"Seventeen shillings, Sir."

"And what else do you owe?"
"Not a penny in the wide world."

"That's well; that looks well. Now, Peter, here are two sovereigns; take one and pay your rent, the other will provide your family with food and fire till you hear from me again, which you shall do before long."

to require it; he and his son were gone instantly. Peter could not speak, nor did the gentleman seem

Several days passed on, and the rescued family were still living happily and hopefully on the stranger's bounty, when he came again, accompanied by another gentleman, who had the appearance of a clergyman. There were no pallid faces, no tears, no alarms now. With bright and smiling faces, Peter and Betty rose to welcome their benefactor.

"So, so," said the gentleman, "this is as it should man of Y, who wishes to have some talk with be. I have brought Mr Heartly, Peter, the clergyyou."

against him by the wind, that it cut his face like the a genteel way if she called in a doctor. Miss Mac-stir. Now, only observe the misery and disgrace from pricks of needles. Miserable alike in body and in laren had much bodily fortitude; she bore pain well. which you have been saved. My son followed you a spirit, and only half clad, the poor fellow could brave Her chief misery, during her constrained confinement, part of the way, and learned who you were from a was from the idea of the peculations of her servant; person whom he met. But of all this you knew it no longer, and eager as he was to get to his expect- and her condition was not assuaged by the intelligence nothing. Pray, let me know how much is this debt ing wife, and to the wretched cellar, which, now that of the death of her only brother, to whose well-saved for rent?" it could be his home no longer, seemed almost a palace property she became the sole heir. This accumulation to him; still he was fain to give way beneath the biting of money seemed only to increase her cares, and she and bitter blast, and turned aside to a cluster of hay-petually threatened to leave her, and was as perbecame more penurious than ever. Her maid perstacks, hoping to find a sheltered nook amidst them. In petually lured to remain by trifling bribes, which, this he was not disappointed. One was half cut away, however, became more frequent and more valuable, as so as to leave a sort of angle perfectly sheltered from she felt her increasing consequence to her mistress, the quarter in which the wind and snow were driv- who had become almost helpless with rheumatism. ing; but a traveller had been beforehand with him, and her fingers were so disabled; and she could not see to Writing or working were of course out of the question, was there, apparently asleep. Peter, however, noise-read. Sally could not read to her, neither would Miss lessly nestled near him on some loose hay. His companion was a well-dressed young man; but Peter took little note of his appearance, for his mind was filled with other things. His eye, however, was caught by the glister of a bunch of gold seals. He started, and why, he could hardly tell; he looked again and again, and leaned down to examine them more closely. Then stooping lower, and holding his breath, he drew his hand gently, softly, over the person of the sleeper, and there-yes, he could not be mistaken-there was a purse in the trouser pocket. He looked again on the youth who slept sound as a rock; he looked fearfully round; not an eye beheld him; he shook from head to foot; he gasped for breath; but he gently put his hand into the pocket, and drew out the purse. It was heavy; he had it in his hand, and still the sleeper moved not-stirred not. Peter grasped the treasure hard, his teeth were set, and the sweat burst out in large beads on his brow. Once more he looked slowly and fearfully round, cowering, as it were, over the purse; but he saw no one. He attempted to get up, but some power seemed to hold him down; and as he slowly again raised his head toward the sky, he saw the dark cloud breaking, and a single star faintly glimmering in the blue depths beneath. That star he knew was over his own cabin; he and his wife had looked at it many a time on closing the door for the night. IIe started to his feet, and in his agony of feeling, shouting aloud, " God have mercy upon me," he flung the purse on the ground, and darting off at his utmost speed, he relaxed not his pace till he found himself at the door of his own cellar.

Dismal was the greeting between him and his poor wife, and agonising were the tears she shed; for, despite of her long knowledge of Miss Maclaren's character, she had clung to the hope of help from her in this strait. And thus they sat, cold, supperless, and unhappy, brooding over to-day's disappointment and the morning's anticipated sorrow, when he recurred to his walk home, and his adventure amongst the hay-ricks. Betty listened with attention, but that soon deepened to the most intense interest; and as he told of examining the watch seals, and feeling for the purse, a

Maclaren have a person who could, lest her own bank-
book and inventories should be looked on with un-
hallowed eyes. She never used her parlour in winter,
because even she could not do without a morsel of fire,
and she could not afford the expense of two, so she
sat in the kitchen with her maid. How she beguiled
the time it was not easy to say; but time did pass.
Hooley. On the morning succeeding that night, the
It was passing rapidly with her kinsman, Peter
occurrences of which have been described, Peter and
his wife did not rise very early, for they had neither
fire nor candle, nor had they work to do. They there-
fore lay still till the broad daylight gleamed in at the
chinks of their cellar door, and the children began to
stir. But they had been long awake, and had had
serious and sad communing together. Their debt to
their landlord amounted to seventeen shillings, and
they likewise owed fifteen pence at the shop. If they
had hoped that, by offering the half-crown Miss Mac-
laren had given them to their landlord, they could
have obtained a little further grace from him, they
would have taken it to him at once, and fearlessly
braved the starvation of the day; but they knew this
would be of no avail. They therefore resolved, that for
the last time they would have the luxury of a warm
and wholesome meal together. So, while Betty and
her eldest daughter dressed the children, and put the
cellar "a bit to rights," Peter proceeded to the shop,
paid his debt, and returned home laden with three-
penny worth of fuel, and sixpenny worth of oatmeal,
and with yet a few pence in his pocket. A mess of hot
stir-about was soon smoking on the old deal chest which
usually contained the family wardrobe, and which now
served for a table; and the happy children crowded
round it, while the father and mother kept filling the
mouths by turns with the only two spoons they pos-
sessed; and if, despite herself, the woman's tears did
every now and then mingle with the porridge, the de-
lighted youngsters saw them not. But all delights
must have an end, even that, the intensity of which the
famishing only can know, and the satisfied children
one by one withdrew themselves from the board, and
the mother put the remnants by to serve for supper,
if, by any happy chance, they might sup all together
again. And seating themselves on the chest which
had served as table, with their children playing about
them, Peter and his wife waited, with what philosophy
they might, for the great event of the day."

It could not now be far off, for it was past eleven,

Betty looked about, but there was not a chair to offer the gentlemen. They saw her embarrassment, and soon relieved it; one sat down on the side of the bed, and the other enthroned himself on the table, deal chest, or wardrobe.

"I have been making inquiries about you, Peter," said Mr Heartly, the clergyman; "and it is but fair to tell you, that I have heard an excellent character of you."

I defy any one to say a word agen him," interrupted Betty. Her husband pulled her gown, to silence her.

"But I want some further information from yourself. You can read and write, I hear, and"

66

Ay, that he can; and reckon as quick as the book-keeper at the mill. He's taught all the childer, and"

"Whisht, woman, whisht," interrupted Peter, angrily.

"I wunna whisht, Peter; ye wull na' speak a word for thysel', I know; and why should not the gentlemen know what ye really are."

Both gentlemen laughed, but Mr Heartly begged Betty to be quiet, assuring her that he would make her husband speak for himself.

"You have taught your children, then, to read and write?"

"Yes, Sir, such of them as are big enough." "I should like to examine them myself." Some tattered remnants of initiatory books were produced, but Betty could not help intimating that the two eldest could read in the Bible. The Bible was produced, but we shall not accompany the gentlemen through their examinations; we have only to do with the result. It was the offer to Peter of the mastership of the district school in Mr Heartly's village; the salary was forty pounds a-year, and there was a small cottage attached to the school for the master's residence. The present master was leaving, having obtained a better his routine of duties before he himself left.

deep colour flushed her face, and she fixed her eye, and by noon the landlord was to be expected on his situation; but he would initiate the new comer into

now bright and tearless, intently upon him.
"An' ye took the purse, Peter?" asked she, in a
fearful whisper.

"Oh, Betty, surely the evil one himself was at my elbow, then, to tempt me."

"An' ye did tak it, then ?" shrieked she, starting up. "Woman! woman! No! The thought o' you an' our babbies cam ower me, an' I put it back." "An' ye're sure ye havena got it?" "Not one halfpenny o't, Betty." "Then, thank God yet," said the true-hearted woman; "an' for the rest, Peter, we'll bear it, let it be what it may."

So they went to bed, the bed that was to be distrained to-morrow for rent. The man slept sound almost directly, as men can and do under any circumstances; but the woman lay long awake, though she smothered her sobs for fear of shaking or disturbing the four youngest children, who were huddled on the same bed with their father and mother. At length, nature did its gracious hest by her, and she slept also. Unconscious of to-day's toil, or to-morrow's sorrow, free from care, unknowing of pain, the father and mother, and seven children, clustered in one damp cellar, forgot all deprivation in sound, healthy, and refreshing sleep. If they wakened in the morning to trouble, they wakened also with invigorated bodies and renewed spirits.

Not so Miss Maclaren. Scarcely had the morning begun to dawn, when she called to her grumbling and unwilling servant to procure her the refreshment which, indeed, she sorely needed, and yet which even now consisted only in weak black tea of the coarsest quality. And even this meal, slight as it was, lost all relish to Miss Maclaren, from her own inability to superintend, personally, the preparation of it, and her fear lest her servant should waste an atom of fuel or a crumb of bread. Medical advice she would have none, for she could not afford it; and, besides, she knew by experience, she said, that flannel and patience were the only cures for rheumatism; and therefore it would be merely suffering her pocket to be picked in

final errand; and Betty started and trembled, and
caught hold of her husband's arm, for her quick ear
caught the sound of voices and feet approaching their
door. She was not mistaken: people drew near,
stopped a moment in conversation, and finally knocked.
Peter and Betty both started to their feet, but could
neither of them muster voice to speak; when the knock
was repeated, and the door immediately opened from
without, and there entered, not the dreaded landlord
and his myrmidons, but two gentlemen, one of them a
young one, in whom Peter recognised, with a thrill of
terror, him whose purse he had taken the night before.
"Is your name," said this gentleman, "Peter
Hooley?"

"Yes," gasped Peter, trembling from head to foot.
"You robbed me of my purse last night."
Peter was ghastly pale, but did not speak.
"You took my purse, I say," repeated the young
man.

"No, no, no," shrieked his wife.

Betty, though a woman who was at all times governed more by feeling than judgment, was shocked at the fearful charge thus made against her unhappy husband; while the children, seeing something was wrong, clung to her, and began to cry.

"Calm yourself, my good woman," said the elder gentleman; "my son saw your husband take his purse in a moment of temptation, but he also saw him conquer the temptation, and throw down the purse; I have it now."

Betty burst into tears, and clasping her youngest child close to her breast, sat down on the side of the

bed.

"Now, Peter, tell me what drove you to this act ?" Desperation and starvation, Sir," said Peter, who was recovering his voice; "if I don't pay my rent to-day, we go to the workhouse, and I have not a friend in the wide world."

"Yes, you have. You were, I must say, strongly tempted, but you strove manfully against it. My son assures me of this, for he had fallen only into a momentary deze from the fatigue of a long walk, and your exclamation wakened him, though he did not

"Well, as that matter is settled," said Mr Orwell, when Peter and his wife had tried to express their joy and thankfulness, "I have a word to say to you, Mrs Hooley. This tidy girl, your eldest, what do you mean to make of her?"

"Anything, Sir, that is useful and proper." "Very well; my wife wants a girl who has been honestly brought up, to assist the nursery maid, who has too much to do; what say you to it?"

"Sir, I should be very proud and very thankful." "Then let her come to-morrow for a month on trial. Her clothes look in bad condition-but never mind that we'll see to that. Can she sew?” "A little, Sir."

"Her mother's beautiful at her needle, Sir," said Peter.

"Is she? She will have no difficulty in obtaining needlework in our village."

And in their new home they were shortly afterwards settled. Peter had enough to do through the day, but the evenings were his own. These he generally passed with his family; in summer, occasionally he rambled with them in the fields, flying their kites and joining in their romps; but more frequently he worked in his own little garden, where the bigger ones soon learnt to be useful to him.

But in winter, about the time when Miss Maclaren would be gone to bed, to save fire and candle, and the necessity for supper, then Betty Hooley, having put her younger children to bed, would draw the checked cur tain close over the window, would stir up the brisk and cheerful fire, would place a pan of potatoes on the bar to prepare for supper, would light a thicker candle than was allowed for ordinary purposes, and would address herself industriously to her needlework; while her hus band sat by the fire, and the elder children clustered round. And sometimes they read aloud, and sometimes they talked, and sometimes they were too happy to do either; and more especially was this the case when the wind howled round the little tenement, and the hail beat against the window, for then memory, unbidden, would recur to the night of Peter's last

GEOLOGY may in part be studied as one walks the
streets. In many of our cities-we can, from personal
observation, particularly instance Manchester and
Edinburgh amidst the slabs composing the foot pave-
ment, are to be found some which present a ridgy or
wavy surface. Sometimes this is a good deal obli-
terated, or even worn quite off; but still there gene-dition of the earth's surface, bear, in some instances,
rally remain certain shadings in the stone, which
indicate its having originally been ridgy. Hundreds
pass over these stones without observing anything
particular about them, and many who observe the
peculiarity do not give themselves the trouble of con-
sidering whether it be of any importance, or what
may have been its cause. It is, in reality, a natural
hieroglyphic, telling a most wonderful circumstance
in the history of our earth. These slabs have all been
dug from quarries of sandstone, of one of the kinds
which split or break off in thinnish layers. Such
quarries generally are profound pits, out of which
vast quantities of slabs have been dug, each being, as
it were, peeled off the surface of that beneath it, like
leaves successively torn out of a book lying upon one
side. Yet still, go as deep as you please, you here and
there find extensive surfaces of the rock marked in that
ridgy or wavy manner. They are so marked, let us re-
peat, notwithstanding that such large quantities of
slabs have, till the time of quarrying, lain above them.
It is only when surfaces of some extent are found thus
marked, that an ordinary observer is likely to per-
ceive the resemblance which they bear to an appear-
ance often observed upon a sandy beach after the ebb
of the tide; namely, a far-spread wrinkling or wavi-
ness in the sand, somewhat like a ripple on the surface
of the sea itself. Such inequalities are found to extend
over many square miles of beach in Devonshire, Lan-
cashire, and indeed wherever the coast is composed of
a gently-sloping surface of sand. They are washed
out again by each successive tide, and renewed once
more if the sea has receded tranquilly, being, in fact,
produced "by an oscillatory motion of the lower stra-
tum of water in contact with the sandy bottom, as
communicated to it from the superficial waves."*
They are easily imitated, by agitating to and fro a
vessel of water, with a flat bottom on which sand has
been strewed.

The ridgings of the slab-surfaces resemble those of the sandy beaches left exposed at low water; but is there anything in this resemblance beyond mere accident or coincidence? Those who have not gone through the steps by which the fact is ascertained, will be surprised to learn, that the resemblance is that of identical things. The slab-surfaces were all at one time sandy bottoms of seas, and their ridgings were as certainly made by the oscillations of those seas as the ripple-marks on the shores of Morecambe Bay, or upon Leith Sands, were made by the last fall of the tide. It matters not that the quarries are found in the centre of the country, a hundred miles from any existing sea, or that they are, or have been, covered over by piles of sandstone hundreds of feet in thickness. The earth has undergone many changes, and amongst these not the least remarkable have been changes of level in its crust, so that there is no part of its surface which has not been alternately sea and land. The rock, therefore, from which the slabs are taken, is nothing but a pile of successive layers of sand laid down by the sea, indurated into stone by heat and pressure, and ultimately heaved up into their present situation by a force from below. The immediate hardening of each surface, so far as to resist the obliterating power of the next tide, is not easily accounted for, if we are to suppose tides like those which now exist; but perhaps this supposition is not necessary In the case. A tranquil subsidence of the sea at less frequent intervals might be produced by other causes. Anyhow, the geologist, knowing what he does, cannot doubt that the markings upon the stones are ripple-marks, wherever he may find the stones now placed. They are often seen in situations where the sea, and all connected with it, is shut out from the thoughts of the observer. We remember, in a rural excursion in Lanarkshire, while bent on exploring the ruins of the ancient castle of the Hamiltons at Craig Nethan, finding in the rocky channel of the stream below, amidst a wilderness of wild shrubs, platforms of sandstone of the carboniferous formation, jutting out from the precipice, and played over by the glancing rivulet, which were entirely covered over with these infallible marks of the spot having once been the shore of some still sea of the primitive world. In the quarries of the oolite rock (more recent than the carboniferous sandstone), scattered over a broad band of country between Bradford in Wilts and Tetbury in Gloucestershire, these surfaces are found in

*We here use the explanation given by Mr Poulett Scrope, in a paper in the Journal of the Royal Institution: 1831.

such circumstances as to argue their being miles in Since these curious facts were made public, foot-
extent. In that district, the mark is seen chiefly marks of animals have been traced upon rock-surfaces
where the rock is in very thin layers (lamina), but in various parts of the world. Mr Poulett Scrope
not unfrequently on the surface of slabs eight or ten found his rippled surfaces to be marked with nume-
inches in thickness. "It affects indifferently those rous tracks of small animals (apparently crustaceous),
which contain a large proportion of clay, those which which had traversed the sand when it was in a soft
are highly calcareous and crystalline, and others in state. These tracks are in double lines, parallel to
which sand and oolitic grains, or minute fragments of each other, showing two indentations, as if formed by
shells, predominate."* Generally, the rippled surfaces small claws, and sometimes traces of a third claw.
are covered by a thin seam of clay, which, we may There is often, also, a third line of tracks between the
suppose, helped to preserve them; and it is worthy other two, as if produced by the tail or stomach of the
of remark, that the superincumbent seam, or bed, is animal touching the ground; and where the animal
always marked below by a perfect cast of the mark in passed over the ridges of the ripple-markings on the
all its minutiæ. In some instances, the surfaces of sand, they are flattened and brushed down. More re-
this oolite formation present double systems of mark-cently, some fossil footsteps of a much more striking
ings, the one crossing the other; a result, probably, character have been found in the quarries at Hessberg,
of changes occurring in the undulatory movement of near Hildburghausen, in Saxony, upon the upper
the water by a shift in the direction of the wind. surfaces of beds of grey quartzose sandstone; in alter-
These curious tablets of memorial of a former con- nation with which, it may be remarked, there are
beds of red sandstone nearly about the same age with
what we may call additional inscriptions, the work of those of Dumfriesshire. The vestiges of four different
certain animals. On the surface of slabs both of the animals have been made out. One has been apparently
calcareous grit and Stonesfield slate, near Oxford, and a small web-footed animal, probably allied to the cro-
on sandstones of the Wealden formation in Sussex codile. The footstep of another bears a striking though
and Dorsetshire, Dr Buckland has found "perfectly grotesque resemblance to the human hand, from which
preserved and petrified castings of marine worms, at the supposed animal itself has been named the Chei-
the upper extremity of holes bored by them in the rotherium. A specimen on a slab which has been
sand, while it was yet soft at the bottom of the water, placed in the British Museum, is fully the size of a
and, within the sandstones, traces of tubular holes in human hand, the only remarkable difference being in
which the worms resided." Man did not exist to the comparative thickness of the fingers, and the
impress with his foot those early beaches; but there absence of the appearance of joints. The fore-feet
were other animals to walk over them, and, as might are less by one half than the hind-feet, before which
have been anticipated, foot-prints of some of these they are always advanced about an inch and a half,
have been found on the surfaces of various rocks of an interval of fourteen inches being between each
the formations already referred to. In the lower part pair. Professor Kaup conjectures that this animal
of Dumfriesshire, there are extensive beds of the new has belonged to the marsupial family, the oldest, it is
red sandstone, which are worked in various parts of the supposed, of the families of land quadrupeds, and a
country. At the quarry of Corncockle Muir, near link connecting these with reptiles. It is worthy of
Lochmaben, the surfaces of successive layers, or slabs, notice, that the kangaroo, a well-known specimen of
of this rock were observed many years ago to bear this tribe, has a great disproportion between the size
marks as of the feet of animals; but the phenomenon of the fore and hind-feet.
was disregarded till, in 1827, Dr Duncan, minister of In the New Red Sandstone in the valley of Connec-
Ruthwell, presented an accurate account of it to the ticut, there have been laid bare in quarries, along a
Royal Society of Edinburgh. It appears that the considerable tract of country, surfaces presenting
beds in that quarry dip or incline at an angle of thirty-foot-prints of many various species of birds, appa-
eight degrees, a slope greater than that of any ordi- rently belonging to the order Gralla, or Waders.
nary hill. Slab after slab has been taken away to a The discovery is remarkable on more accounts than
depth of forty-five feet; but one after another (though one, as it gives evidence, for the first time, of the ex-
not in all instances) has been found marked by the istence of birds at that early period of the earth's
tracks of animals, up and down the slope. These history. "The footsteps appear in regular succession,
impressions are generally about half an inch in depth, on the continuous track of an animal in the act of
and the matter of the rock is raised round them, walking or running, with the right and left foot always
exactly as clay or mud is seen raised round a foot-print in their relative places. The distance of the intervals
of yesterday. The observer clearly traces the double between each footstep on the same track is occasion-
track made by an animal which has two legs at each ally varied, but to no greater amount than may be
side, the hind foot, of course, approaching near to the explained by the bird having altered its pace. Many
fore one. The prints are about two inches in width, tracks of different individuals and different species
and present the appearance of five claws, of which are often found crossing each other, and crowded,
the three in front are the most distinct. It is worthy like impressions of feet upon the shores of a muddy
of remark, that the fore-feet give the deepest impres- stream, where ducks and geese resort." The smallest
sions, as if the animal had been heaviest in that quar- of these prints indicates an animal with a foot about
ter, and this in the ascending, as well as the descend- an inch long, and a step of from three to five inches;
ing tracks. In one case, where the dip of the exposed but they vary upwards in size, till they reach some-
surface is at an angle of forty degrees, there are clear thing which may well be regarded as gigantic. Let
evidences of the foot-marks having been made upon it be remembered, that the African ostrich, which
a surface very steep at the time of the impression, for weighs a hundred pounds, and is nine feet high, has
the animal appears to have put forward its fore-feet a foot of ten inches, and a leg four feet long. It is
cautiously, and inserted them deeply and firmly; while the most stupendous of existing birds. But the largest
the marks of the hind-feet are comparatively slight, of the foot-prints in the Connecticut sandstone being
and indeed scarcely perceptible. Generally, however, fifteen inches in length, exclusive of the largest claw,
there is a small rise of the substance of the rock which measures two inches, and the steps being from
either in front of or behind the prints, according as four to six feet apart, denote a considerably larger
the tracks are descending or ascending, showing that bird, the legs of which, probably, were not less than
the surface sloped more or less in its present direc- seven feet in height. This has well been styled the
tion at the time when the impressions were made. Ornithichnites Giganteus. Another, ranking next
Dr Buckland conceived it likely that the marks had to the above in size, exhibits "three toes of a more
been impressed by animals allied to the land-tortoises slender character, measuring from fifteen to sixteen
of the present day; and, on setting such an animal to inches long, exclusive of a remarkable appendage ex-
walk up and down slopes of soft sand, clay, and un- tending backwards from the heel eight or nine inches,
baked pye-crust, he found the footsteps to be remark- and apparently intended, like a snow shoe, to sustain
ably like those of the Corncockle quarry. He makes the weight of a heavy animal walking on a soft bottom.
the following just remark upon the experiment in his The impressions of this appendage resemble those of
Bridgewater Treatise :-"This evidence of footsteps is wiry feathers, or coarse bristles, which seem to have
one which all mankind appeal to in every condition sunk into the mud and sand nearly an inch deep; the
of society. The thief is identified by the impression toes had sunk much deeper, and round their im-
which his shoe has left near the scene of his depre- pressions the mud was raised into a ridge several inches
dations. Captain Parry found the tracks of human high, like that round the track of an elephant in clay.
feet upon the banks of the stream in Possession Bay, The length of the step of this bird appears to have
which appeared so fresh, that he at first imagined been sometimes six feet."*
them to have been recently made by some natives:
on examination, they were distinctly ascertained to
be the marks of the shoes of some of his own crew,
eleven months before. The frozen condition of the
soil had prevented their obliteration. The American
savage not only identifies the elk and bison by the
impression of their hoofs, but ascertains also the time
that has elapsed since each animal had passed. From
the camel's track upon the sand, the Arab can deter-
mine whether it was heavily or lightly laden, or whe-
ther it was lame." It is remarkable that none of the
series of foot-marks at Corncockle are across the slab;
all are nearly straight up and down. This is exactly
what would happen upon a sloping sea bottom or
beach, which the animals had occasion to traverse in
one direction only, backwards or forwards. Specimens
of the Corncockle slabs have been deposited with the
Royal Society of Edinburgh.

* Mr Poulett Scrope. + Bridgewater Treatise, i., 260.
+ Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, xi., 199.

That in all these instances the marks are really vestiges of animals which lived on earth long before man, there can be no doubt whatever; but we still need facts to make the whole subject clear, particularly as to the circumstances under which the successive layers were imposed one above another. Perhaps we have some light from an account which has been given of a peculiar formation occurring on the shores of the island of Anegada, one of the group called the Virgin Islands, in the West Indies. Not having access to the original document, we borrow from a small book which has fallen into our hands. "The beach of Anegada is found in many places to be coated with a grey siliceous and calcareous substance, apparently deposited by the waves, which, as the tide retires, hardens, and slowly assists in increasing the size of the island. In some parts of the interior of the island (but where, perhaps, at no very remote period, the waters depo

* Buckland, quoting an article by Professor Hitchcock, in the American Journal of Science and Arts: 1836.

sited this peculiar substance), the impressions of birds' claws and of human feet are distinctly visible: the latter from the outward turn of the toes, are supposed to be those of the Indians, who inhabited the neighbouring coasts. These impressions are not of very recent formation, for they have existed beyond the memory of the oldest inhabitant of the island, and in some places grass has grown over them; but they are highly interesting, as proving to the student in geology that such impressions, frail and perishable as they usually appear, may, under some circumstances, become permanent. And if these footsteps have been preserved for fifty or a hundred years, we may as well suppose those in the Red Sandstone to have remained unchanged for untold ages."*

We may remark, in conclusion, how well these detections of the presence of early animals correspond with the other facts of geology. We have an evidence now familiar to us as to the animals which existed at the time of the deposition of the New Red Sandstone beds, in the remains of them found imbedded in the rock. There were fishes and certain other marine animals, but no creatures walking on the land and breathing the atmosphere. If on these slabs we had found the mark of the hoof of one cow or horse, we should have been as much startled by it as Robinson Crusoe was by seeing the foot-print of an Indian on the beach of his lonely isle. But what are the creatures whose foot-prints we actually find? Tortoises an order of reptiles-other reptiles being already found in the very next series of strata abovenamely, the Shell Limestone. Gralla-an order of birds, and the commencement of that class of the Vertebrata, but the very order that might have been expected to be created first, seeing that the earth then presented much swampy surface. Marsupialia, an order of mammifers linking with the reptiles, and, of course, that which might have been expected to appear first on earth. In all this there is a harmony delightful to a scientific observer-delightful not only as confirming a beautiful system, but as reflecting light on the perfections of Creative Wisdom and Omnipotence.

EQUESTRIAN AMPHITHEATRES. HOMER, in the fifteenth book of the Iliad, employs the following comparison, as rendered by Pope :

"So when a horseman from the watery mead,
(Skill'd in the manage of the bounding steed),
Drives four fair coursers, practised to obey,
To some great city through the public way;
Safe in his art as side by side they run,

He shifts his seat, and vaults from one to one;
And now to this and now to that he flies,
Admiring numbers follow with their eyes."

In this passage, the old Greek poet gives a clear and
correct description of an equestrian performance
which modern times have seen revived as something
entirely new. So long ago, it appears, as the sixth or
seventh century before Christ-for such may be said
to be the era of Homer-the feats of Mr Ducrow were
in vogue in Greece. The education of horses for these
singular purposes has been brought to the highest
perfection at the Cirque Olympic (Olympic Circus)
of Paris, and the Amphitheatre of London. To use
the words of a French writer, "the stable of the
Messieurs Franconi (proprietors of the Parisian
establishment) is for quadrupeds what the Royal
Academy of France is for learned men. It is the
hot-bed of equine genius, the conservatory of the
classic step, of the antique trot-the sanctuary of the
brilliant gallop." Indeed, the Cirque Olympique lat-
terly possessed the high honour of being a kind of
government establishment. As the steeds of Astley's
Amphitheatre are lent to the citizens of London on
Lord Mayor's day, for the use of the men in armour
who figure in the procession, so the French circus is
charged with the supply of animals to princes and
sovereigns during any great official solemnity. And
these horses, like certain courtiers, have always been
at the service of every possible dynasty or shade of
political opinion. Thus, in 1814, at the temporary
restoration of the Bourbons, a dapple-grey, called "La
Noble," bore the future Charles X. (the Count
d'Artois) on his entry into Paris, and afterwards the
Dukes of Berri and Angoulême. When Napoleon
escaped from Elba, the same charger carried him on
the 20th of the following March, at the time of his
triumphal return to the city by torch-light. After
the well-known "hundred days," this identical horse
conveyed into Paris the princes of the Bourbon family,
deporting itself with the same pride and enthusiasm,
as on former occasions.

Equestrian performers of the present day feel the effects of the march of intellect quite as much as others. Feats of horsemanship, which anciently excited the greatest admiration, now appear vulgar and commonplace; and it has become as difficult to acquire distinction in equestrianism as in literature. Formerly, a simple change of feet during full gallop, or an epigram, were sufficient to earn a high reputation for a horse or a poet; but now celebrity is only to be obtained by the aid of difficult dances on three legs, or by means of several thick volumes of prose and verse. On the other hand, could the wonders exhibited by Mr Ducrow in England, and by the Franconis in France, have been witnessed by our forefathers, their astonishment might have had a fatal

* Recreations in Geology, by Rosina M. Zornlin: 1839.

effect upon the prosperity of the equestrians, as may
be inferred from the following anecdote of an event
which took place in 1664 :-

A Neapolitan, called Pietro, possessed a little horse,
by whose docility and sagacity the master obtained a
good livelihood. He called it Mauracco, and exhibited
it without saddle or bridle, and with no rider to guide
its motions. The diminutive animal would lie down,
fall on its knees, bound, curvette, or, in short, do
whatever its master desired. It would carry a glove
or anything of the kind to any person pointed out in
the crowd. In a word, it would perform all sorts of
amusing tricks.

After having so profitably travelled over a great portion of Europe, as to have saved a sufficient fortune, the master made up his mind to retire; but in passing through Arles, he determined to make a last exhibition of his clever pony. The marvellous animal astonished the whole town, but the people carried their wonder to such a height, that they denounced both the horse and his master as sorcerers, and poor Pietro, with his faithful Mauracco, were burned as such in the public square of Arles.

BIOGRAPHIC SKETCHES.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

mated conversation beguiled the tediousness of the toil; while his local knowledge, his refined taste, and his indefatigable industry, drew from obscurity many pieces which adorn this collection, and which, without his aid, would have eluded my research."

Let no London engraver ever again venture to collect Scottish poetry! The finest pieces in Mr Cromek's volume, to which he refers with the highest admiration as genuine relics of antiquity, were in reality compositions by Mr Cunningham himself, which, Chatterton-like, he had composed in imitation of the old manner, in order to gratify a taste which he thought prejudiced against what was acknowledgedly new, but which appeared ravenous for whatever was presumedly old. There was a warmth and glow of the language in these pieces which might have warned the collector against the deception, for nothing could be further removed from the simplicity and directness of the genuine ancient ballad; but in his eagerness for relics of the eldern muse, he had overlooked all critical warnings. Apart from all consideration of the history of Mr Cunningham's ballads, they are exquisite effusions of a young and overflowing fancy. We transcribe one entitled "Bonny Lady Ann," with Mr Cromek's prefatory note :

BONNIE LADY ANN.

[A fairer specimen of romantic Scottish love than is contained in this song, is rarely to be met with. It was first introduced to Nithsdale and Galloway about thirty years ago, by a lady whose mind was deranged. She wandered from place to place, followed by some tamed sheep. The old people describe her as an

amiable and mild creature. She would lie all night under the shade of some particular tree, with her sheep around her. They

were as the ewe-lamb in the Scripture parable; they lay in her bosom, ate of her bread, drank of her cup, and were unto her as daughters. Thus she wandered through part of England, and the low part of Scotland; esteemed, respected, pitied, and wept for by all! She was wont to sing this song unmoved, until she came to the last verse, and then she burst into tears. The old tree, under which she sat with her sheep, is now cut down. The

schoolboys always paid a kind of religious respect to it. It never

was the "dools," nor the "butt;" nor were the "outs and inns,'
nor the hard-fought game of "England and Scotland," ever
men sat down and read their Bibles; the young men and maidens
learned their psalms, and then went home full of the meek and
holy composure of religion.]

There's kames o' hinney 'tween my luve's lips,
An' gowd amang her hair,

Her breasts are lapt in a holie veil,
Nae mortal een keek* there.
What lips dare kiss, or what hand dare touch,
Or what arm o' luve dare span
The hinney lips, the creamy loof,
Or the waist o' Lady Ann!

She kisses the lips o' her bonnie red rose,
Wat wi' the blobs o' dew;

But nae gentle lip, nor simple lip,
Maun touch her Ladie mou.

But a broider'd belt wi' a buckle o' gowd,
Her jimpy waist maun span,

O she's an armfu' fit for heaven,
My bonnie Ladie Ann!

THE life of Allan Cunningham, which terminated on
the 29th October last, was a fine example of native
talent and perseverance overcoming all obstacles, and
undebased by any of the alloys which too often accom-
pany their exertion. Our countrymen are sometimes
charged with an undue and overweening nationality,
and it must be admitted that we occasionally lay our-
selves open to attacks on this score.
Blood is warmer
than water, as our homely proverb says, and the keen
winds of our mountains seem to bind us closer together
in amity and concord, that we may present a united
but friendly front to the more populous and wealthy
ranks of the Southron. We have cause, however, to
be proud of many of our native authors. In historical
composition, Scotland long bore off the palm; and in played about it; but there, on fine Sabbath evenings, the old wo-
the wide realms of fiction, who but Shakspeare can
compete with Scott? In science and philosophy, we
have many eminent names. Jeffrey still lives to vin-
dicate our right to stand at the head of modern criti-
cism; and, above all, we may feel an honest pride in
reflecting, that our country has produced a ploughman
like Robert Burns, a shepherd like James Hogg, and
a stone-mason like Allan Cunningham. Allan was
born (December 7, 1784) at Blackwood, in Dumfries-
shire, a beautifully situated mansion on the Nith, two
or three miles from Ellisland, the farm soon after
tenanted by Burns. His father, at the time of his
birth, was gardener to Mr Copeland of Blackwood, but
soon after, from his superior intelligence and abilities,
was preferred to take a charge of the estate of Mr
Millar of Dalswinton, the landlord of Burns, to which
place the family was accordingly removed. Allan's
recollection of his early days was remarkably vivid and
distinct. Every incident-every scene and person—
was impressed on his memory; and he used to delight
in telling that, when about six years old, he heard
Burns recite Tam O'Shanter to his father, while he
stood by his knee, and looked up to the robust frame
and animated eyes of the poet with childish wonder-
ment and enthusiasm. He received the common edu-
cation of the country, being merely taught to read and
write, and cast accounts, without any tincture of
classical or grammatical instruction. His father's
family was numerous, and two of them, besides Allan,
rose to some distinction. Thomas became foreman
to Mr Rennie, the engineer, and was a man of great
scientific talent, as well as a tolerable poet and song-
writer. Peter is now a surgeon in the navy, and
author of a work, "Two Years in New South Wales,"
which is still one of our best books on that country.
From the humble home, thus honoured and endeared
by the virtues and intelligence which prevailed under
its roof, Allan went forth, when a boy, to learn the
business of a stone-mason. He was an insatiable
reader, and the summer mornings and winter nights
were spent in poring over books. While yet a strip
ling, he tried his hand at versifying, but we are not
aware that any specimens of his earliest productions
have been preserved. An accidental event was soon,
however, to call him into the field of print, though
under somewhat extraordinary circumstances.

Mr R. H. Cromek, a London engraver, and an enthusiastic admirer of Burns's poetry, had devoted himself to the task of collecting unpublished remains of the Ayrshire bard, in the course of which he was led to Dumfriesshire. There he became acquainted with Allan Cunningham, who ventured to lay before him some of the lispings of his muse. Cromek regarded them with an indifference to which perhaps they were only justly entitled, but gladly availed himself of Mr Cunningham's services in gathering_relics of Burns and of popular traditionary poetry, In 1810, he published a volume, entitled, "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song," in the preface to which, after much rather turgid sentimentality about Scottish cottages and their tenants, he says "To Mr Allan Cunningham, who, in the humble and laborious profession of a mason, has devoted his leisure hours to the cultivation of a genius naturally of the first order, I cannot sufficiently express my obligations. He entered into my design with the enthusiasm of a poet; and was my guide through the rural haunts of Nithsdale and Galloway; where his variously interesting and ani

Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers,
Tied up wi' silver thread,

An' comely sits she in the midst,
Men's longing een to feed.

She waves the ringlets frae her cheek,
Wi' her milky, milky han',

An' her cheeks seem touch'd wi' the finger o' God,
My bonnie Ladie Ann!

The morning cloud is tassel'd wi' gowd,
Like my luve's broider'd cap,

An' on the mantle which my luve wears
Are monie a gowden drap.

Her bonnie eebree's a holie arch
Cast by no earthlie han',

An' the breath o' God's atween the lips
O' my bonnie Ladie Ann!

I am her father's gardener lad,
An' poor, poor is my fa' ; ‡

My auld mither gets my wee, wee fee,
Wi' fatherless bairnies twa:

My Ladie comes, my Ladie gaes
Wi' a fou and kindly han',

O the blessing o' God maun mix wi' my luve,
An' fa' on' Ladie Ann!

Another, entitled "Hame, Hame, Hame," referring
to the feelings of a Jacobite exile of the last century,
in the editor's possession," yet is understood to have
was stated to be from Burns's Commonplace-book,
also been the production of Cunningham.

HAME, HAME, HAME.

Hame, hame, hame, Hame fain wad I be,
O hame, hame hame, to my ain countrie!
When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree,
The larks shall sing me hame in my ain countrie;
Hame, hame hame, Hame fain wad I be,

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

The green leaf o' loyaltie's begun for to fa',
The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a';
But I'll water't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,
An'
green it will grow in my ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame, Hame fain wad I be,
O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

O there's naught frae ruin my countrie can save,
But the keys o' kind heaven to open the grave,
That a' the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie,
May rise again and fight for their ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame, Hame fain wad I be,
O hame, hame hame, to my ain countrie!

The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save,
The new grass is springing on the tap o' their graves;
But the sun thro' the mirk, blinks blythe in my ee,
'I'll shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.'
Hame, hame, hame, Hame fain wad I be,
Hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

tined. They lacked steady support in the general taste and sentiment; and, like a pendulum, without sustaining power, the impulses, though violent, of necessity ultimately ceased. France, through all the vicissitudes of her civil convulsions, has been seeking a resting-place, and that place seems marked for her, as for every other community, by the weal and knowledge of her people.

Anterior to the burst of the French Revolution, great meliorations were in progress in the chief European states, under the quiet influence of a long peace and inquiring spirit. Whether that event tended to arrest or accelerate their march, is a problem unsuited to our pages to investigate. But it is certain that violence never made such illustrious and influential converts as were made by reason and philosophy. Under the auspices of the chief continental sovereigns, and those of the vast body of men of letters whom they patronised, the character of European society had been changed, partly in its outward forms, in its institutions, laws, and usages, but more in its inward spirit and substance. The influence of a powerful priesthood had been circumscribed; the Jesuits driven out; the monastic orders greatly reduced in number; and the flames of religious persecution quenched in their ashes. The odious practice of judicial torture had been abolished in Germany in 1776 by Joseph II., and his example was soon after followed by his brother Leopold in Italy. The Spanish Inquisition had been rendered almost innoxious-its last victim being an unfortunate woman at Seville, who, in 1781, was burnt alive for a crime which was absolutely supernatural. In Hungary, Bohemia, and Russia, personal slavery was being gradually alleviated. Agriculture was promoted, and the pursuits of commerce no longer esteemed degrading. Artificial distinctions and titles of honour had still a ceremonious precedence allowed them in private life; but the nobility indulged as little in supercilious pride and exclusiveness as in the barbaric pomp of their feudal predecessors. In competition with the more intrinsic realities of industry, historical recollections had abated of their pride of place; and whatever prescriptive rights might remain to the privileged orders, they formed no impassable barrier to a more equal and kindly intercourse among the different ranks of society.

George III. Riots ensued, lives were lost, but oppo-
sition was fruitless. Resolutions were drawn up by
the chief magistrates and manufacturers, stating that,
if the new inventions were not adopted in Lancashire,
they would in some other county, or in some other
country; so that other people would reap the benefit
if they did not.* Had the populace been successful in
preventing, by tumults, the introduction of the new
machinery, it is not likely they could have prevented
the introduction of the cheaper commodities it had
produced elsewhere. Competition would thus have
wrought far more depressive effects on the condition of
the spinner and weaver than mechanical ingenuity, and
would have involved in its superseding tendency not
the operatives only, but their employers, merchants,
manufacturers, and tradesmen. This, indeed, is the
general law (though we do not recollect to have
seen it adverted to before) of all new contrivances for
the abridgment of labour. Workmen must meet them
either as competitors in the market of labour or as
competitors in the market of commodities; in the
former case, they may suffer temporary inconvenience,
but in the latter both they and their employers are
sure to be ruined, with the further disadvantage, that
a benefit which science might have conferred on their
own town or their own country, is lost without equi-
valent, and passes to the stranger or foreigner.
A permanent excess in the supply of labour has
the same operation on the condition of the workmen
as contrivances for its abbreviation. It tends to lower
its price, and for this we fear there is no allowable or
feasible preventive, except either lessening the redun-
dancy of the commodity in excess, or finding new out-
lets for its employment. In the work just referred to,
the subject is examined in its chief bearings, and many
instances given of futile attempts to keep up wages, in
the face of an overstocked market of industry, by turn-
outs and combinations. Of these, the disastrous re-
sults seem mostly to have been either to force trade
from places where it was thriving, to stimulate con-
trivances for superseding skilled occupations, or to
entail great pecuniary sacrifices on trade-unionists.
The last is a serious and certain consequence, of which
there has recently been some bitter experience. In
the strikes of late years, there has been expended by
the Glasgow cotton-spinners, L.47,000; the Manches-
ter cotton-spinners, L.375,000; the wool-combers,
L.100,000; the Leeds mechanics, L.137,000. The
recent turn-outs in Lancashire must have been far
more costly than all these, and yet have ended, we
regret to say, without satisfactory results either to
men or employers-leaving only to both an augmen-
tation of difficulties to contend against.

The commercial and industrial position of the
country seems such as not to need any addition to its
perplexities by profitless dissensions. Violence, as we
have endeavoured to show, has rarely or ever abated
public wrongs; nor is it likely to do so in the existing
juncture. It has seldom achieved, but often frustrated
or delayed, relief. Discussion and inquiry are the
natural resources of a civilised age; and if to these be
superadded mutual concession and forbearance, there
seems little doubt that both the body politic and the
body physical would soon be convalescent.

AN OLD HOUSE IN THE MERSE.

In our own island, contemporary advances had been made in justice and wholesome policy. There was less of selfishness and monopoly; and the conviction had become apparent, that social benefits, to be enduring, must be common, not partial or exclusive. This spirit was evinced in the new treatment adopted towards Ireland-in unfettering her commerce, in giving greater scope and encouragement to her domestic industry, and in treating her, not as a colonial dependency subservient only to the greatness of the parent state, but as a partner having co-equal rights, and alike' identified in the general prosperity of the empire. While these and many other encouraging circumstances were occurring, all at once a check was given by the riots of Lord George Gordon. By these fanatical outrages, the metropolis was brought to the brink of destruction. People became alarmed at the evidences of ignorance and violence which these disorders afforded; and before the panic had faded from remembrance, out burst the French Revolution in all WITHOUT derogating from the interest attached to its unhappy fury. Altars, thrones, and privileges, were all menaced with destruction. Even private property and cathedrals-we often feel that there is as much, the more magnificent class of ruins-castles, abbeys, and persons hardly seemed safe. These fears might be groundless, they might be unreasonable, but they dwelling, at least if it be one which stands in some or more, associated with the remains of some simple existed, and were the means of uniting all possessed situation not vulgarising. Even the ruined cottage of weight and influence in defence of what was termed which we encounter in shooting over some lonely hillpeace, law, and order. So great was the panic, that reason was silenced. No talk of meliorations could be side, is an object which cannot be passed without an listened to, and the slightest approach to imitation of effusion of human sympathy, for within its walls hope, our Gallic neighbours, in the way of change or amend-fear, joy, and sorrow, have been felt; and we can never ment, was resolutely opposed, as pregnant with unde- forget, what a celebrated living writer has remarked, that the death of every peasant is the fifth act of a The lesson has often been repeated in subsequent the heart with more power, and to which I would more tragedy. But I know no object that comes home to domestic history. Inquiry and discussion have been gradually working their way in the public mind, when willingly devote a summer's day, than some deserted their fruits have been lost, or indefinitely deferred by family residence, which has seen generation after some sudden explosion of popular excess or extrava-generation flourish and decay, where love has shed its gance. Violence always recoils on itself; unreasonable purple light over hearts long buried, where the still sad music of humanity has been heard, but is now claims seldom attain their purpose; they only cement silent for ever, where beauty has pined into an early and strengthen the power of resistance. These are nagrave, where fiery youth has ripened into sober matutural results. If men seek only what is useful, or per-rity, where noble minds have been o'erthrown by sad tains to them, the common sense and feeling of manvicissitudes, where hope deferred has sickened the kind plead for them, and procure co-operative support; heart, where the return of the long absent has shed but if they seek that which is hurtful, or compromises light and gladness, where age has indulged its recol antagonist rights, then they either lose adherents, rouse into activity and combination an insurmount-lections of the past, and childhood its bright anticipaable opposition. From these obvious and commonplace principles, may generally be predicated the success or failure of every public enterprise. We have only to balance conflicting interests-those likely to be benefited, and those likely to be endangered-to I say this much by way of preface to an account of arrive at the ultimate issue of the impending struggle. an old house in the Merse, or lower district of BerAccording to this test may be tried the remark-wickshire, which, from particular circumstances in able popular agitations which followed in quick succession the general peace of 1815; and, descending

finable ruin.

tions of the future, where marriages have been cele-
brated with song and with dance, where birth-days
have been kept with befitting carousals, and where
the dead have been carried forth with solemn cere-
mony, and amidst all the pageantry of woe.

called in Scotland. Around this the Whitadder makes one of those windings which occur so frequently in its course, and from which it is supposed to derive its name. Farther up are the woods of Whitehall-another uninhabited house-which in autumn are variegated with the richest hues. In front of the house is a large and beautiful park, containing some of the finest trees in the district, and which has that quiet and venerable look of age more common in English and in Scottish pleasure-grounds. Behind the house, in the bank overhanging the haugh, is an extensive rookery, whose sounds alone now break the silence of a place where, in olden times, a castle stood in feudal pride, and which, in modern days, was enlivened with the sounds of gaiety, and brightened with the smiles of beauty. The visitor, after passing through the well cultivated fields of the Merse, in which industry is at work on every hand, and of which the rich plains and valleys show like so many gardens, is surprised to find himself suddenly in a spot where there is nothing to tell of the present generation, but where everything carries him back to those which have been.

It was a little to the west of the present house that the ancient castle of Hutton Hall stood; and, judging from its situation, it must have been a place of considerable strength. The house has still much of the old border aspect, and part of it was obviously erected at a period when security from hostile attacks was more looked to than comfort or elegance. The part to which we allude is a square tower with frowning battlements, built in that massive style which was necessary for defence against the "Northumbrian prickers fierce and rude." Whether this was an appendage to the ancient castle, or was erected immediately after its destruction (for of its having seen at least three centuries there can be no doubt), we shall not take upon us to determine. The rest of the house is more modern, and marks the transition period of architecture, as well as of society.

The ancient castle of Hutton Hall was destroyed in the year 1497. It was taken and sacked by the Earl of Surrey, who led the English forces against Perkin Warbeck, when that impudent pretender had inveigled James IV. into a war with England. It is curious to find Ford, in his drama of " Perkin Warbeck," mentioning Hutton Hall, along with several other places in the neighbourhood, in the tirade which he puts into the mouth of Surrey. The orthography of the ingenious Templar is perhaps as correct as could have been expected.

"Can they

Look on the strength of Cunderstine defaced?
The glory of Heydon Hall devastated?-that
Of Edington cast down?-the pile of Fulden
O'erthrown; and this the strongest of their forts,
Old Ayton castle, yielded and demolished,
And yet not peep abroad?"

According to a date which was recently to be seen above the principal door, the present house of Hutton Hall was built in 1573. It is somewhat in the Elizabethan style, though with less architectural embellishment than is to be seen in the old family residences of the south of a similar age. The interior is fitted up in a comparatively modern style, some of the rooms being after the manner of the last century. But the concealments, the narrow and winding stairs, and the involved passages, tell of an earlier period. The kitchen and servants' hall are arched, and present footsteps of many generations, it has been covered, at stair is of stone; but having been worn away by the something of a monastic appearance. The principal an apparently recent period, with plain wood. There been uninhabited for several years, it is fast going to is no furniture remaining in the house; and having decay.

Our readers will remember the Seven Spears of

Wedderburn, who are mentioned in the Lay of the Last Minstrel, as having come to the aid of Branksome against Belted Will Howard and Lord Dacre. To one of these Hutton Hall belonged in former times. Of this we believe there is sufficient evidence

furnished by the charter chest of Wedderburn; and above the principal door the arms of the Homes are still to be seen engraved in stone. But of those times there is no tradition preserved with regard to Hutton Hall. Indeed, when we consider that the country all around must have been the scene of many a hardfought encounter between the rival borderers, it is strange that this kind of lore should be so rare among the people of the neighbourhood. The early period at which systematic agriculture was pursued in this district, and the complete change in the character and habits of the people that in consequence ensued, is the only circumstance that seems adequately to loom and the steam-engine, dispels the old stories of account for the fact. The plough, no less than the prowess and romance.

From the Homes, Hutton Hall was purchased about the beginning of the seventeenth century by the Johnstons of Hilton, whose family seat it was until a few years ago. The first of the family of Hilton was a cadet of the famous house of Annandale. The my own history, I regard with an unusually lively Johnstons had property in several of the surrounding interest. About six miles above the junction of the Whitadder with the Tweed, on the south side of the parishes, and, along with the Homes and Swintong, were the leading gentry of the Merse. During the former, stands the now uninhabited house of Hutton fully wooded, between which and the river stretches Douglas was minister of Hilton, a man whose memory Hall. It is built on the top of a steep bank, beauti-reigns of Charles II. and James II., they were on the side of the government. At that time Daniel a large green haugh, as a strip of alluvial ground is is still preserved among the people of the neighbour hood. He was a staunch Presbyterian; and tradition tells that his faith was so strong, that he would sow

from national examples to minor illustrations, de-
rived from the conflicts of capital and industry, we
shall find further confirmations of our general con-
clusions in favour of peace, moderation, and respect
for mutual rights. The great contest between
machinery and manual industry is now almost a cen-
tury old.
It began with the discoveries of Watt,
Wyatt, and Hargraves, soon after the accession of Working Classes, p. 41, Chambers's People's Edition.

* Wade's History and Political Philosophy of the Middle and