, and the truest wisdom in general conduct.

Are men who have arrived at a high grade of office or preferment the most or the least disposed to encourage and assist, or to neglect and impede, the advancement of young aspirants? The decision of the question-could it be decided-would indicate the prevalence of selfishness or of benevolence in the human character. A person of a contracted mind, whose sympathies are concentrated in himself, labours to attain the object of his ambition; he attains it, and, proud of his elevation, absorbed in himself, and perhaps jealous of a rival, looks on those who are toiling up the ascent by which he rose with the cold eye of neglect. The good, the liberal, and the generous, having gained official or literary eminence, and remembering their difficulties, toils, and cares, cherish sympathy for their juniors, extend to them assistance, give them counsel, and, as men, feel for human-kind.

Suffer no one to despise you. To accomplish this laudable aim, the conduct must be sincere, honourable, and based on virtue. A man appreciates the great advantage of a fair character on his interest in society, and, desirous to attain it, he looks into the world, and assumes the semblance of those virtues which he thinks best calculated to realise his purpose. Another man is equally sensible of the high value of a good character to one's position in society, but he looks not into the world for a standard of conduct; he looks into his own mind, and the laws of the moral principle there established he takes for his sure guide. Having his attention engrossed with the character he has assumed, the man of pretence labours to display it to advantage, to hide its weak points from exposure, to quash every unfavourable surmise, to repel every hostile attack; and thus his life is a continual series of artful deception and vexatious watchfulness. With the sincerity of truth and the frankness of discretion, the man of probity thinks little about the opinion of others; and solicitous

less to gain than to deserve public esteem, in defence of his character, should slander bring a false accusation against it-unless the charge would impede his usefulness --he calmly presents the general rectitude of his deportment.

Resolve, and hold the resolution as a sacred obligatior, on all occasions, to speak nothing but what is in accordance with truth. Truth is the first of virtues, or rather it infuses itself into all the virtues, and imparts to them their purity and consistency. It is the ornament of character, the serenity of the soul, the bond of social union combining mankind in a harmonious family of reciprocal confidence. Say truly of a man who stands on the height of greatness and renown, that he disregards truth, and he sinks to contempt. Say truly of one who has arrived at the close of a long life, that he never knowingly uttered an untruth, and you pronounce his eulogy equal in genuine honour to the loftiest oration that was ever pronounced on man. Whoever claims the privilege of speaking the truth, must learn the habit of hearing the truth, for the patience with which we listen to it generally regulates our candour in expressing it. Sincerity requires you not to declare all your thoughts, but truth forbids you to utter anything that is incompatible with them. This injunction includes untruths by implication. A person who avails himself of falsehood directly, and another who effects the same purpose by implication, are alike culpable; they are distinguished only by this difference-the one is true to falsehood, and the other is false to veracity.

NEWSPAPER READERS.

MR A. believes he shall discontinue his paper, because it contains no political news; while

B. is decidedly of opinion, that the same paper dabbles too freely in the political movements of the day.

C. don't take it, because it is all on one side; and D., whose opinion it generally expresses, does not like it, because it is not severe enough upon the opposition. E. thinks it does not pay due attention to fashionable literature.

F. cannot bear the flimsy notions of idle writers. G. will not suffer a paper to lie upon his table which ventures to express an opinion against slavery. H. never patronises one that lacks moral courage to expose the evils of the day.

I. declares he does not want a paper filled with the hodge-podge doings and undoings of the legislature. J. considers that paper the best which gives the greatest quantity of such proceedings.

K. patronises the papers for the light and lively reading which they contain.

L. wonders that the press does not publish Dewey's sermons, and such other solid matter.

M. will not even read a paper that will not expose the evils of sectarianism.

N. is decidedly of opinion that the pulpit, and not the press, should meddle with religious dogmas. O. likes to read police reports.

P., whose appetite is less morbid, would not have a paper in which these silly reports are printed in his house.

Q. likes anecdotes.

And, last of all, come the complaints of some of the ladies, who declare the paper very uninteresting, because it does not, every day, contain a list of marriages; just as if it were possible for the poor printer to marry people without a license, and whether the parties will or no. But the variety of newspaper readers is too great for the present review; and we give them up,' with a determination to pursue the 'even tenor of our way,' in offering to the public such reading as, in our humble opinion, will prove most useful to them and as interesting as possible.-American Paper.

ANCIENT MONUMENTS OF PERU.

RUINS OF CHOQUIQUIRAO.

PART L

BETWEEN Cuzco and Lima, plains humid and fertile by turns, very different from the high tablelands which separate Arequipa from Cuzco, are seen spreading out. Scarcely has one come forth from the groups of mountains which surround the City of the Sun on three sides, than he sees succeeding each other those two characteristic aspects of nature in Lower Peru-rich lands under cultivation and stagnant pools. The traveller commences by traversing some well cultivated gorges, and then arrives in a plain where numerous conduits favoured the passage of the waters before the conquest, but which Spanish carelessness has turned into a vast marsh. The hamlet of Zurite rises at the extremity of this plain; beyond, the productive grounds re-appear as far as Caraguassi, and near this village the river Sauceda waters some fine plantations of maize and corn.

I was sorry to bid a hasty adieu to these grand landscapes of the Cordilleras, and especially to quit the high region of Peru, without having visited a sort of Peruvian Herculaneum, of which I had gathered on my way some very singular accounts: the ancient town of Choquiquirao, almost lost in the wild solitudes of the sierra which bears its name. The cure of the village of Caraguassi was an antiquary: he spoke to me of those ruins in a tone of mystery well fitted to redouble my curiosity. I no longer hesitated, but, instead of directing my steps towards Lima, I took the road for the upper Cordilleras, where I was to reach the gorges among which lie concealed, on the edges of the Apurimac, the monuments of Choquiquirao. The antiquarian cure gave me a letter for the postmaster of Mollepata, a village where I should diverge from the high road of Lima in order to gain the Andes. Once in march for Choquiquirao, the first matter was how to cross the Cordilleras, beyond which the hacienda of Guatquinia was to terminate my first movement. It was in this hacienda that I intended to make the last preparations for an excursion which was not without its perils, and which required the aid of fifteen Indians directed by an experienced guide. From Guatquinia, as far as the ruins of Choquiquirao, we were to find no other shelter than the vault of the woods, no other place of repose than the border of torrents.

Arriving at Guatquinia, I told my host the object of my journey and my hope of penetrating to Choquiquirao. He represented to me that the thing was impossible, unless a path should be opened into the woods which cover the slope of the mountains as far as Apurimac, and we agreed that fifteen workmen, directed by an Indian who had four years before made his way into Choquiquirao, would rid the road of the most formidable obstacles. The proprietor of Guatquinia had the complaisance to take charge of the details of the operation. Happy at being able to dispose according to my taste of the fifteen days necessary for carrying forward my project, I resolved to profit by this delay for visiting the valley of Santa-Anna, and a mission which is the last limit of civilisation on this side of the Cordilleras, the mission of Cocacambilla.

I regained the hacienda of Guatquinia by the valley of Yanatili, narrower, hotter, and more humid than the valley of Santa-Anna. Cocoa grows better here, and sells dearer; Revue de Deux Mondes.'

*M. E. de Lavandais.

tobacco, also, which is of a very good quality, is cultivated. My journey offered nothing remarkable but the incidents of a few days' halt in the large village of Larès, situated at the foot of the sierra of the Andes, and under the sad influence of their icy winds. My mules, on arriving at Larès, were worn out with fatigue. Forced, therefore, to pass several days in this village, I turned them to profit, partly in visiting the ruins of the neighbourhood, and partly in observing the manners of the inhabitants.

During my sojourn at Larès, I saw a poor Indian come to the alcade to complain of the inflexibility of the cure, who would not accept fourteen piastres for the burial-service of the poor fellow's wife, who had died the night before. The Indian besought the alcade to intercede for him. The alcade wrote to the cure, who brought his own answer, along with various reproaches against the government and against the alcade. The alcade objected with politeness that thirty piastres were too many for such poor wretches. 'Poor!' replied the cure; they bave two cows and a hundred sheep; I take the two cattle for twenty piastres, and twenty sheep, at four reals a-piece, for the remaining ten.'-' But the family will die of hunger!'-Bah! these fellows hide their money; thirty piastres, or no mass for his dead!' The family and friends of the Indian fell a-groaning at this protest. Tatita (little father), bury the dead, for the love of God and fourteen piastres!'-The family Yapanqui were poorer than you, and paid an interment by thirty piastres.' As the scene did not come to an end, the alcade grew impatient, and went into the house for a letter from the under-prefect of Colca, which he showed to the cure. It bore the following words: It must certainly have been by mistake that the cure of Larès exacted thirty piastres for the burial of the Indian Yapanqui; warn him earnestly for me, lest he force the civil authorities to have recourse to the ecclesiastical director. The cure ended by lowering his pretensions to twenty piastres, an enormous sum, if, above all, we consider that it was extorted from poor Indians, who have to pay yearly tithe, first-fruits, and nine piastres of tribute. The Indians, joyous at the cheap bargain, went for the corpse and brought it to the church, themselves covered by the yacolla, a piece of black stuff which, during the days of mourning, replaces the poncho of some colour. The cure hastened the mass, during which, in the shape of music, the Indians blew into their bocinas, large shells which made a stunning noise. The body being lowered into the grave, cries and lamentations commenced. Relatives, friends, and guests, bewailed in a loud voice: Why hast thou abandoned us? What have we done thee, that thou shouldst thus take to flight? Shall we behold thee no more? Wilt thou quaff no more chicha with thy family?' The grave being closed, the cries ceased: the guests reunited in the house of the husband, and then commenced the funeral repast, at which they drank as much chicha as might kill them, and all in honour of the dead.

I availed myself of my forced stay at Larès, and of the great politeness of the alcade, with whom I sojourned, to inform myself of the relations of the cures with the Indians. One of the most profitable of the voluntary imposts for the cures, is the alferage of the Indians. The Indian does not clearly understand the idea of God; but he is easily struck by the sight of a saint painted red and yellow, and he puts himself under his protection, and has recourse to his patron in all the misfortunes which overtake him. The day of this saint's festival being come, the cure, in order to celebrate it worthily, creates the Indian alferez, that is to say, flag-bearer of the festival. With this title, the Indian must pay a high-mass, sermon, procession, wax, &c., and besides make presents to the cure and his family, then treat those taking part, and tipsify them with brandy and chicha. An Indian consumes on this day the fruits of ten years' savings. If an Indian refuses the honour of the alferage, the cure imposes it on him, and he is forced to accept it.

According to the ecclesiastical rules of Peru, the cures are bound to teach the catechism every Sunday to the children of their parish. In order to remain faithful to