steep, was not incommodious, we did not arrive at the top until an hour and a half after we had set out. The top of the mountain presents a smooth area, nearly circular; it is about thirty feet in diameter, and from every side there is an uniform slope down. The stones are split into small flags, which, in many cases, are also broken crosswise; thus the summit is composed of a species of shingle, which, after a heavy fall of snow, is carried down in considerable quantities in the thaw; for this reason it has been said, that the height of the Reeks has probably dimínished in the lapse of time. From the summit of Carran Tual a most commanding view is obtained. To the north, Dingle Bay, and the whole of the sea-coast between it and the river Shannon; and in the opposite direction, Kenmare River, Bantry Bay, and the other great estuaries in this part of Kerry, are all distinctly spread out. The other rocks appear like so many inclined planes, whose angles of inclination are all equal, so that they appear to lie in parallel strata. On the tops of several are small lakes, like those on Mangerton and other high mountains on the range. The inland view is less interesting than that obtained from others of the Reeks whose height is not so great; few of the lakes can be distinguished, and the beauty and variety of the scenery surrounding them is lost in the immensity of the distance. The spectator gazes with wonder upon the stupendous prospect which is spread around him, but the intense cold prevailing at this lofty elevation, renders unpleasant a stay of any length on the summit of Carran Tual. The descent from the isthmus or ridge, which connects Carran Tual with the other Reeks, into the valley of Comme Duff, is tedious but not difficult, the steepness of the declivities rendering it exceedingly fatiguing. Mr. Weld, who descended on this side, speaks of his route as somewhat hazardous. He tells us, that shortly after leaving the isthmus, his party were conducted to a precipice, at least sixty feet deep, down which they were told that it was necessary for them to take their course. The proposal (he says) startled us, nor did we conceive how it was practicable; but the guide seating himself at the brink of it, on a rock which presented an even face nearly to the bottom of the precipice, slid down it, taking the precaution, however, to impede the velocity of the descent, by catching hold of the tufts of long grass which grew from the crevices at each side. This example was followed without hesitation; and having accelerated our descent down the steepest part of the mountain, by sliding over other rocks of a similar description, we soon reached the bottom. Having reached the valley of Comme Duff, the visiter makes his way, over a rugged and stony path, for the distance of about four miles; when he has reached the banks of the Upper Lake, it is customary to have a boat in waiting, by previous arrangement, to convey him homeward. It will be late before he arrives at the town of Killarney; sixteen or seventeen hours are scarcely sufficient for the whole day's excursion, so that if he have started as early as five in the morning, he will not return much before midnight. Besides Glena and Tomish there is another mountain adjoining the Reeks, which is deserving of notice. It is connected with that of Glena, and with it forms one side of the Gap of Dunloh, the Reeks forming the other. This mountain is called the Purple Mountain, from the large loose fragments of stone about its summit, the débris of the rugged cliffs of a dark purplish clay-slate, which give to the mountains that hue when viewed from a distance below. From Mr. Barrow's account it seems to be deserving of a visit. I made the ascent (he says) in about an hour. The day me. was as fine as ever shone from the heavens; it was one day in a hundred, as the guide remarked, not a cloud to interrupt the view, and the whole range of Macgillicuddy's Reeks, with their peaked and jagged summits lay beautifully before The prospect was varied, extensive, and grand. On the west was the silver stream of the Laune, meandering into Dingle Bay, and a little to the left the great cluster of the Iveragh Mountains; on the south-west, the River and Bay of Kenmare; on the south, and close at hand, the rounded and unsightly summit of Mangerton, boasting an elevation of about 2550 feet; and on the east, the grounds and Abbey of Mucruss; but Ross Castle, with its wellplanted island, and beyond it the town of Killarney, were from this point hidden from the sight. On the summit of the Purple Mountain a heap of stones was piled up, on which I suppose the officers employed in the Trigonometrical Survey of Ireland had fixed their staffs, as these piles are observable on all the highest points in the island. TWILIGHT. and IN those portions of the globe where the atmosphere is frequently obscured by clouds and mists, and where the nights in some parts of the year greatly exceed the days in length, we enjoy the cheering influence of light for a short time before the sun has actually risen, again after it has set. This mellow and pleasing light, which we call twilight, arises from the refractive power of the air, by which the rays of the sun are bent from their direct course, and partially illuminate the earth for a limited time after it has set, and before it has risen. which the earth is surrounded; s is the sun at some distance below the horizon, that is, out of the sight of an individual placed at B, and consequently a ray of light proceeding in the direction SAE could never reach the earth at B, if it was not for some counteracting cause this cause we find in the refractive power of the atmosphere. (We have explained the phenomena of refraction in the Saturday Magazine, Vol. XI., p. 77.-Amusements of Optics.) The ray of light in earth somewhere about A, and is bent from its direct its passage towards E meets with the atmosphere of the earth's surface enjoy the effects of the sun's rays for course towards в, so that those who live at в on the a considerable time after that luminary would be otherwise out of sight. Twilight varies in duration at different times of the year, and in various parts of the globe. Between the tropics it is scarcely known, the brilliant nights of these climates rendering it unnecessary; so that the passage from day to night, and from night to day, is almost without an interval. Sir Walter Scott alludes words in the mouth of the pirate Bertram Risingham. to this in his poem of Rokeby, when he puts these And now, my race of terror run, Mine be the eve of tropic sun: No pale gradations quench his ray, No twilight dews his wrath allay. With disk like battle target red, He rushes to his burning bed; Dyes the wide waves with ruddy light, Then sinks at once,—and all is night. THE USEFUL ARTS. No. XXXIV. MASONRY. WHEN the stone is sawed to the proper size, the surfaces which will be exposed to view, are to be made smooth and even. The tools used by the mason for this purpose consist of iron chisels, of different widths, and, principally, of a sharp-pointed one, called a pointer; these chisels are struck with a mallet made of a conical-formed lump of hard wood, fixed on a short handle. of the entablature immediately over the capitals of the columns be looked at attentively, a stone will be perceived between the columns apparently unsupported, for neither end rests on the column, and the joints of those ends are upright, not presenting any character of a voussoir-stone or arch. The contrivance by which such an architrave stone is supported deserves to be described. The stone in question has a projecting part, wrought at each end, of the form shown in the annexed figure; this projection is received into a corresponding cavity, cut in the The pointer is used for chipping off the principal rough-end of the stone supported by the column, and the joint is nesses on the face and edges, and for working the whole face thus really an arched or wedge-shaped one, though the over to bring it level, the workman trying his work by bevel line is concealed, and the two stones, when put applying a straight-edge occasionally to it. When the front and edges are made true, the face is sometimes tooled together, present only a vertical joint. over, so as to leave regular furrows in it, according to certain forms, by which the different kinds of work are distinguished. But this practice is going out of use, now that soft free-stone is so much employed in building. In old edifices, such as St. Paul's, Whitehall, &c., &c., the stone will be found to be wrought on its face in the manner alluded to. Stones in buildings are not only fixed with mortar, as bricks are, but are further secured in their places by being clamped together with iron clamps. These are short iron bars, from seven to twelve inches long, one and a half wide, and half an inch thick, according to the size of the stone; the ends of the clamps are turned down a little, to afford a better hold. A channel is cut in the two contiguous stones deep enough for the clamp to lie in, and the ends of the channel are sunk deeper, to receive the turned-down ends of the clamp; when this is put into the channel, molten lead is poured in to fill up the interstices, to keep the clamp in its place, and to prevent its rusting by wet getting to it. From the expense of carrying and working stone, the walls of buildings at a distance from a quarry are seldom, now, built of solid stone, but a facing of this material is applied only on the external surface of the wall, which is built of brick. This kind of work is called ashler work, and both the brick and stone-work must be executed with considerable care, to enable a wall composed of two materials to preserve its perpendicularity; it being obvious, that if the brick part yielded to the weight, it must, from its construction, do so more than the stone facing, and, therefore, the wall would bend inwards and become crippled. The width of the courses of ashlers must, therefore, be made equal, exactly to a certain number of courses of bricks with the intervening mortar, and the brickwork must be executed with such care, that this number of courses may be everywhere of the same width in the whole height of the wall. In every course of ashler there must be solid stones laid quite, or nearly quite, across the width of the wall, to form a bond to the stone facing, and all the stones of the ashler must be fixed with iron cramps to one another and to these bond-stones. But however carefully a faced wall may be executed, it is never so firm or durable as one built entirely of either material; indeed, if well executed, of good materials, and of competent thickness in proportion to its height, a brick-wall is the most durable, light, and efficient structure that can be erected. When stone is to be cut into cornices, mouldings, &c., the blocks having been sawed, the ends top and bottom are worked very true and parallel, or perpendicular to each other, and one edge or arris cut to a perfectly straight line; a thin wooden mould of the section of the cornice is then applied to each end, and the profile of the mouldings marked out on the stone. The workman being guided by this figure, cuts away the stone down to the general surface of the mouldings, and then proceeds to get the flat fillets of the mouldings perfectly staight and true by the rule; these again guide him in working the curved mouldings, such as ovolos, cavettos, cyma reetas, and ogees; when these are cut nearly to their profile, and perfectly straight on the bed line, they are finished off by being rubbed down smooth by thin long straight-edges of stone. Foliage and carved work is executed by a better kind of workman, possessing some of the taste of an artist, and he works on the same general principles as a sculptor when executing a statue; it would be foreign to the object of these papers, therefore, to dwell on this branch of the mason's art. It often, or even most commonly occurs, that the distance between two columns of a portico, is of greater length than a stone can be obtained, and if the architrave, or that part Continued from Vol. IX., p. 40. The mason, in common with the bricklayer, uses squares, levels, plumb-lines, and straight-edges to set out his work, and trowels and mortar to set the stones with; but the latter is rather used to make the joints water-tight than to keep the stones together, this being effected by their weight or by iron clamping. Formerly the mason required far more accurate and extensive knowledge of geometry than is possessed by persons of the trade at present; this was when he was called on to construct groined and vaulted roofs, enriched with carved work and pendent corbels, where the nicest workmanship was required, to ensure the stability of the light and graceful columns and vaulting of a Gothic cathedral. It was this possession of superior skill and knowledge that caused the establishment of the Society of Free Masons, which dates its rise from the tenth or eleventh century. Marble, from its costliness, and the difficulty of working it, is seldom, if ever, used in solid pieces in buildings; thin facings of it are set upon stone backings, much as rare woods are used in veneering by the cabinet-maker. The marble is sawn into thin slabs, like other stone, and the face is polished by rubbing on it the surface of another piece, fine sand, mixed up with water, being used to cause abrasion. PROCESSES BY WHICH THE EARTH IS No one can have seen a lake, without observing that wherever a river flows into it, the borders consist of meadows, or of marshy land, or both: while the marsh is a preliminary to the meadow, and is finally converted into one. If the whole process be watched, it will be found to commence in the shoaling of the bottom at the entrance of the river, sometimes producing islands, or banks, which, gradually attaining the level of the water, become first marshy tracts, and are finally elevated so as to form solid plains of meadow land. The progressive deposition of earth and stones by the river is here the fundamental cause and as far as this acts on that land which has already surmounted the general level of the water, the increase is the result of inundations extending themselves over it. The consequent effects are the narrowing, the shortening, or the dividing of lakes, and ultimately their obliteration, so that nothing at length remains but a river traversing a plain; while the practical and obviously designed result is, in all cases, an acquisition of new and valuable lands. The object here is to point out that portion of the total plan which is effected by the intervention of the living and vegetable creation, through the inclinations, or instincts, of plants appointed for the completion of this great design of clothing the earth. It is a striking proof of design, that two processes, entirely distinct in their natures, are brought to bear on the production of one effect: the second being also prepared to follow and complete what had been commenced by the first. It is a further proof of such a regular and fore-ordained plan, that while the general inclinations and structures of the plants destined to this end are peculiar, so is there among them a still further gradation of inclination and structure: a succession of distinct desires and powers, which enable some to commence that portion of the general duty which others are to take up, and others again to terminate, while none of these can perform the office of their associates in the work. In every case, even under the absence of all analogy, we must grant that such a mode of proceeding bespeaks a design it is impossible to doubt it for a moment, when we find man himself pursuing the same system, and, whether he knows or not that he is imitating nature, sowing vegetation to secure and consolidate the mud which his piers and dams have detained, that he may gain a new territory from the waters. In the proceedings of nature, however, the plan is more perfect; and while the results are more numerous, the provisions for each are as minute and accurate, as the effects themselves are unfailing. Not only is the new land consolidated, but the plants are constructed with powers to detain what would otherwise have floated on with the stream, to be lost in the ocean; that most valuable portion of the whole deposit, on which the unceasing fertility of these new lands is to depend. And while the living plants serve to detain and to bind, the dead ones are ordained, in their generations, to fertilize, and, still further, to aid in elevating the new plains beyond the eventual inroads of the waters. A short list, selected from a numerous catalogue of plants, will furnish that detailed evidence which the reader can easily verify and extend. which would bear no other plant: the Lobelia shuns the poisonous ditch which the Hydrocharis prefers, and the Ranunculus aquatilis, appointed to this duty in that shallow pool which the first heats of Summer evaporate, is equally content to live beneath the water, and on the dry land; amply provided with means, as with inclinations, for each mode of life. But he who would scan the whole of this great design, must investigate all this; while, if he would see, under one striking view, what the Author of nature effects in this manner, he must not confine himself to the rivers or the lakes, the marshes or the coasts of our own country, but turn the eye of botany and geography on the singularly rooted mangroves, the gigantic reeds, and other uncounted plants, which cover the swamps of the torrid climates, and are daily converting unnumbered miles of sea, and river, and lake, into habitable land. He will not doubt the ultimate value of the result, when he finds the marshy woods of Borneo, occupying hundreds of square miles, all gained from the ocean by the labours of the vegetable world. The plants, however, which had performed the work thus far, can do no more when once the new land has surmounted the surface of the water. A new set therefore has been appointed to carry it on to its completion. The Salicornia, Arenaria, &c., perform, on the sea shores, that for which there are provided, near fresh waters, marsh plants beyond numbering, including even trees, like the willows with us, and the palms in hot countries, which aid in the great work. Thus does the marsh at length become a plain, fitted for pasturage or agriculture, or demanding only the further labours of him for whose use it was rescued from the waters. The last race has deserted it, as preceding ones had abandoned what they had produced: yet each is still performing its appointed duties: and, if excluding itself by its own actions when it could no longer be useful, continuing to prepare a new place for its successors, to Him, of whom it is the blind but obedient agent. An analogous but different proceeding must here be noted, independently of water. This consists, fundamentally, in the deposition of sand on sea shores; the winds performing, in this case, what the water does in the other. And however injurious the consequences may occasionally be, in the overwhelming of fertile lands, I have little doubt that the general results are beneficial, as that the whole was designed. Mankind is ever more ready to complain of injuries than to be thankful for advantages. In the sea, it is the Zostera chiefly, which, with its long, numerous, and firm roots, lays the first foundation of that which will afterwards become a saltmarsh; acting beneath the water, like those far dif-surrender it again when it has executed the will of ferent plants which consolidate the dry sands of the adjoining shores. In fresh-water lakes the Scirpus ocicularis, Subularia aquatica, and others, perform the same initial duty; and when we find that all these plants have been created to live and to propagate entirely under water, we cannot doubt that they were appointed to the very office which they execute so well. But in fresh waters, if not, with us at least, correspondently, in the sea, the detension and consolidation of earthy matters are effected by many more plants, not purely subaqueous; but of an amphibious nature. These root beneath the water, but grow above it; acting by means of their stems and their crowded growth, in detaining what their roots consolidate, or checking that action of the waves which would diffuse the earths along the bottom, and retard the desired effect. Such are the bulrush and the common reed. The student of nature should examine for himself the various plants, Nymphoas, Charas, Hottonia, Butomus, &c., which take their shares in this useful work. But it is most important to remark that there is some one, or more, adapted to every possible situation and circumstance under which this work may be carried on. Thus have structures and inclinations been provided, not merely for the sea and for fresh water, but for every variety of each: for the pure ocean, and the brackish æstuary of a river, for the clear lake, the rapid river, the alpine pool, the heated pond, and the foul and stagnant ditch. The Scirpus maritmus and the Ruppia thrive where the bulrush and the Potamogetons could not exist; the Lemna does its best to reclaim that pond If this sand is not universally calcareous, it is such far most commonly while, as the produce of sea shells, the levity of the fragments allows this kind, at least, to be most widely dispersed, so as to become calcareous manure to places within its reach, and thus producing valuable collateral effects, in addition to the accession of territory thus gained from the bottom of the sea. Here, as in the case of deposits from water, the prime object was consolidation, that the winds might not destroy what they had produced; and the second was to induce a more fertile surface, by the addition of vegetable matter. And both are accomplished by the same means, through a special creation of plants, provided with inclinations to occupy those places, and powers to effect these purposes. All of them are willing to grow in sand and some will grow nowhere else; while the others, equally prospering on the incipient pasture, form the connecting link through which it is to be completed. Here alone we see the proofs of design: but no doubt can remain when we examine the long roots of these plants, | tenacious as they are numerous, and intersecting the sand in every direction, as if the root, rather than the plant, was the contrivance and the object, and thus rendering it a firm mass. Among these, on our own shores, the Elymus, Triticum, Arundo, and Carex of the sand, are the most familiar, as they are the pioneers in this great work; but few can be unacquainted with the Convolvulus, Bunias, and Euphorbias, of the sea shores, with the Eryngo, the Matthiola, the Kali, &c.: while, knowing the general desires of plants for soil and water, we might wonder at a choice so apparently unreasonable, did we not know by whom that choice was directed. Though the chemical powers of nature convert the rock into soil, that operation is often slow. There are situations also where soil cannot rest; or else it becomes removed, from the flow of water. Here it is, that the vegetable agents are ordained to act, as here they are made to inhabit; and from this point their actions are most easily traced. And when we find that a specific family of plants, utterly unlike all others, in their instincts or affections, as in their nature, their structure, and their powers, execute this prime office, surrendering their places afterwards to a second, scarcely less remarkable in these respects, yet approaching nearer to the general vegetable world; as they are also the immediate precursors of those more perfect and more widely useful plants, we cannot for an instant doubt the design. It is in the multitudinous and incomprehensible tribe of lichens and analogous plants, that we find these pioneers of vegetation, seeking their places where no others could exist; demanding no water, requiring no soil; rootless, leafless, flowerless, if not seedless, perpetuated we know not how, unsusceptible of injury short of destruction, and, if not immortal, tenacious of life as are the seeds of plants themselves, and capable of almost equal dormancy. What their anatomy is, no one has ascertained; and if they do produce seeds to be spread by the winds, we have still to explain how that which must be lighter than the winds themselves, and which the microscope cannot discover, should adhere to the solid rock. But the Creator has only to will, and it is done: nor can we contemplate this extraordinary form of vegetable life, without reflecting on the power which has given that life to such an organization, so unlike to almost all else, yet so perfectly adapted to the purposes which it was created and commanded to serve. And if the species are so numerous that they are yet uncounted, so are there kinds allotted for different qualities of rock, and for different surfaces; for the calcareous and the flinty, for the smooth and the rough, for the precipice, or the wall, or the bark of a tree. Thus also are there individuals appointed for the damp and dark forest, the sunny and arid cliff, the frozen Alpine summit, and the salt sea shore, the climate of Bengal, and the snows of Greenland. It is a general law for plants that water is essential to their existence, and that deprived of this, once dried, they are irrecoverably dead; though many have been enabled to retain it with almost miraculous obstinacy under the most unfavourable circumstances. But had this law involved the lichens, it would have been fatal to their appointed duties; while their bulk and structure are commonly such as to have rendered the retention of moisture impossible. Exposed to a burning sun, on naked rocks, and without the means of resisting its influence, they are often so dried as to crumble at a touch: while this condition is sometimes of daily occurrence. Their very races might have been exterminated; but the Creator never leaves his work imperfect. He has made an exception to the general law: the principle of life is not withdrawn, and they are ready to revive and resume their functions at the slightest return of moisture. In whatever way the foliaceous and the shrubby lichens may assist, the result is to lay the foundation of a soil on the naked rock, partly through their own living structures, partly through their decomposition, and partly through the flying particles of earth which they detain. But the soil thus produced is unfitted to give a hold or a place to the larger and more perfect vegetables. A new tribe of plants, of a higher organization than their precursors, yet inferior to those which are to follow, has been created for this end. These are the mosses, and their variety resembles that of the lichens. These have scarcely the power of rooting themselves on a naked surface, if we except the barks of trees, but they attach themselves readily to the least quantity of soil, as formed and collected by the lichens: and that they execute the office of forming additional soil, the least observation will show. Their office being at length performed, there is room and lodgment afforded for plants of greater bulk and more perfect structure: and he who examines the summit of a wall where the grasses, the Arabis Tunitis, Sedum, &c. are rooted in their mossy cushions, will see those plants which are destined to replace their immediate predecessors, still adding to that soil which may one day bear the trees of the forest. Let him who reads or observes never forget that in all this, as in everything else, there is nothing casual, nothing purposeless, nothing undesigned: that good ends have been intended, as good purposes have been effected; and that all creation everywhere presents to him who will examine it, the most incontrovertible proofs of a Great Artist, intending, designing; perfect in wisdom, and absolute in power. [Abridged from MACCULLocn's Proofs and Illustrations of the Attributes of God.] TO A WATERFOWL. Whither 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Vainly the fowler's eye Seek'st thou the plashy brink Lone wandering, but not lost. And soon that toil shall end, Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven He, who from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.-BRYANT. THE MANGROVE, (Rhizophora manglier.) THE trees of this tribe are peculiar to the shores of the oceans and large rivers of the tropics, where they form dense forests, reaching almost to the waters. The Mangrove is a tree about fifty feet in hight, and its mode of growth is very singular, resembling that of the banian, or Indian fig. The tree is only found in marshy places: its branches, after growing for some time in the usual manner, suddenly bend downwards and grow towards the earth; as soon as they reach the moist soil, they take root, and thus each branch forms a stem capable of supporting itself without dependence on the parent tree; in this manner one tree will, in course of time, form a complete grove. The forests thus formed by an assemblage of Mangrove trees are almost impenetrable, and in addition to the difficulties offered by the thickness of their growth, their recesses are the favourite haunts of myriads of musquitoes, sufficient to deter the most enduring from the attempt to explore them. An innumerable quantity of birds, chiefly aquatic, take shelter under their branches, while the shallow pools which abound among them form the lurking places of thousands of crabs and of aquatic insects. These amphibious forests are at times inundated by the sea, and on the retreat of the water, numerous oysters and other shell-fish are found adhering to the trees. So that, although the difficulty of penetrating these thick shades is very great, the enterprising sportsman is tolerably sure of being well rewarded for the dangers he has to undergo by an abundance of game. A singular fact is attached to the history of the Mangrove, namely, the germination of the seeds while they are yet attached to the branches of the tree; these afterwards fall and take root in the ground. The wood of the Mangrove is good for little else There are as many as four or five species of the Mangrove, whose native countries are the warmer parts of the New World, and the coast of Malabar in the East Indies. THE regard to the general rules of morality is what is properly called a sense of duty; a principal of the greatest consequence in human life, and the only principle by which the bulk of mankind are capable of directing their actions. There is scarce any man who, by discipline, education, and example, may not be impressed with a regard to these general rules of conduct, as to act upon almost every occasion with tolerable decency, and through the whole of his life, avoid a tolerable degree of blame. Without this sacred regard to the general rules of morality, there is no man whose conduct can be much depended upon. It is this which constitutes the most essential difference between a man of principle and honour, and a worthless fellow. The one adheres on all occasions, steadily and resolutely to his maxims, and preserves through the whole of his life, one even tenour of conduct. The other acts variously and accidentally, as humour, inclination, or interest, chance to be uppermost.-ADAM SMITH. THE willow which bends to the tempest, often escapes better than the oak which resists it; and so, in great calamities, it sometimes happens, that light and frivolous spirits recover their elasticity and presence of mind sooner than those of a loftier character.--SIR WALTER SCOTT. YOUTH is the time of enterprise and hope; having yet no occasion of comparing our force with any opposing power, imagine that obstruction and impediment will give way we naturally form presumptions in our own favour, and before us. The first repulses rather inflame vehemence than teach prudence; a brave and generous mind is long before it suspects its own weakness, or submits to sap the difficulties which it expected to subdue by storm. Before disappointments have enforced the dictates of philosophy, we believe it in our power to shorten the interval between delays of brooding industry, and fancy that by increasing the first cause and the last effect; we laugh at the timorous the fire we can, at pleasure, accelerate the projection.JOHNSON. LONDON: JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND. PUBLISHED IN WEEKLY NUMBERS, PRICE ONE PENNY, AND IN MONTHLY PARTS, PRICE SIXPENCE. Sold by all Booksellers and Newsvenders in the Kingdom, |