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fusion of treble, tenor, and bass.

But there was so much happiness and harmony in their hearts, that no one cared for a little musical discord.

Supper came, for not even love can live upon air.' Abundance of mirth was there amidst the good things, particularly when the splendid dish of trifle came on, and little Bessie Renwick got the ring, and Aunt Isabel the ill-omened sixpence! It actually made her look grave for a minute, though, until her lover whispered something that made her smile and blush. There was little fear of Isabel dying an old maid! The time passed so quickly, that only just had the happy circle drank the healths of grandpapa and grandmamma, and grandpapa had returned thanks in a few touching words, which made them grave in the midst of their fun, when, lo! the clock struck twelve!

harshly and unduly expressed, the good doctor seldom showed any open opposition, so strong was the force of habit and of filial respect. Therefore he now only said, Father, have you thought what you do in saying shall not go. The boy has no proper assistance; he

may die, and then

Mr Renwick's stern lineaments relaxed a little of their expression, but he made no answer. Then his aged wife took his hand, and looking at him with swimming eyes, said mournfully, John, remember when our own Arthur died twenty years ago; if any one had kept help away from him then! And Letty was his favourite sister; and the boy is our own grandchild, and named after him too. John, dear husband, do not be harsh; let James go!'

Dr Renwick stayed not a moment, lest his father's mood should change, but was gone on his errand of mercy.

Many others joined their imploring voices to the And now came the grand ceremony. Dr James Ren-aged mother's, and Mr Renwick was softened; but still wick rose up with great solemnity of visage. Nothing he would scarcely yield his authority. made them laugh so much as to see the mock gravity 'I will neither say yea nor nay; let James do as he of merry Uncle James. Bearing a light in each hand, pleases: I will hear no more of this.' the doctor went to his hall-door, followed by the whole troop. What a noise and confusion did they make in the narrow old-fashioned passage ycleped the hall! And now, the lights being resigned to the care of his eldest son, Dr Renwick unfastened the bolts, and the door flew open, letting in, besides the New Year, such a gust of biting January night-wind as nearly extinguished the candles, and made the whole party shiver and hasten to the warm drawing-room with great celerity.

There was no more merriment for the young people that night; they were all too deeply touched. The aged pair soon retired, and the various families departed to their several homes. In an hour all was quiet in the doctor's house. Mrs James Renwick alone sat waiting her husband's return, and thinking over in her kind

Just as Dr Renwick was about to close the door, and heart how this might end. Every other eye was sealed retire also, some one called him from without.

Wait a minute, doctor, pray. I want you, sir, if you please.'

Some patient, I suppose,' said the doctor. Well, come in, friend; it is too cold to stand talking outside.' The man came in, and Dr Renwick and his untimely visitor retired to the study.

'What has become of Uncle James?' was soon the general cry, and some of the more daring of the youngsters rushed up and down the house in search of him. He was found in the study alone, but he looked very grave, and it was no pretence now.

I cannot go up stairs again,' he said; I have to go out immediately.' The children intreated, and Mrs James Renwick expostulated, knowing that her husband had no patients on his list likely to require him at that time of night; until at last grandpapa sent down to know what was the matter.

I am sure there is no need for you to leave us in this way, James,' said the old man rather querulously; and at least you might tell us where you are going.'

'I had rather not,' said the plain-spoken James Renwick; but if you still ask me, father, I will tell you.' 'Yes; tell us now.'

'Well, then, it is to my sister's; to Mrs Hartford's.' What business have you with her?' cried the angry old man; what have you to say to the grand party?" There is no gaiety at the Priory to-night, but much sorrow,' answered Dr Renwick gravely. Arthur Hartford met with a dreadful accident this afternoon; he is still insensible, and his mother is almost frantic by the bedside of her only son.'

There was a gloomy silence over the party at these words. Old Mrs Renwick began to weep; but her husband said harshly, 'She deserves it; and yet I am sorry. I always heard good of young Arthur. Did she send for you?'

No; only old Ralph-you remember him-came to tell me; and he begged me to go, for both Mr and Mrs Hartford are almost beside themselves with grief, and the doctor they have knows nothing at all.'

'You shall not go, James Renwick; no child of mine shall enter that ungrateful woman's doors without being intreated to do so,' said the old man.

Dr Renwick had been accustomed all his life to render obedience to his father; often, indeed, to a degree very unusual in a son who had himself become the head of a family. Even when the old man's commands were

in repose save one, and that was the aged mother's.

On New-Year's morning the family met as usual; Dr James Renwick looked pale and careworn, but he did not speak of his last night's visit. The grandfather did not allude to it neither, and no one else dared mention the subject in his presence. At last the children separated to their various avocations, and Mr and Mrs Renwick were left alone with James and his wife. There was an uneasy silence, broken only by the clicking sound of the old lady's knitting, which she pursued busily, though her fingers trembled, and several heavy tears dropped on the work. At last the doctor rose and walked to the window, observed that it was a gloomy day, and began searching for his gloves.

Before you go out, James,' said Mrs Renwick, with an evident effort at unconcern, you might as well say how that boy is?'

You mean poor Arthur? He is better. I think he may recover.'

Thank God for that!' murmured the old lady fervently.

Did you see Letty-Mrs Hartford I mean?' asked the father after a pause.

'I did,' answered the doctor concisely.

'Dear James, tell us all that passed?' whispered the poor old mother. Mr Renwick turned over the pages of a book, but he made no opposition; while the doctor sat down beside his mother and began to tell his story.

'When I reached the Priory, all was confusion. Poor Letty was in violent hysterics. I heard her screams the moment I entered the house, so I knew it was of no use asking to see her. The father, they told me, was hanging over his insensible boy. I sent word to him that I had come to offer what assistance I could; and he was with me in a moment, wringing my hands, and imploring me to save poor Arthur. I never thought how misery could have bent the man's proud spirit. Mr Hartford, who passed me but yesterday without a glance, would now have knelt to intreat me to forget the past, and do what I could for his son.'

'And you did-you were successful, James?' said old Mrs Renwick anxiously.

'Yes; after a time the boy came to his senses: he is a fine fellow! He knew me directly, and looked so joyfully from me to his father, who had clasped my hand in overpowering gratitude.'

And poor Letty?' again asked the weeping mother. 'When she was a little calmer, I went to her with

Mr Hartford. She started at seeing me; but her husband said, "Letty, you must thank your brother for saving Arthur's life." And then she threw herself into my arms, and poured forth such a torrent of thanks, and blessings, and self-reproaches, that it almost made a child of me. Poor Letty! she is much altered,' added the good doctor, his voice growing husky as he looked steadily into the fire.

All this time the stern old father had not uttered a word.

For a few minutes none of the party spoke. At last Mrs Renwick glanced timidly at her husband, and whispered, 'Did she say anything about us, James?' 'Yes, mother, she asked after you both, said how glad she always was to hear of you in any way, and wept much when she spoke of you.'

Mr Renwick lifted up his head; he had bent his face on his hands lest they should see the working of his features, and said, 'What truth, think you, is there in that woman's tears, when, not a week since, she passed her old father and mother in the road; she riding in her splendid carriage, and the mother that bore her trudging wearily on foot; and she never looked towards us, but turned her head another way? Do you think I can forgive that, James Renwick?'

'I have forgiven her, John,' said the old lady. She is our own child, and she is in trouble; she may repent now for the past.'

'I know she does,' added James earnestly. She told me how she longed to see you; even her husband seemed sorry he speaks kindly to her, though people say he is so proud.'

And they expect that your mother and I will go humbly to their fine house?' cried the still incensed old man.

No, father; that was not what my sister said. She told me to say she prayed you to forget the past, and let her come and see you here, and be your daughter Letty once more.'

Dr Renwick stopped, for he saw that his father was actually weeping. James looked at his wife, and she left the room. For several minutes the aged couple sat with their hands clasped together in silence; then Mr Renwick said in a broken voice, Tell Letty she may come.'

'She will come-she is come! my dear father,' cried James as the door opened, and Letty flung herself on her knees before her parents, and was clasped to both their hearts with full and free forgiveness. The erring child was pardoned-the lost one was found!

Dr Renwick and his wife went silently away together, with full and thankful hearts for the good which had been effected that day. It was their best reward.

There was deep joy throughout the whole of the Renwick family when they heard the news. Some of the younger and gayer spirits thought how pleasant it would be to visit now at Aunt Hartford's beautiful house, and ride Cousin Arthur's fine horses, when he recovered. But with more sincerity and disinterested pleasure did the elders rejoice that there was now no alienation to pain their aged father and mother in their declining years, but that they would now go down to the grave in peace, encircled by a family of love.

Arthur Hartford recovered speedily under his uncle's care. He was indeed a noble boy, resembling, both in person and character, the lost Arthur; so no wonder that he soon became the darling of the grandparents. The leaves were hardly green on the trees before there was a joyful family meeting; for it was the wedding of Aunt Isabel; and there were now no absent ones to mar the happiness of the festivity, for even the sailor had returned.

That speech of yours turned out not so very unlucky after all, whispered William Oliphant to his cousin Jessie, who hung on his arm, as of old: they were always great friends.

'No.' answered the laughing girl; 'I dare speak of Aunt Hartford now without fear.'

And see how happy grandmamma looks! I heard her say that Aunt Hartford was almost as handsome as the bride, though I think Aunt Isabel is much superior.'

'Well, never mind, William; we are all very happy; it has all turned out like a fairy tale; and I am sure we can say with truth that this has been for us all a happy New Year.'

THE FOREST OF ARDEN.

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EVER since I first perused that most delightful play of Shakspeare, As You Like It,' the very name of which calls up visions of woods and brooks, and all the poetic charms of sylvan life, I entertained a longing desire to visit the Forest of Arden; but it was not till last year that I found time for this pilgrimage to a scene consecrated by our great English dramatist. Arden, or, as it is now called, Ardennes, is a district in the southern and little-frequented part of Belgium. Travellers pouring towards the Rhine leave it on the right, and unless penetrated for a special object, this interesting region remains untouched by the wandering tourist.

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It is not without good reason that Arden has been little frequented by strangers. The scenery is mountainous, wild, and curious in the extreme, but has no pretension to the sublime; and from the irregularity of its surface, it does not afford the opportunity for that rapid transit which English tourists in particular so much prize. Yet to those who can afford to spend a fortnight loitering amidst its woods, dells, and antique towns, what scene could be more productive of pleasing objects of contemplation? Twenty years ago, the more secluded part of Arden was a kind of terra incognita to all but those born in it. When the late Mr Inglis about that time passed a winter at St Hubert, its principal town, the people there had never seen an Englishman. The third day,' he says, after my arrival, when the girl was laying the cloth for dinner, she suddenly stopped her work, and addressing me, said, "Mais Monsieur êtes vous vraiment un Anglais?" and upon my assuring her that I was, she continued to look at me for some moments as I should look upon an inhabitant of Terra del Fuego.' At that time there was no road nearer than the Meuse passable for a public vehicle. What was then meant by a road, was a track for a cart, distinguishable from the country only from the circumstance of there being less grass or heath upon it. All this is altered now. Capital macadamised roads are cut right across the district; decent inns, still few and far between, have sprung up along them; public conveyances, to the number of twenty, traverse it daily, and the passengers they convey are no longer exclusively natives. Hither flock crowds of tourists and wandering artists-French, Belgians, and Germans; and amongst them, every now and then, appears a solitary Briton, on his way to the Moselle and the more beaten regions of the Rhine.

It was a glorious September morning when I left a motley group of this description, and turning my back upon the Meuse and the picturesque old town of Dinant, began immediately to ascend by a capital new road which leads across the country to Metz in France. The day was favourable for walking; clouds drifting at intervals over the sun, threw the steep hill-sides into that alternate light and shadow so dear to the artist, and enabled me to gaze at ease, free from that unsleeping enemy the sun. The road ascends uninterruptedly for two miles, showing the great depth of the Meuse valley below the level of the country, and then the dry fresh air blows freely round, and we step forth at once upon the lofty upper region. About six miles in advance is a noble piece of scenery, hill, wood, and glen, each on the largest scale, intermingling around the road, which is borne across the opening upon an astonishing embankment. A cottage, with its never-ceasing mill, snugly nestled in the bottom, lent the requisite touch of humankind; and the whole seemed just the

scene where one might fancy the banished duke, with his sylvan court, to have taken their noontide rest. This, however, was a brief interlude. The country hereabouts, and for miles in advance, is called the Famille; a good corn country, but with little to interest, and presents the same unvaried succession of roundbacked hills, each like the other, with occasional glens, which are beautiful when found, but cannot be seen from the road. At a little distance on the right, King Leopold has his country-seat of Ardenne; small, but finely placed in a most solitary situation. The king is often here, for the advantage of hunting; and his frequent residence has done as much as anything to bring the country forward. Besides the palace, a roadside inn, bearing the royal arms, was the only habitation in sight, where a party of Ardenais (so the men of the Ardennes are called) were just commencing their dinner; and as our appetites by this time were pretty sharp-set, we gladly accepted their invitation to join them.

rounding one of the finest churches in Belgium. Here, as the legend goes-which the peasantry all devoutly believe-Hubert, the mighty hunter, while pursuing his favourite diversion on Good-Friday eve, beheld a stag bearing a cross between its horns. The apparition, which he believed to be miraculous, and to be sent from Heaven, recalled him from his evil course of life. He became a holy man, so as to work miracles not merely by his hands, but by his garments; so that even a shred of his mantle possessed virtue enough to cure hydrophobia, if placed on the patient's head; and all hunters henceforth regarded him as their patron saint. The abbey church, supposed to be built on the very site of his cell, is still a great place of pilgrimage, and the government has of late years annually given a considerable sum towards its restoration, besides which, it has received magnificent presents from the queen. Externally, it is a square substantial building, only with a high-peaked roof, but the interior is dazzling. The Ardennes is a marble country, and everything is marble in the church, from the pavement and pillars to the smallest ornament-red, white, and black marbles in more than royal profusion.

Our evening's walk to Champlon was not quite so joyous as that of the morning had been; for by this time we could say with Touchstone, I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.' About two miles from St Hubert we re-entered the forest, and walked on, without meeting a soul during two hours, to Champlon, between rows of forest-trees, so closely set, that the momentary glimpses between the trunks showed like darkness visible, while from out of their depths the long whine of a wolf followed us with disagreeable distinctness. Not being used to such attendants, the first sensation was anything but pleasant, and I for one could have once more echoed Touchstone's opinion, Here I am in Arden, the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place.' Late in the night we reached Champlon, and having succeeded at last in obtaining comfortable rooms, were soon happy in the full enjoyment of a good night's rest. When the bright sun came to light

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The company consisted, besides the host, of four strapping Ardennes farmers, in their blue blouses, and four of the royal guard, in all the finery of spurs, tassels, and worsted epaulettes. There was nothing very particular about them; but the dinner was a curiosity, and worth detailing, as a specimen of how the substantial country-folks contrive to live in this part. After the usual thin soup, and the meat from which the said soup had been extracted, which are the first dishes presented all over the continent, there was placed on the table by a heavy-built damsel, with flaming red petticoat and massive gold ear-rings, a huge dish of smoking mutton cutlets, with apple-sauce, flanked by dishes of carrots and potatoes; then came a platter of shelled beans stewed, a common dish here; then an immense bowl of apples, cut into halves, and stewed, followed by roast fowls, with excellent mushrooms; and then some preparation of meat, which I could not identify by taste or sight, and exceedingly tough. By this time our appetites were pretty well blunted; but the carver, unappeased, began whetting his blade, and all was expectation, till a noble Ardennes ham made its appear-up all, we found, to our surprise, that the dismal gloom ance, forest-fed, and with a strong smack of what we may fancy to be the wild-boar flavour, supported by craw-fish, smoking hot, and no less than four immense fruit-pies, served up in wicker platters, and a foot at least in diameter. For the whole repast, the sum asked was one franc (ninepence three-farthings), and for which we might have had fruit and coffee in addition if we had pleased. The raw materials at home could hardly have been given for three times the sum.

After such a meal, I shall make but one step from this to Rochefort, ten miles farther on. The country continues the same, and the only thing remarkable is the magnificent construction of the road, which is borne across deep valleys, and cut through hills, in a manner more resembling the great works upon a principal railway line, than an untravelled road in a remote district. Rochefort gets its name from a castle on a height, the ruins of which are still considerable, and worth a visit; but its chief attraction is its containing the only decent inn within walking distance of the great caverns of Hans, where the turbulent river Lesse forces its way through a barrier of hills, and flows through a long succession of stalactite caverns for a mile and a half before it emerges into day.

Another ten miles farther on is the ancient town of St Hubert, and half-way between Rochefort and St Hubert a solitary oak, at the bottom of a steep ascent, marks the beginning of Ardennes proper-the Arden of the poet. The sun was now fast sinking, when the outskirts of the great forest of St Hubert appeared close at hand; and deep black masses of timber-trees sweeping round the horizon, and at this instant overhung by heavy thunder-clouds, looked imposing and gloomy enough. The trees have been cleared away for about a mile on each side of the town, and in the open space stands St Hubert, a miserable collection of small houses, sur

of the foregoing night, with its thick impenetrable shade of tall straight trunks, had changed into the prettiest sylvan scene imaginable. Huge oaks and beeches, side by side, flung their massive arms and coronals of leaves over an emerald green turf, with long vistas of light, and sudden breaks opening up between them into the inmost recesses of the woods; the ash, the hazel, and the birch mingled with these their lighter tints, as in a natural plantation; and alders and willows fringed the many rapid brooks which gurgled on the bottoms, or stagnated in solitary tarns, covered with the dazzling petals of the nymphaa palustris, and other great water-lilies. Still, the farther we strayed, the greater was the variety; for the forest contains all in itself-wild heaths, scattered rivers and pools, hamlets, villages, and towns, which might elsewhere seem considerable, but are here fairly subdued, and appear as nothing among the wilderness of woods. It is not,' as Inglis says, 'like the woods which one is accustomed to in England, stretching over plains or the sides of the hills. It encloses within it every diversity of hill and dale-deep ravines, wide valleys, rocky steeps, high hills, rivers, streams, and lakes, presenting a combination of the most striking and diversified scenery. We trod upon a carpet of the greenest velvet; the long arms of the rugged pine or the branching oak occasionally met overhead, while here and there the trees receded, and formed little amphitheatres of surpassing beauty; sometimes the path descended into deep dells, sometimes it climbed abrupt precipices; brooks frequently obstructed its progress, often with no bridge over them, and at times with one formed of the trunks of trees. Sometimes at the opening of a forest vista a deer would bound across; sometimes at sudden turnings little animals of the ferret tribe would be seen for an instant, and then be heard rustling through the thick brush

wood.' Just as Inglis describes we wandered on through the day, and when twilight came, blending everything in its uniform dusky hue, we returned to our inn, fully convinced that this was Shakspeare's Arden, and no other.

The correspondence, indeed, between the poetic description and the reality is curiously exact, considering the scenes described were unknown to the poct. The savage touches indeed are wanting; the green and gilded snake,' and the lioness with udders all drawn dry,' from which Orlando delivered his tyrant brother, existed only in the imagination; and though wolves there are, they are as unlike as possible to their hungry brethren of the Russian steppes-peaceable animals, well fed by royal orders, to be slain in state by great personages on great occasions. But the spirit and character are given to the life, and it is difficult to believe, when thus on the spot, that Shakspeare wrote without actual knowledge of the ground. We know that he never was out of England, so that his details are purely imaginary; yet few travellers would doubt that he had often been here. Everywhere the wanderer is tempted to identify the names in the poem with the spots before his eyes. He even begins to conjecture about time and place, and to ask himself where the forester lords most lived, and how long they had led their pleasant life under the greenwood tree. He concludes that it was assuredly summer when Jacques laid himself down at his length under an oak to pore upon the brawling brook; and one winter they would seem to have braved among the oaks, and had learned by experience what it is to endure the icy pangs and chiding of the winter's wind when in Arden, where the snow lies from November till March. The reason seems to be that which Coleridge assigns; namely, that Shakspeare does not give a description of rustic scenery merely for its own sake, or to show how well he can paint an actual object: he only touches upon the larger features and broader characters, leaving the filling-up to the imagination. Thus a few very brief touches give the glimmer and gloom of old trees; so that all the details of the wellknown landscape by Sir George Beaumont, now in the National Gallery, are suggested in fourteen words: but what words these are, and how each of these fourteen words helps out the picture! The like has been remarked of Sir Walter Scott's descriptions of scenes which he had never personally visited, and is probably true of every great imaginative observer of nature.

The constant perception of natural phenomena which they lack the knowledge to explain, the sights and sounds of nature in her wilder moods, but especially in forests, the roaring and whistling of the wind through the trees, the cries of nocturnal beasts and birds, and the flitting and reappearing of marsh-lights and exhalations are all eminently calculated to make an uneducated peasantry superstitious; and the foresters of Arden are no exceptions to the rule. Here flourish undisturbed many of those beliefs and observances which extended reading is effectually putting to rout on our northern borders, together with some peculiar to the district. The belief in the existence and agency of good and evil spirits is more or less prevalent, and mountain spirits, dwarfs, and domestic goblins abound. The principal spirits are a kind of 'lubber fiend,' called Sotays, corresponding exactly with the Scottish brownies. They work hard, like the brownies, for those they take a fancy to: thrash the corn, and winnow it, mow the hay, clean the house, and rub down the horses; their customary reward for which is a bowl of milk. The ruined castles which abound hereabouts are believed to be under the peculiar tutelage of a class of evil spirits called 'gattes d'or,' from the Walloon gatt, a goat. The worship of the goddess Diana, the ancient tutelary genius of the Ardennes, long held its ground against the priests; and on certain festivals, not many years ago, was displayed a mysterious banner, with the likeness of a centaur, half-woman, halfhorse, ending in a lion's tail, holding a bow in its right hand, and an arrow in its left, for which the peasantry,

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who held it in the highest reverence, could give no explanation, but which the learned have agreed to be a relic of the worship of Diana.

It may be concluded, from the above, that the Ardenais are not peculiarly enlightened, which is true; but it is only fair to them to add, that, with the intelligence, they likewise lack some of the besetting vices of people living in large masses. A more simple people does not exist. It would be easy to speak of their valour and military qualities, when, like the Swiss, they served in the armies of Spain and France; but a more honourable distinction is their unfailing industry, together with the patience they display under calamity. The traveller cannot fail to be struck, in Belgium, with the multitude of beggars which beset him everywhereby the road-side, at the railway stations and hotels, and in and about the churches: their number is legion. Even in the happy valley of the Meuse, where agriculture and manufactures go hand in hand, the pedestrian may reckon, with tolerable certainty, upon being importuned for charity once in every two miles. In the Ardennes alone, which is by far the poorest part of Belgium, there are no mendicants. There are no rich: here and there a great square building, pierced with many windows, looking like a manufactory, and called a chateau, denotes a resident proprietor; but these are rare; and he is rich even for a baron in Ardennes who has a thousand pounds a-year. But then there are none absolutely destitute; all stand alike upon the same level of a real but uncomplaining poverty. During the last winter, when the potato crop failed all over Belgium, the Ardennes, which had suffered most severely, were the only part which did not petition the government for relief. Their cottages, built of stone, turf, and thatch, are small, but reasonably clean. Each cottage contains its Dutch clock assiduously ticking in a corner, its pewter and earthenware utensils, its wooden table and chairs, and ample wood fire, smouldering on a hearth of bricks. Rye-bread and potatoes form the staple of their food, with coffee when they can get it, and a little tobacco. The means of getting even this are wrung with difficulty from an inferior soil, which the want of capital and markets prevents from being cultivated to the best advantage.

As you walk along, small fields and little narrow strips of land of themselves denote the existence of a number of small proprietors. The agricultural system adopted is something like that of out-field and in-field once universal in Scotland; but the great resource of the peasantry, as in all upland countries, is pasturage, and the irrigation of their meadows is pursued by them with great assiduity and skill. At the time of the snow-melting, when the hill-sides are running with water, the overplus is distributed equally over the surface by a multiplicity of ditches and conduits, the level being regulated with great care. The reward of this labour is an abundance of coarse herbage, nourishing large herds of cattle, the sale of which in the border provinces of France is a chief source of subsistence. Many of the streams which feed this verdure are dried up during the fierce heats of summer; and a prairie or water-meadow, warranted to last through the year, fetches a very high price, considering the value of money. It is not probable that the state of things here described will continue much longer. Already a railway, planned by British engineers, and executed by British capital, is commenced through the district, to construct which thousands of acres will be dismantled of their timber. The consequent demand for labourers has already raised the labour-price one-half. The railway will bring lime, and lime will make fruitful cornfields out of desolate heaths. The fine oaks and beeches, now rotting on the ground, or felled only for firewood, owing to a want of the means of transport, will then realise their value, and a general clearance will ensue. The squirrels will be dismounted; the few remaining wolves knocked on the head; the deer will vanish with the destruction of their covers, or survive only in

parks; the sights, sounds, thoughts, and feelings of pleasant but unprogressive woodland life, will give way to the features and habits of a thriving and well-peopled country; and a few venerable trunks, preserved by accident or taste, will alone mark the site of the perished Forest of Arden.

BREAD UPON THE WATERS. We are all aware of the importance of water in the aliment of plants; but in some parts of the world vegetable food is grown in lakes and rivers, just as here it is cultirated in fields. The closest approach we make to this is in our plantations of water-cresses; but in the south of France and in Italy, as we proceed towards a higher latitude, the water-nut-a most important production, as we shall see first appears in the market. The seeds of this plant, which grows in the water, consist of pure edible fecula, and are eaten raw, roasted, or in soups, and, from their taste, usually receive the name of water-chestnuts. In Venice they were formerly sold, we do not know why, as Jesuits' Nuts;' and Pliny's account of their being gathered by the dwellers on the Nile, is confirmed by some being still occasionally found in the folds of the mummy cloth.

In India the water-nut, which is there called Singara, is extensively grown, both for local consumption and transport, and is frequently carried on the backs of bullocks several hundred miles to market. The tanks where it is cultivated are laid out in fields, the limits of which are marked by tall bamboos, and the peasants pay for the holdings by the acre. These water-farmers conduct their operations by means of boats; planting, weeding, and gathering in their singara at the proper seasons, just as their brethren on land do with their wheat or barley. And a tank in India, be it remembered, is rarely a pond; it is often a considerable lake, and sometimes might present to an unaccustomed eye the appearance of an inland sea, with only the high land dimly visible beyond. In such cases the tanks are not excavations, but extensive valleys, dammed up at the lower end, so as to confine the waters of the district in one immense basin; and the steps which lead to them, instead of being formed of hewn stone, as in smaller works of the kind, are the declivities of granite mountains. In southern India these vast reservoirs are, in some instances, more than twenty miles in circumference; and we are told of embanked dams between the Indus and the Suliman mountains thirty miles long.

so practical and prosaic a people, on account of its superior beauty, but more probably because the roots, as well as the seeds, are eatable. The seeds are described by Davis as resembling an acorn without the cup, and the roots as being white, juicy, and of a sweet and refreshing taste. Its tulip-like but gigantic blossoms, tinted with pink or yellow, hang over its broad peltated leaves;' and this gorgeous carpet is spread over immense fields of water.

Cashmere, however, must be considered as the country par excellence of the water-nut, since there a very considerable portion of the population live upon it alone. This region is embosomed in mountains, the culminating ridge which shuts it in from the rest of the world forming an oval figure one hundred and twenty miles long and seventy miles broad. The plain at the bottom, however, is estimated by Hugel at only seventy-five miles long and forty miles broad; the intermediate space being composed of the precipitous sides of the mountains, swelling out as they descend into green hills, that sink gracefully into the emerald sward of the plain. The summits are crowned with perpetual snow, and cataracts rush down their ravines; but, on approaching the vale, these torrents lose their fierceness, and roll in smooth streams, between undulating hills, till they reach the central waters. These are surrounded with perennial spring, and wander through groves and plains which the traveller Bernier concluded to have been actually the site of the Garden of Eden!

The waters are composed of the river Jailum, which wanders through the whole valley, now expanding into shallow lakes, one of which is twenty miles long and nine broad, and now rolling in a deep full stream, flanked by numerous small lakes and tarns. The excessive richness of the vegetation in this remarkable valley is not confined to the dry land; for every piece of water is mantled over either with nuts or lotus. In the Walur lake, sixty thousand tons of nuts are raised every year, and they are the sole subsistence of twenty thousand persons, who think it an almost intolerable calamity when driven to have recourse to any other kind of food. The superficial extent of this lake is a hundred square miles, by which some idea of its extraordinary productiveness may be formed, supporting as it does two hundred persons to the square mile.

The other waters are clothed with the more picturesque lotus, the seeds or beans of which are here eaten as a delicacy when they are unripe; and the leaf-stalks, when boiled till they are tender, are considered palatable and nutritious food. The flower and leaf of the lotus always floats; and for this reason, probably, the plant is reservation of the world during the deluge. In Cashmere, however, it has the more practical merit of supporting a considerable part of the population, although no author has attempted to estimate the amount of its produce. We may add, that the population fed upon such substances including those who live upon the nuts aloneare described by all travellers as being models of strength, symmetry, and beauty.

The singara lakes have sometimes proved a great blessing to the towns in their neighbourhood-for the water plants do not fail, like those of the land. Colonel Slee-garded by the Hindoos as a mystic emblem of the preman mentions a lake in Bundelcund which, by means of nuts and fish, preserved the lives of seven towns during a recent famine. This sheet of water was four miles long by two broad; but from the mountain-ridge forming one of its sides the traveller saw a still more extensive lake, which had answered a similar purpose on a larger scale. The ridge, dominated by the ruined palace of the Hindoo prince who constructed the tank, was composed of high and bare quartz hills, towering above all others, curling and foaming at the top like a wave ready to burst when suddenly arrested by the hand of Omnipotence.'

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The leaves of the plants float upon the surface of the water, and in the earlier part of the day present the appearance of a green field; but in the afternoon their pure white flowers expand, and peeping, opening, or bursting into beauty, give an agreeable variety to the picture. When the flowers decay, the nut, which is under the water, begins to ripen, and in September the harvest is ready. The white kernel is covered with a tough brown integument, and the whole is imbedded in a triangular shell. It is not fit for consumption for more than three months, when eaten au naturel; but it is likewise used in the form of meal, and will then keep for a considerable time.

In China the water-nut is extensively cultivated in lakes and ponds, but more especially in the shallower waters of the Imperial Canal. The sacred lotus, however, appears to be there more widely diffused; and not, with

The lotus appears to be likewise indigenous in America; and there the seeds, as in Cashmere, are eaten when green. We copy the following very remarkable picture from Flint's Geography and History of the Western States: '

'Among the flourishing aquatic plants, there is one that, for magnificence and beauty, stands unrivalled and alone. We have seen it on the middle and southern waters; but of the greatest size and splendour on the bayous and lakes of the Arkansas. It has different popular names. The upper Indians call it Panocco. We have seen it designated by botanists by the name Nymphæa nelumbo. It rises from a root resembling the large stump of a cabbage, and from depths in the water of two or three to ten feet. It has an elliptical, smooth, and verdant leaf, some of the largest being the size of a parasol. These muddy bayous and stagnant waters are often so covered with those leaves, that the sandpiper walks abroad on the surface without dipping her feet in the water. The flowers are enlarged copies of the Nymphaa

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