ta'ent with which the English decorate the unosten- I tatious abodes of middle-life. The rudest habitation, the most unpromising and scanty portion of land, in the hands of an Englishman of taste, becomes a little paradise. With a nicely discriminating eye, he seizes at once upon its capabilities, and pictures in his mind the future landscape. The steril spot grows into loveliness under his hand; and yet the operations of art which produce the effect are scarcely to be perceived. The cherishing and training of some trees; the cautious pruning of others; the nice distribution of flowers and plants of tender and graceful foliage; the introduction of a green slope of velvet turf; the partial opening to a peep of blue distance, or silver gleam of water; all these are managed with a delicate tact, and a judicious adaptation to local circumstances, like the magic touchings with which a painter finishes up a favourite picture.

The residence of people of fortune and refinement in the country has diffused a degree of taste and elegance in rural economy, that descends to the humblest class. The very labourer, with his thatched cottage and narrow slip of ground, attends to their embellishment. The trim hedge, the grass-plot before the door, the little flower-bed bordered with snug box, the woodbine trained up against the wall, and hanging its blossoms about the lattice; the pot of flowers in the window; the holly providently planted about the house, to cheat winter of its dreariness, and throw in a semblance of green summer to cheer the fire-side: all these bespeak the influence of taste, flowing down from high sources, and pervading the lowest levels of the public mind. If ever Love, as poets sing, delights to visit a cottage, it must be the cottage of an English peasant.

The fondness for rural life among the higher classes of the English has had a great and salutary effect upon the national character. I do not know a finer race of men than the English gentlemen. Instead of the softness and effeminacy which characterize the men of rank in most countries, they exhibit a union of elegance and strength, a robustness of frame, and freshness of complexion, which I am inclined to attribute to their living so much in the open air, and pursuing so eagerly the invigorating recreations of the country. These hardy exercises produce, also, a healthful tone of mind and spirits, and a manliness and simplicity of manners, which even the follies and dissipations of the town cannot easily pervert, and can never entirely destroy. In the country, too, the different orders of society seem to approach more freely, to be more disposed to blend and operate favourably upon each other.

Indeed the very amusements of the country bring men more and more together; and the sound of hound and horn blend all feelings into harmony. I believe this is one great reason why the nobility and gentry are more popular among the other classes in England than they are in any other country.

To this mingling of cultivated and rustic society may also be attributed the rural feeling that runs through British literature; the frequent use of illustrations from rural life; those incomparable descriptions of nature that abound in the British poets that have continued down from The Flower and the Leaf of Chaucer, and have brought into our closets all the freshness and fragrance of the dewy landscape. The pastoral writers of other countries appear as if they had paid nature an occasional visit, and become acquainted with her general charms; but the British poets have wooed her in her most secret haunts, A spray could A spray could not tremble in the

breeze-a leaf could not rustle to the ground—a diamond-drop could not patter in the stream—a fragrance could not exhale from the humble violet-nor a daisy unfold its crimson tints to the morning-but it has been noticed by these impassioned and delicate observers, and wrought up into some beautiful morality.

The effect of this devotion of elegant minds to rural occupations has been wonderful on the face of the country. A great part of the island is level, and would be monotonous, were it not for the charms of culture: but it is studded and gemmed, as it were, with castles and palaces, and embroidered with parks and gardens. It does not abound in grand and sublime prospects, but rather in little home-scenes of rural repose and sheltered quiet. Every antique farm-house and moss-grown cottage is a picture; and as the roads are continually winding, and the view is shut in by groves and hedges, the eye is delighted by a continual succession of small landscapes of captivating loveliness.

The great charm, however, of English scenery, is the moral feeling that seems to pervade it. It is associated in the mind with ideas of order, of quiet, of sober, well-established principles, of hoary usage, and reverend custom. Every thing seems to be the growth of ages of regular and peaceful existence. The old church of remote architecture, with its low massive portal; its gothic tower; its windows rich with tracery and painted glass; its stately monuments of warriors and worthies of the olden time, ancestors of the present lords of the soil; its tombstones, recording successive generations of sturdy yeomanry, whose progeny still plough the same fields, and kneel at the same altar. The parsonage, a quaint irregular pile, partly antiquated, but repaired and altered in the tastes of various ages and occupants. The stile and footpath leading from the churchyard, across pleasant fields, and along shady hedge-rows, according to an immemorable right of way. The neighbouring village, with its venerable cottages, its public green, sheltered by trees, under which the forefathers of the present race have sported. The antique family mansion, standing apart in some little rural domain, but looking down with a protecting air on the surrounding scene.

All these common features of English landscape, evince a calm and settled security, an hereditary transmission of home-bred virtues and local attachments, that speak deeply and touchingly for the moral character of the nation.

It is a pleasing sight on a Sunday morning, when the bell is sending its sober melody across the quiet fields, to behold the peasantry in their best finery, with ruddy faces and modest cheerfulness, thronging tranquilly along the green lanes to church; and it is also pleasing to see them in the evenings, gathering about their cottage-doors, and appearing to exult in the humble comforts and embellishments which their own hands have spread around them.

It is this sweet home-feeling, this settled repose of affection in the domestic scene, that is, after all, the parent of the steadiest virtues and purest enjoyinents. -WASHINGTON IRVING.

FAMILY WORSHIP serves as an edge or border, to preserve the web of life from unravelling.

-ROBERT HALL.

NEVER speak, but when you have something to say.Wherefore shouldest thou run, seeing thou hast no tidings? -BISHOP BUTLER.

than the hearer is willing to attend, is guilty of an injury WHOEVER pays a visit that is not desired, or talks longer which he cannot repair, and takes away that which he cannot give.--JOHNSON,

time. The adventure being related to the earl on their arrival at the castle, Milton, at the request of his friend Mr. Lawes, who taught music in the family, wrote the masque, which Lawes set to music. In this castle also Butler wrote Hudibras. During the civil war, Ludlow Castle was garrisoned for the king, but was delivered up to the Parliament in 1646; and the Lords Presidents being discontinued in 1688, the building was suffered to go to decay.

The exterior appearance of this ancient edifice denotes in some degree its former magnificence. The castle rises from the point of a headland, and its foundations are engrafted into a bare gray rock. The north front consists of square towers, with high connecting walls, embattled with deep interstices, and the old fosse and part of the rock have been formed into walks, which, in 1772, were planted with trees at the expense of the late Countess of Powis. The principal entrance to the interior of the castle, is by a gateway under a low pointed arch, worked within a former one of larger dimensions: the first view on entering the enclosure, which is of several acres in extent, is strikingly fine. The body of the castle is, on the north-west sides, guarded by a deep and wide fosse. To the right hand, as we enter this gateway, are the ruins of barracks, in constant use when the castle was the palace of the Lords Presidents of Wales. Further on is a square tower with its entrance from the wall; the embattled rampart, pierced with loops, remains here and there in picturesque masses. On the left is a range of stone buildings said to have been stables, on which appear the arms of Queen Elizabeth, with those of the Earl of Pembroke, who succeeded to the presidency on the death of his relative Sir Henry Sidney. Contiguous are the ruins of the court-house, which had a door outwardly, and beyond it is a lofty tower, called Mortimer's Tower. The keep is a vast square tower, of early Norman architecture, rising on the left-hand side of the gate to the height of one hundred and ten feet, ivy-mantled to the top, divided into four stories. The ground-floor contains the dungeon or prison, formerly called Pendover, a gloomy and dreadful place of confinement, half under ground; the roof, twenty-one feet high, is arched, and in the arch are three square openings communicating with the chamber above; these openings, besides being used for letting down the prisoners, are supposed to have been intended for raising supplies of ammunition, offensive implements and provisions, during a siege. The hall

faces the gate, and was originally approached by a flight of steps, now destroyed: it measures sixty feet by thirty feet, the height is about thirty-five feet. On the north side, looking towards Oakley Park and the Clee Hills, are three lofty pointed windows, diminishing outwardly to narrow limits, with trefoil heads. On the opposite side next the court, are two windows in the same style, but larger, and each divided by a single mullion. There remains now neither roof nor floor, so totally dilapidated is the once-elegant saloon where the splendid scene of Comus was first exhibited. Two pointed arches lead to a spacious tower attached to the west end of the hall, in which are several apartments, one of which is still called Prince Arthur's room. To the west of the hall stands a ruin of an old chapel, the nave and part of a circular building, with a window and doorway, and one beautiful arch, is all that remains. The whole length of the chapel, extending to the western wall of the castle, was, when entire, seventy feet; of which the choir was forty-two and the nave twenty-eight.

The Earl of Powis, who, previous to the accession of George the First, held the castle in virtue of a long lease, acquired the reversion in fee, by purchase from the Crown in 1811.

The Castle, in the approach to it from the different parts of Whitcliff Hill, has a grand and imposing aspect; it is also seen to advantage from the road to Oakley Park. From various other positions the effect is truly grand, and, in some points of view, the towers are richly clustered, with the largest in the centre. The opening towards the north displays the windings of the Theme, with the Mansion of Oakley Park, half hid by trees, and is terminated with a bold outline formed by the Clee Hills, Caer Caradoc, and other hills near Stretton. The more confined view towards the west, exhibits a bold eminence, partly clothed with wood, the rocks of Whitcliff, with the rapid stream at their base, and, in short, a full union of those features in rural scenery which constitute the picturesque.

-W. J. M.

WHEN once a man has involved himself deeply in guilt, he has no safe ground to stand upon. Every thing is unThe crimes he has sound and rotten under his feet. already committed may have an unseen connexion with others, of which he has not the slightest suspicion; and he may be hurried, when he least intends it, into enormities, of which he once thought himself utterly incapable, BP. PORTEUS.

crop of wheat has been taken off, until they are so completely deprived of the power of supporting vegetable life, that they will yield nothing.

Persons wishing to buy a cleared farm would do well to take a farm for a year or so, until they have acquired sufficient knowledge of the country to be able to judge for themselves, as to what purchase would be eligible for the purposes they have in view.

CLIMATE OF UPPER CANADA.

To explain to an European what the climate of Upper Canada is, we would say, that in summer it is the climate of Italy, in the winter that of Holland; but, in either case, we should only be giving an illustration, for in both winter and summer it possesses peculiarities which neither of those two climates possess.

The summer heat of Upper Canada, generally ranges towards 80° Fahrenheit; but should the wind blow twentyfour hours steadily from the north, it will fall to 409 during the night. The reason of this seems to be, the enormous quantity of forest over which that wind blows, and the leaves of the trees affording such an extensive surface of evaporation. One remarkable peculiarity in the climate of Canada, when compared with those to which we have likened it, is its dryness. Far from the ocean, the salt particles that somehow or other exist in the atmosphere of sea-bounded countries, are not to be found here: roofs of tinned iron of fifty years' standing, are as bright as the day they came out of the shop; and you may leave a charge of powder in your gun for a month, and find, at the end of it, that it goes off without hanging fire. The diseases of the body, too, that are produced by a damp atmosphere, are uncommon here. It may be a matter of surprise to some, to hear, that pectoral and catarrhal complaints, which, from an association of ideas, they may connect with cold, are here hardly known. In the cathedral at Montreal, where from three to five thousand people assemble every Sunday, you will seldom find the service interrupted by a cough, even in the dead of winter and in hard frost. Pulmonary consumption, too, the scourge alike of England and the sea-coast of America, is so rare in the northern parts of New York and Pennsylvania, and the whole of Upper Canada, that in eight years' residence, I have not seen as many cases of the disease, as I have in a day's visit to a parochial infirmary at home. The only disease we are annoyed with here, that we are not accustomed to at home, is the intermitted fever, and that, though most abominably annoying, is not by any means dangerous.

Though the cold of a Canadian winter is great, it is neither distressing nor disagreeable. There is no day during winter, except a rainy one, in which a man need be kept from his work.

Between the summer and winter of Canada, a season exists, called the Indian summer. During this period, which generally occupies two or three weeks of the month of November, the atmosphere has a smoky, hazy effect, but the days are pleasant, and with abundance of sunshine, and the nights present a clear cold black frost. When this disappears, the rains commence, which always precede winter, for it is a proverb in the Lower Province, among the French Canadians, that the ditches never freeze till they are full. Then comes the regular winter, which, if rains and thaws do not interfere, is very pleasant; and that is broken up by rains again, which last until the strong sun of the middle of May renders every thing dry and in good order.

CARE OF LIVE STOCK.'

When a bear runs away with one of your pigs, there is no use in going after him hallooing, without a gun. You may scare him away from the mutilated carcase, but it will make but indifferent pork, since, not being bred in Leadenhall or Whitechapel, he has but a slovenly way of slaughtering. But trace to where he has dragged it, and near sunset, let self and friend hide themselves within easy distance, and he will be certain to come for his supper, which he prefers to every other meal. Nay, it is highly probable, if he possesses the gallantry which a well-bred bear ought to have, he will bring Mrs. Bruin and all the Ettle Bruins along with him, and you can transact business with the whole family at once.

In hunting the bear, take all the curs in the village along with you. Game dogs are useless for this purpose; or, unless properly trained, they fly at the throat, and get torn to pieces or hugged to death for their pains. The

curs yelp after him, bite his rump, and make him tree, where he can be shot. The bear of Canada is seldom dangerous, he is always ready to enter into a treaty-let be for let be-but if wounded he is dangerous in the extreme. You should always, therefore, hunt him in cou ples, and have a shot in reserve, or a goodly cudgel, ready to apply to the root of his nose, where he is as vulnerable as Achilles in the heel.

When once they have killed a pig, if you do not manage to kill the bear, you will never keep one hog; for they will come back till they have taken the last of them; they will even invade the hog-sty. An Irishman in the Newcastle district once caught a bear flagrante delicto, dragging a the bear, thought only of securing his property; so he hog over the walls of the pen. Pat, instead of assailing jumped into the sty, and seized the pig by the tail. possession; till the whillelooing of Pat, joined to the Bruin having hold of the ears, they had a dead pull for plaintive notes of his protegé, brought a neighbour to his assistance, who decided the contest in Pat's favour, by knocking the assailant on the head.

A worthy friend of mine, of the legal profession, and now high in office in the colony, once, when a young man, lost his way in the woods, and seeing a high stump, clambered up it with the hope of looking around him. While standing on the top of it for this purpose, his foot slipped, and he was precipitated into the hollow of the tree, beyond the power of extricating himself. Whilst bemoaning here his fate, and seeing no prospect before him, save that of a lingering death by starvation, the light above his head was suddenly excluded, and his view of the sky, his only pro spect, shut out by the intervention of a dark body, and presently he felt the hairy posteriors of a bear descending backwards into his den at the bottom of the tree. With the courage of despair the lawyer seized fast hold of Bruin behind, who immediately reascended, and thus my poor friend was dragged once more into daylight and safety. BUILDING A HOUSE.

If you can afford to build a brick or stone house at first, by all means do so; but if you cannot, take my advice, and, like a good fellow, dont build a frame one. It is the most uncomfortable dwelling ever man lived in. It is utterly impossible to make it air-tight, so that it is as hot as an oven in summer, and as cold as an open shed in winter. Build a log-house; not a thing that is put up in the course of a forenoon, but with corners neatly squared and jointed, as if a carpenter had dove-tailed them. Point it with mortar, not clay, and whitewash it outside and in; and give it a cottage roof, the eaves projecting at least twenty inches, so that the drip may never touch the walls. As you will hardly get seasoned wood, you had better lay your floors rough, and run up temporary wooden partitions. With such a house, you may make a shift for the first winter. Next spring, the boards will be seasoned, so you can take them up room by room, and have them properly planed, ploughed, tongued and laid; and thus, when you plaster your walls and partitions, the logs having dried and settled as much as there is any chance of their ever doing, you will have a comfortable house for the remainder of your life.

We build very ugly houses in Canada, very ill laid out, and very incommodious; but this is our misfortune, not our fault, for there are no people on the face of the earth more willing to learn, and if by any chance a man once lays out a cottage a little neater than his neighbour's, you will see it imitated for ten miles on each side of him along the road. Therefore, if you will bring out with you a set of neat designs and elevations of small houses, it will not only enable you to build a good house yourself, but you will become a public benefactor, by showing to the whole of your neighbourhood how they may do the same.

THE EMU, OR CASSOWARY, OF NEW

HOLLAND.

THE Emu is very nearly allied to the ostrich in form and habits, but it differs from it in some important respects; the feathers with which its body is covered, are so completely naked, that they have whalebone: its wings are also much shorter, and, as more the appearance of hair, or rather thin strips of well as the tail, are entirely destitute of those beautiful feathers with which the ostrich is adorned. In