cow, a heifer, a sow, a store-pig, two turkey hens, a piece of frieze, a fur-tippet (which she wore on Sundays over a real cloth cloak, all the year round, summer and winter alike), and forty sovereigns wrapped up in the heel of an old stocking. She was quite a mountain heiress, although, in her frequent allusions to her fortune, not an item of which she ever neglected to enumerate, she always modestly summed up its amount as a' trifle.' This managing couple had, by imperceptible degrees, while accumulating stock and acres, contrived to get rid of all encroachments on either. Sisters and younger brothers had passed out from their childhood's home to struggle with the crowd of necessitous around them, leaving only the old man behind. In their place, a set of fine healthy grandchildren filled the house, recalling by name and features those of a former generation at their age. Hannah's first visit impressed her favourably with all she found. Terry and Terry's wife vied in their attentions to her. The old man said little, but he looked on her with much affection as he rose from the comfortable settle within the large open chimney of the kitchen, displacing a baby from each knee, that he might reach to shake hands with her. The place looked very much as it used to do. The entrance was at once into the kitchen; it would have been into the fire, but for a wall that was run out at right angles from the chimney back some feet on along the floor, facing the door, and cutting it off, in fact, from the room, forming a small square lobby, which would have caused nearly total darkness at the fireplace, had it not been avoided by a window of a single pane made in this bit of wall, close above old Luke White's head, as he sat on his usual seat within. The floor was clay, hardened by a slight mixture of lime and sand. The thatched roof was unceiled; but all was tight, and dry, and clean, and the walls were neatly whitewashed. The old plain furniture was there nothing having, to all appearance, been added to it. A turned-up table leaf was near the fire, let down for every meal, as in long past days. The dresser stood opposite, well filled with crockery of all shapes and sizes. Along its lower shelf was ranged a whole row of wooden bowls and platters; and on the upper shelf still shone, what had been the pride of Hannah's foster-mother's heart, pewter-ware, which had descended to her from a long line of ancestors. A long ironing-table followed, before which Hannah had many a day stood till her strong back ached; bright tin-cans hung on the wall behind it; an eight-day clock faced the small window; a settle bed, a large wheel for spinning wool, some stools, tubs, and a turf basket, bottom upwards, under which a hen was hatching, completed the furniture of this 'small farmer's' comfortable kitchen. At either end of the house was a room, clay-floored, and unceiled like the kitchen, from which one of them, indeed, was only partitioned off by the dresser. In this more open apartment slept the old man, the maid-servant, and the elder children. In the other private retreat, with the chimney-stalk and the lobby to separate it from the rest of the house, slept Terry, his wife, and the babies. The old man's room contained nothing but two bedsteads: his son's not much more-only a cradle, a press, and a very dingy mahogany table, and a chair or two to match; extra with sundry boxes, bags, bandboxes, and bundles, heaped on the top of the bed and the red-painted press. Nothing more in sight, we should have said; for Mrs White, when doing the honours of her house, by showing off to her husband's friend all its treasures, drew out, with no little pride, from underneath the bed a small barrel full of eggs, and a large tub half full of beautiful butter. She was very particular, she said, in her dairy management, butter being in these times as good as gold. She had seven cows, and no right dairy; no dairy with a right lock: she therefore kept her butter where no fingers but her own could reach it. Our Scotch and English readers might suppose the cream to have been in equal danger; but in the dairy husbandry of the part of Ireland we are describing, they do not deal in creamthe milk is all strained at once into a large churnshaped vat, warm as it comes from the cow: the operation is repeated at every milking, till the vat is full, when two men relieve each other in churning the ripened milk into butter. The buttermilk sells readily in the neighbourhood; the butter is packed for market. Mrs White's milk-vat stood in a dark corner partitioned off from the barn, which barn being partly open, served occasionally as a cart-shed and general toolhouse, when it occurred to Mr White to shelter articles of such value from the weather. The partition was merely brushwood closely wattled, and overhead some yards of calico were nailed across the rafters, to prevent rubbish from falling below. The brick floor, the white walls, the shaded window, the cool shelves, loaded with pans of richly-coated milk, the curd, the cheese, the beauty, the profits of a British dairy, when will they be universal in the sister isle, where, of all farming, dairy-farming should best thrive, from the quality of the pastures, and the short mild winters of the country? Unknowing of these better things, Mrs White was quite content; vain even of her untidy premises, her pigs ranging over the fields, her fowl laying their eggs under the haystacks, her garden as full of weeds as of vegetables, the bawn* ankle deep on wet days, and miry at the driest of times, from the constant tread of the cattle on the refuse thrown there for the purpose of being thus prepared for the manure heap. She grieved, indeed, over her many troubles-her slaving life, her crosses, losses, great expenses, little profits, heavy rent, and heavy cess, and more than all, her difficulties with Terry, who was entirely too good-natured, failed in bargain-making, was for ever giving to this brother and to that sister, Biddy included, and showed himself in many ways too innocent for the world he lived in. These complaints required no redress, scarce even a reply: they were a habit rather than a necessity; not called forth by any real evils, merely adjuncts to the dignity of her station as a prosperous farmer's wife. That there was any merit wanting in herself, had never occurred to her, nor was it in the nature of things that it ever should. Though she admired the character of her husband, she did not by any manes consider him her aquals.' Her father held forty acres of land, and her mother went to chapel in her jaunting car, and her brother rode his own horse at the steeple-chases. Terry could pretend to no such high doings; but he was 'snug,' and good-looking, and 'cute,' and the best match that offered for her at the time her parents judged it fit she should be disposed of; and she had never repinted, thanks be to God for that and all his other mercies ! She did not fault him (the husband), nor complain of him, nor any one, but Hannah herself must have the sinse to see that he was by no manes her aquals.' Terry seemed to see it, and to feel it too, for her word was law to him. He paid her implicit obedience, and readily, as if her commanding thus was an honour to him; and in his private conversations with his foster-sister, he dilated warmly on his wife's perfections: The best of creatures!- the finest housekeeping woman! - the hardest † woman in all Ireland !-the nicest hand at a bargain! They would need to be 'cute indeed that offered to have dealings with the like of her!' He was evidently delighted with his prize, lived but to serve her, came and went as she ordered, lounged after his lounging workmen when she sent him, or indolently, at her bidding, set half to rights what they had wholly neglected. He bought and sold only by her directions; and being both of one mind as to spending nothing they could spare, and pocketing all they could contrive to make, they got on very comfortably together; except at an odd time of a fair day, when Terry, not having * Yard before the door. † A good bargain-maker. Shaving close. taken the temperance pledge, had been' after' refreshing himself too frequently. They were really decent, well-doing people after their lights; paid priests' dues, cess, rent, and rent charge-' kept themselves,' as they said, to themselves, and had no call to nobody.' · Subsequent visits hardly kept up these agreeable impressions: a more intimate acquaintance with the ways of the house revealed a style of management ill calculated to satisfy the judgment of the active little woman, who had been disciplined by many years' service, under conscientious employers, into the most perfect regulation of her time, and the most faithful discharge of her duties. Terry White cultivated his farm at no great expense of labour: his cabin tenants did his work according as he happened to want 'em ;' no man had his particular business, no hour its allotted task; the whole concern went on at haphazard; the pay, poor as it was, was very grudgingly given-the work returned for it was very lazily done: conscience seemed to be wanting on both sides: the men could hardly be trusted out of their master's sight a moment: his time, indeed, was principally occupied in watching their doings, for suspicion dwelt ever among them all. He gave better wages than some of his neighbours-a fact on which he sufficiently prided himself: he gave sixpence a day and diet; but there was a long per contra account, so long, that little money passed between them-there was cabin rent, garden rent, potato rent, and cartage of fuel, for the husband's share; and the wife and Mrs White had their separate account for buttermilk. This being, by the custom of the country, the perquisite of the farmer's wife-part of her private fund for the purchase of such luxuries as tea and clothing-she reckoned her quarts very carefully. They were paid for either by a few days' work in harvest, or in copper, as they were got the copper being earned by the sale of eggs from the fowl, permitted to pick about over the fields at will, except when they ventured near the corn. Yet with all their carefulness, all their hard dealings, Terry and Mrs White were about this time beginning to feel that they were not rich. The fund in the stocking heel had diminished, for they had been obliged to apply to it once or twice in seasons of difficulty; their children were increasing in age and numbers, and not being brought up to help in any industrious way the business of the family, they were an annually additional charge, instead of becoming an assistance. Terry scraped and shaved closer than ever; the parings and pinchings of Mrs White were felt to the heart's core by every member of the household; still matters mended little. That they had themselves to blame, that for want of outgoings, they could hardly expect incomings, never crossed the thoughts of this self-satisfied pair: selfblame never does cross the thoughts of Irishman or Irishwoman. The times, the seasons, landlord, agent, master, mistress, friends, neighbours, anybody, anything, everybody, everything, deserves high blame, and gets it, all but those only who are in fault--the individuals whose indolence prevents their making the slightest exertion of mind or body to better their own condition. ་ on another field; he had 'sowed dales,* fine three-year oulds, five score o' them'-all along in a row, down the top of the double ditch he had made betwixt himself and his next neighbour, the contrariest man was ever seen, for ever poundin' an' annoyin'. What man alive could do more, or as much? But the times bate him intirely. He was shuck with 'em, and sure it was no use strivin' agin' 'em.' Mrs White had been equally distinguished on her side. She watched, and she worried, and she scrimped herself and every one. She turned away a good, strong, active maid-servant, an' took up wid jist a slip of a girl' in her stead, the daughter of one of their cabin tenants, to whom she gave no wages, and from whom, in return, she got no work. She withdrew her two eldest children from the school she had hitherto sent them to, an' striv' to tache them herself of an evening.' She had no idea of making money but by sparing it-inflicting really a course of privations on herself and all belonging to her as her only resource in these 'stroogling' times. My dear life,' said she, addressing the foster-sister- my dear jewel, it's little you know. What with the roads contractin', and them wars, and one thing and another, it was aisier to make a guinea in the ould times than a penny now.' The conclusion to which this unpromising condition of their affairs had brought this contriving couple was, that Hannah, with her grand friends, and her fine place, and her 'hapes of savings,' was to take it upon herself to provide for all their children. It would be unnatural to expect otherwise, for who else had she to look to? Them that 'raired her had a right to dipind upon her;' and she had equal 'right' to afford her best assistance to them. Hannah had no wish indeed to deny it. She had never forgotten the care taken of her childhood, never omitted to send many useful remembrances to the only home she could look back to; nay, she had come now to the country for the express purpose of seeing what could best be done to advance the fortunes of her foster-mother's family; but she did not exactly incline to be their sole dependence; and she also began to fear that they might not all perfectly agree as to the means to be adopted. Her wish was, to educate the children, and by enlightening the parents, endeavour to elevate the condition of Terry and his family. Mrs White had no notion that either she or her husband had anything to learn; for they were, in fact, in some respects rather in advance of their neighbours: no intention of making herself, or encouraging her husband to make, the very least exertion to further their object; still less did she purpose to spend a farthing of their hard-won money on it; neither did she imagine that their children could require aught but the 'help of a friend' to fit them for every sort of creditable employment. She therefore expected Hannah to use her interest to provide them all with such situations as she had fixed on for them, ' accordin' as they grew to years.' She had laid out' to get places in the police or the Excise for her sons, and to make ladies'-maids and dressmakers of her daughters, without further trouble to her or their father. She did not mean them to be 'kilt with work:' Hannah ventured to suggest that a little more ac- she was come of 'dacent' people-Terry was come of tivity, a little regularity, some attention to order and 'dacent' people too; their children had had the best of tidiness, some improvements on the methods of farming rairing'-' never let out with the common sort,' &c. &c.; pursued by Terry, would be rewarded by increased pro- and when she found that Hannah was sceptical on ductiveness, and would lessen the necessity for much of their merits, dissatisfied with their idle habits, their the niggardly proceedings which so exceedingly dimi- insubordination, and their lack of the most ordinary nished the comforts of his family. But she found her instruction, and was resolute not to importune her hints far from kindly taken. So far from having ne- master and mistress for their patronage in favour of glected a proper outlay on his little piece of a farm-connexions not previously fitted to deserve it, her the worst bit of land, take it all out, that he would engage to say would be to be found in the country'-her foster-brother assured her that he had done a power. Ne'er a man in all Ireland would have done as much, or could, had he been willing.' He had bought three pounds of powder, and blasted two astonishin' rocks in one field; he had drawn forty barrels of lime three miles-'crass the river, up the hill-and put them all out' manner changed entirely to the friend she had up to that moment made so much of. She did not cool-she heated; words, actions increased in vehemence as she worked herself up to resent this unnatural indifference: all former kindnesses were obliterated. Hannah was thankful to escape from the house with a whole skin, *Planted larch-trees. and to leave the future welfare of the family to time, and the changes time would bring. Thus ended Miss White's visit to the scene of her early days. She felt that she could be of as little use to her comfortable foster-brother as to her miserable fostersister; that were she to continue any close connection with either, she might herself be ruined between them, brought down to Biddy's level, another pauper among the crowd of wretched, without a hope of ever raising them to her own position. She therefore determined on restricting her intercourse with Mr and Mrs White to little occasional civilities, as better in the end for them, and essential to herself for her own respectability. Her heart was hardly as light on her homeward journey as when the hope she brought with her to the hills had filled it; but she was content with the feeling of having done her duty: she had satisfied herself that she had shown herself not ungrateful for the home given to her childhood; and for the rest, forty years in this struggling world had inured her to disappoint ment. THE IPSWICH MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY FOR THE WORKING-CLASSES. SOME months since,* we abridged from the 'Manchester Guardian' a very interesting memoir of James Crowther of that place, a naturalist in humble life, including notices of some of his companions who had united with him to form a society of about forty weavers and mechanics, who met occasionally to exhibit and compare their acquisitions of plants and insects; and we added some observations as to the great desirableness of similar tastes being more widely imparted to the workingclasses by making natural history a branch of their education. A step in this direction has since been made by the adoption of Mr Patterson's Introduction to Zoology' in the schools under the National Board of Ireland, and in several public and private seminaries in England and Scotland; and we are now happy to add, that a Museum of Natural History, of handsome architecture, lately erected, of which the professed object is to communicate a knowledge of this science to working-men, was opened at Ipswich on Wednesday, December 15th, by eloquent speeches from the Bishop of Norwich, the Dean of Westminster, Sir J. P. Boileau, Bart., &c. addressed to a large auditory, comprising some of the principal gentry of Suffolk, the members of parliament for Ipswich, and numbers of the inhabitants of the town of all ranks. The president of the Museum, the Rev. W. Kirby, rector of Barham, near Ipswich, now in his eighty-ninth year, was present; but in consequence of his great age, the Bishop of Norwich officiated as president in his stead, and moved, at the conclusion of the meeting, a vote of thanks to him for the valuable services he has rendered to natural history during his long life, to which the venerable father of entomology in this country replied in a brief and most affecting valedictory address, which brought tears into the eyes of most of those present. This Museum, as stated in the Suffolk Chronicle,' now before us, owes its origin chiefly to the indefatigable zeal and unwearied exertions of George Ransome, Esq., of Ipswich, proving, as in so many other instances on record, how much may be effected by a single individual; and as the Messrs Ransome of that place, who employ many hundred men in their extensive manufactory of agricultural implements, &c. will use their influence to induce them to attend the lectures meant to be given, there is every prospect that this institution will succeed in its great object of introducing the working-classes of Ipswich to what is yet so great a desideratum in all plans for their advantage--a new description of out-of-door recreation, at once healthy and rationally exciting in a very high degree. For how intense must have been the delight derived from their * Journal, No. 170, p. 215. pursuits, which, as we learn from the memoir of Crowther above referred to, could lead him and his comrades, after a hard day's work, to walk ten or fifteen miles in search of a rare plant or insect! To many even well-informed minds, the idea of directing the attention of working-men to such pursuits seems absurd and impracticable; and so it would be, if the aim were to make them profound naturalists. But this is not the intention. It is simply to give them such a taste for, and general knowledge of the subject, as may lead them to take an interest in observing and collecting the natural objects which present themselves so profusely in every walk, and comparing them with similar ones deposited in the museum or described in books, and thus ascertaining their names and properties, and being able to explain them to their children. Every one remembers Mrs Barbauld's charming tale of Eyes and no Eyes in 'Evenings at Home,' containing the history of two boys taking the same walk, in which one found nothing to observe, while the other was attracted by novelties at every step. And so it is with working-men. The great mass of them never having been taught 'the art of seeing,' find nothing but barrenness and weariness, where instructed men, like Crowther, are in ecstacies of delight. Such is the force of the principle of imitation in man, that let but one or two in a place acquire a taste for any branch of natural history, and numbers will be sure to follow their example; nor will the scientific naturalist quarrel with these humble disciples, if, stopping far short of his knowledge of the subject, they content themselves with merely collecting and admiring the objects with which nature presents them. No botanist, however profound, refuses to smile with complacency at the rapture with which the critical eye of a Norwich weaver hangs over the points of beauty and perfection in the flowers of his auriculas and polyanthuses; and no ornithologist would disdain to enter into the feelings of the Spitalfields weaver, who pointed out to him, with exultation, his matchless croppers' and carrier-pigeons, which he had reared with such anxious pains and skill. Nor does the entomologist refuse to sympathise with his brethren of the same locality, whose great ambition in collecting insects is to arrange them so as to form a symmetrical' picture,' in a glazed frame, to hang up in their parlour. These humble collectors of insects often find species not before known; and many of the rarer ones of Mr Haworth's 'Lepidoptera Britannica' were obtained by him from the Spitalfields weavers, whom he paid frequent visits. But independently of this consideration, however restricted may be the views of naturalists in humble life, what can be more desirable than to direct their attention to objects which, apart from their beauty and marvellous structure, as the works of a Divine handworks which, if He thought it worth while to create and adorn, must be worthy of our study and admiration-must even merely, as presenting matter for constant interest, largely promote their happiness? Gray the poet well observed, that the enjoyment of life depends on our 'having always something going forward,' exclaiming, 'Happy they who can create a rose-tree or erect a honeysuckle; that can watch the brood of a hen, or see a fleet of their own ducklings launch into the water!' And it is precisely thus having always something going forward,' that constitutes the charm of their pursuits to the humble florist, who fosters with assiduous care the growth of his seedling auriculas, and watches with intense eagerness the first expansion of the hoped-for prize-flower; and to the butterfly and moth collector, who daily feeds his rare caterpillars for weeks with their appropriate food, sees them at length with joy change into their chrysalis state, and then impatiently expects their tranformation into the perfect insect. No man knew better than Crabbe (himself, by the way, like Gray, an entomologist) how largely the happiness of the working-classes, with whose wants and feelings he was so well acquainted, can be increased by giving them a taste for even the humbler depart He fears no bailiff's wrath, no baron's blame; His is untaxed and undisputed game.' But though the Ipswich Museum will render no small service to the working-classes, if it should merely convert hundreds of them who now saunter in the fields, uninterested and without object, and to relieve the vacuity of their eye and mind, adjourn to the alehouse, into cultivators of flowers, rearers of pigeons, or collectors of insects, it by no means follows that much more important results will not follow from its establishment. Though the bulk of the Messrs Ransome's workmen may go no further, some of them, like Joseph Fox, the Norwich weaver, recorded by Sir J. E. Smith as the first grower of a lycopodium from seed, or Hugh Miller, the stone-mason, author of the excellent geological work on the Old Red Sandstone,' may render high services to science and if this should prove the case in only one instance in a hundred of those to whom the Ipswich Museum gives a taste for natural history, and if the same result should follow from other similar institutions, which it is to be hoped its example will cause to be formed in all our towns, it is scarcely possible to estimate too highly the large accession of enjoyment which will be conferred on the working-classes, and of advantage to natural history from enlisting them among its cultivators. * THE NIGHT SIDE OF NATURE. marks, credulity outran reason and discretion, the eighteenth century, by a natural reaction, threw itself into an opposite extreme. Whoever closely observes the signs of the times, will be aware that another change is approaching. The contemptuous scepticism of the last age is yielding to a more humble spirit of inquiry; and there is a large class of persons amongst the most enlightened of the present, who are beginning to believe that much which they had been taught to reject as fable, has been, in reality, ill-understood truth.' If such a reaction be actually in progress, it is a fact of obvious importance. Perhaps the reception of the Night Side of Nature' will in some degree be a test how far it is a fact. Our author starts with a chapter of speculation on the ideas which have been entertained regarding the inner spiritual nature of man. Adopting the doctrine of there being a spiritual as well as fleshly body, she seeks to show how some faint gleams of its attributes may at times shoot up through the clay in which it has taken up its temporary abode; through this medium, she thinks, we may, under certain perhaps abnormal conditions, have communication with the spiritual world, so as to become cognisant of things above the apprehension of the bodily senses. Disease often supplies these conditions; mesmerism supplies them to some extent; so does common sleep; often, however, the communication takes place without any extraordinary conditions being observable. Revelations by dreaming she takes up first, as being the simplest class of phenomena; and of these she presents a number of curious examples. Take as a specimen the following:- Mr S-was the son of an Irish bishop, who set somewhat more value on the things of this world than became his function. He had always told his son that there was but one thing he could not forgive, and that was a bad marriage-meaning by a always prevent young people falling in love, Mr Sbad marriage, a poor one. As cautions of this sort do not fixed his affections on Lady O, a fair young widow, without any fortune; and, aware that it would be useless to apply for his father's consent, he married her without asking it. They were consequently exceed THIS is the somewhat poetical name of a book † published for the purpose of rationalising the ancient, though of late exploded belief in prophetic dreams, spiritual appearances, and other mysterious things. What first strikes the 'candid reader,' is the amazing moral courage of the author: she, a novelist of some reputation, and a woman of the world, to come boldlyingly poor; and indeed nearly all they had to live on was a small sinecure of forty pounds per annum, which out with the profession of a belief in what the intelliDean Swift procured for him. Whilst in this situation, gent public has long condemned as only fit matter for Mr S dreamt one night that he was in the cathevulgar wonderment-even though she profess a philoso-dral in which he had formerly been accustomed to atphical object and a wish to fortify the conviction of the spirituality of our nature, and to elevate thereby our moral life-it must be acknowledged to be no common phenomenon in literature. A second feeling, on dipping into the book, will be surprise at the rifeness of such matters in these cool, unwondering days-so contrary to the common notion that they have disappeared along with the disposition to believe in them. It appears as if, while scepticism is the general profession, a vast number of persons had yet experiences which they could not resolve into accordance with the admitted course of nature, and which they are willing to disclose in certain circumstances, but always with an injunction as to concealment of names, lest they be suspected of a secret leaning to an unfashionable belief. These Mrs Crowe has determined to collect and arrange, with the view of endeavouring to bring them within the domain of science. Because, in the seventeenth century,' she re * When in our concluding remarks on Crowther's memoir, we observed, The common soldier, if acquainted in even a small measure with botany or entomology, would have at command a means of enjoyment which would make the dreariest of hours in foreign stations to him a paradise' (p. 217), we little thought how soon, and on how large and fearful a scale, our position would be verified by the fatal consequences of the want of some such recreation in the case of our troops in India, whose late general insubordination, and the consequent sad execution of several of them, is attributed by the editor of the ، Times' newspaper (Dec. 27, 1847), solely to the insupportable wearisomeness and ennui of being obliged to live in remote quarters, without any object to interest or occupy their attention. By Catherine Crowe. 2 vols. London: Newby. 1848. tend service; that he saw a stranger, habited as a bishop, occupying his father's throne; and that, on that the bishop was dead, and that he had expired just applying to the verger for an explanation, the man said as he was adding a codicil to his will in his son's favour. The impression made by the dream was so strong, that Mr S felt that he should have no repose till he had obtained news from home; and as the most speedy way of doing so was to go there himself, he started on horseback, much against the advice of his wife, who attached no importance whatever to the circumstance. He had scarcely accomplished half his journey, when he met a courier, bearing the intelligence of his father's death; and when he reached home, he found that there was a codicil attached to the will, of the greatest importance to his own future prospects; but the old gentleman had expired with the pen in his hand, just as he was about to sign it. In this unhappy position, reduced to hopeless indigence, the friends of the young man proposed that he should present himself at the vice-regal palace on the next levee day, in hopes that some interest might be excited in his favour; to which, with reluctance, he consented. As he was ascending the stairs, he was met by a gentleman whose dress indicated that he belonged to the church. "Good heavens!" said he to the friend who accompanied him, "who is that?" "That is Mr, of so and so." ," returned Mr ין S; "for that is the man I saw occupying my father's throne." "Impossible!” replied the other. "He has no interest whatever, and has no more chance of being a bishop than I have." You will see," replied Mr S will." "I am certain he They had made their obeisance above, and were returning, when there was a great cry without, and everybody rushed to the doors and windows to inquire what had happened. The horses attached to the carriage of a young nobleman had become restive, and were endangering the life of their master, when Mr rushed forward, and, at the peril of his own, seized their heads, and afforded Lord C- time to descend before they broke through all restraint and dashed away. Through the interest of this nobleman and his friends, to whom Mr had been previously quite unknown, he obtained the see of L-. These circumstances were related to me by a member of the family.' there she learnt what the dreams had led them to expect their friend was dead, and they afterwards ascertained that his decease had taken place on that night.' The magnetic illustration was related to the author by Mr W. W a gentleman well known in the north of England. This gentleman had been cured by mesmerism of a very distressing malady. During part of the process of cure, after the rapport had been well established, the operations were carried on whilst he was at Malvern and his magnetiser at Cheltenham, under which circumstances the existence of this extraordinary dependence was frequently exhibited in a manner that left no possibility of doubt. On one occasion, I remember, that Mr W. W— being in the magnetic sleep, he suddenly started from his seat, clasping his hands as if startled, and presently afterwards burst into a violent fit of laughter. As, on waking, he could give no account of these impulses, his family wrote to the magnetiser, to inquire if he had sought to excite any particular manifestations in his patient, as the sleep had been somewhat disturbed. The answer was, that no such intention had been entertained, but that the disturbance might possibly have arisen from one to which he had himself been subjected. "Whilst my mind was concentrated on you," said he, "I was suddenly so much startled by a violent knock at the door, that I actually jumped off my seat, clasping my hands with affright. I had a hearty laugh at my own folly, but am sorry if you were made uncomfortable by it."" The question will of course arise-What is this rapport or relation between the parties, and how is it established? Even admitting the facts, who can answer this question? : Akin to such cases are presentiments, a class of phenomena exemplified also in the lower animals. Many of these prove to be warnings against danger, and an instruction as to the means of avoiding it. For example-A few years ago, Dr W- now residing in Glasgow, dreamt that he received a summons to attend a patient at a place some miles from where he was living; that he started on horseback; and that, as he was crossing a moor, he saw a bull making furiously at him, whose horns he only escaped by taking refuge on a spot inaccessible to the animal, where he waited a long time, till some people, observing his situation, came to his assistance, and released him. Whilst at breakfast on the following morning, the summons came; and, smiling at the odd coincidence, he started on We are told, in ensuing chapters, of persons who had horseback. He was quite ignorant of the road he had the power of entrancing themselves, in which state their to go; but by and by he arrived at the moor, which he spirits were free to roam abroad to any determinate recognised, and presently the bull appeared, coming full place, and for determinate purposes. One of the most tilt towards him. But his dream had shown him the remarkable cases of this kind is that recorded by Jung place of refuge, for which he instantly made; and there Stilling, of a man who, about the year 1740, resided in he spent three or four hours, besieged by the animal, the neighbourhood of Philadelphia, in the United States. till the country people set him free. Dr W- de- His habits were retired, and he spoke little he was clares that, but for the dream, he should not have known grave, benevolent, and pious; and nothing was known in what direction to run for safety.' Mrs Crowe thinks against his character, except that he had the reputation that there is no need to suppose supernatural interven- of possessing some secrets that were not altogether lawtion in such cases. It may be only from some cause ful. Many extraordinary stories were told of him, and connected with the condition of the individual that the amongst the rest the following:-The wife of a ship apprehension takes place an accident in the sense captain, whose husband was on a voyage to Europe and that an illness is an accident; that is, not without a Africa, and from whom she had been long without cause, but without a cause that we can penetrate.' tidings, overwhelmed with anxiety for his safety, was Mesmerism has some pretensions to throw light upon induced to address herself to this person. Having listhese mysteries, as will appear from the following anec- tened to her story, he begged her to excuse him for a dote in connection with one ensuing upon it. Two while, when he would bring her the intelligence she reladies, a mother and daughter, are asleep at Chelten- quired. He then passed into an inner room, and she ham, occupying the same bed. The mother, Mrs sat herself down to wait; but his absence continuing C- dreamt that her brother-in-law, then in Ire- longer than she expected, she became impatient, thinkland, had sent for her; that she entered his room, and ing he had forgotten her; and so, softly approaching saw him in bed, apparently dying. He requested her the door, she peeped through some aperture, and to her to kiss him; but, owing to his livid appearance, she surprise, beheld him lying on a sofa, as motionless as if shrank from doing so, and awoke with the horror of the he were dead. She of course did not think it advisable scene upon her. The daughter awoke at the same mo- to disturb him, but waited his return, when he told her ment, saying, "Oh, I have had such a frightful dream!" that her husband had not been able to write to her for "Oh, so have I!" returned the mother: "I have been such and such reasons, but that he was then in a coffeedreaming of my brother-in-law." My dream was house in London, and would very shortly be home again. about him too," added Miss C—. "I thought I was Accordingly he arrived; and as the lady learnt from him sitting in the drawing-room, and that he came in, wear- that the causes of his unusual silence had been precisely ing a shroud trimmed with black ribbons, and approach- those alleged by the man, she felt extremely desirous of ing me, he said, 'My dear niece, your mother has re- ascertaining the truth of the rest of the information; fused to kiss me, but I am sure you will not be so and in this she was gratified; for he no sooner set his unkind."" eyes on the magician, than he said that he had seen him before, on a certain day, in a coffee-house in London; and that he had told him that his wife was extremely uneasy about him; and that he, the captain, had thereon mentioned how he had been prevented writing; adding, that he was on the eve of embarking for America. He had then lost sight of the stranger amongst the throng, and knew nothing more about him. 66 'As these ladies were not in habits of regular correspondence with their relative, they knew that the earliest intelligence likely to reach them, if he were actually dead, would be by means of the Irish papers; and they waited anxiously for the following Wednesday, which was the day these journals were received in Cheltenham. When that morning arrived, Miss Chastened at an early hour to the reading-room, and 'I have no authority for this story,' says Mrs Crowe, |