illumination of their nights at home, it is desirable that in the small print-shop of their neighbourhood they should find something more adapted to their cravings than the elegancies of life in the mixed style, and more conducive to their tone as hardworking men than a remarkably elegant greyhound watching a superlative beaver hat. It would not be amiss to connect this with some spice of homely literature, so that in the text our honest friend should find wholesome instruction, and, in the illustration of home, something more improving than a lady in a saque or the latest ennuyée.

66

Honest George Cruikshank's homely truths, and in series too, drive closer home than all the exotics which bloom for a season and then lose even their Greek and Latin names. We want homely food; we want clear human topics, out of which man, without extra subtlety of intellect, can glean a better heart, form a more acute feeling and a larger intellect from a more extended survey of the history of man and his emotions.

"Honest wood, albeit in plying something too much of the mechanical in its process-of mere unintelligible chipping has done the State some service in this homely view. It has brought Art down from its stilts of costliness and fine paper, and has made a style of its own. It triumphs in its vignette character, and we feel that we love its final flourishes into nothingness. But we feel even here, in the precursive steps of Art into true popularity that there is an inherent viciousness. The blanket school, exploded in severer Art, has found a refuge in humble wood; and drapery, although not ostensibly the cumbrous appendage of a pseudo-classical figure, still clings to tales of domestic life, and frock-coats relinquish the modesty of their folds, and table-covers swell beyond the patience of a housemaid.

"We have yet room for a severe illustration of abstract themes. If wood engraving would discard somewhat of its abundant cleverness in favour of a higher moral, and bate somewhat of its tricky light and shade and chiaroscuro for a more straight forward and striking illustration of the great tale of the human heart, the cottage would be the gainer; and it is only in the interest of the cottage that these pleas and arguments are put on the record."

RECOLLECTIONS OF D.

It's no' in books, it's no' in lear,
To make us truly blest;

If happiness has not her seat
And centre in the breast,

We may be wise, or rich, or great,
But never can be blest.-BURNS.

THERE is not a sweeter spot in England than the little village of D. I had almost said there is not a sweeter spot in the whole world; but was half afraid of pronouncing an opinion so nearly allied to a national prejudice in favour of my "own dear native land."

One of the neatest and most productive farms in the whole place, was, at the period of which I am about to write, occupied by Mr. Moreland. In early life he had struggled hard with poverty and distress; but had borne up nobly against unmerited and unavoidable misfortunes, affording a complete refutation of the erroneous assertion of Cardinal Richelieu, "that unfortunate and imprudent, are but two words for the same thing." An ailing wife and two little girls shared his humble lot, until the exquisite beauty of the youngest child attracted the notice of Mrs. Ellincourt, a single lady of fortune, who had come down to D for her health. She offered to adopt the little Fanny, and promised to leave her everything on her decease, on condition that the child was placed entirely under her care. The proposal was too favourable to be rejected without consideration; and after many severe

conflicts between love and duty, Mrs. Moreland consented to sacrifice her feelings to the welfare of her beloved child, who was shortly after removed by Mrs. Ellincourt to London. About three years afterwards Mrs. Moreland died on giving birth to another daughter, whom she tenderly bequeathed to the care of her sorrowing husband and her eldest daughter Hester. Though stunned by this sudden and fearful blow, the unhappy widower did not suffer himself to sink under it; but redoubled his exertions in behalf of his motherless children, and was often aided by contributions from Fanny, who denied herself many little indulgences that she might be enabled to remit the ample amount of pocket money bestowed on her by her benefactress, to her father and sisters. At length Mr. Moreland was enabled to take a delightful little farm, which it had long been the summit of his ambition to possess, and after that everything appeared to prosper with this industrious family. Hester, a quiet and thoughtful girl, undertook to superintend the domestic concerns of their new establishment; and in the evening shared with her father the delightful task of instructing little Patty, who, fostered and tended by both sister and father, scarcely felt the bereavement which she had sustained. Mr. Moreland's only unaccomplished wish was, that his absent child could form one of the family group. But a sense of gratitude towards Mrs. Ellincourt, always prevented the utterance of such a thought, and perhaps Fanny herself, though she still retained a love of home, would not have been quite so ready to forsake all the pleasures which she now enjoyed, and return to the quiet and simplicity of humble life.

Beautiful, animated, and accomplished, and looked upon as the heiress of Mrs. Ellincourt's wealth, she was an object of no little attention and speculation in the world of fashion; and Fanny, while she flirted and laughed in all the gaiety and innocence of her heart, little dreamed of the change which awaited her. Before she had attained her eighteenth year, Mrs. Ellincourt died suddenly, and it was feared without making any provision for her favourite, as no will could be anywhere discovered. Her property, therefore, passed into the hands of a distant relation, and poor Fanny, after following the remains of her kind and lamented benefactress to the tomb, found herself alone and friendless.

For

Poor Fanny returned, at length, with a heavy heart, to the home of her youth, bringing with her thoughts, hopes, and feelings but little suited to that sphere of life in which she would most probably hereafter move. some time after her return, she indulged without restraint in vague and undefined dreams of future grandeur. She could not believe that all had passed away for ever, that all the hopes and plans which she had formed in the wild ambition of her young heart, would never be realised.

Her watchful and affectionate sister Hester found her one day contemplating the miniature of a young and handsome man, and on inquiring who it was, was told by Fanny, with an exulting smile, "that she would soon see. For Sir Terence O'Donovan would never suffer her to remain long in her present obscurity, but would soon arrive to fulfil his oft-repeated vows, and restore her to the world!"

Hester, who was some years her senior both in age and experience, ventured to suggest the improbability of Sir Terence seeking the love of a low-born and portionless girl, although he might have thought the heiress of Mrs. Ellincourt no despicable match; but her gentle admonitions were listened to with indignation and scorn.

Fanny was, however, a sensible girl, and gradually she began to be convinced that her sister was right, and with that conviction came the thought that her conduct had been both wicked and foolish. The attentions of the young baronet had flattered her vanity without touching her heart, and his mercenary desertion therefore only

wounded her pride; and while it destroyed all her airy visions, gave a new stimulus and turn to the feelings of her after-life. She gave up all vain and useless repinings over her changed lot, and devoted herself to the duties of her present situation with an alacrity and cheerfulness that gladdened the heart of her affectionate father. Perhaps that which contributed most effectually to banish all recollection of the handsome Irishman, was the attention of one, almost as good-looking, and far more worthy of her love.

Ernest Woodbridge was minister at the beautiful little church of D; his situation was by no means a lucrative one, and yet he would have hesitated to exchange it for the richest living in the gift of the Bishop of L

a gift so dear had memory and association rendered it to him. There was something of similarity between Fanny's destiny and that of her new lover; for he also had received an education (not above his sphere, for a minister cannot know too much, if he devote the energies of his mind to a right use), but certainly above his means. He was rich, however, in blessings and good wishes, for every one esteemed him, and all the poor looked up to him for advice and assistance, which he always gave, as far as his limited means would permit.

Never, perhaps, was there a happier party than that which nightly assembled at Mr. Moreland's dwelling. Their pure and innocent enjoyments, however, were destined soon to be broken up.

One day Fanny returned from paying a visit in the neighbourhood, with a look of consciousness and pleasure which immediately attracted the attention of her sister. She did not wait to be questioned as to the cause of her evident satisfaction.

"I don't know, indeed! Perhaps Mr. Woodbridge." "Oh no!" replied Fanny, a little disconcerted. "But I will not keep you in suspense,-Sir Terence O'Donovan is here; I have seen him, and he has satisfactorily accounted for his long absence. He has now come, he says, to renew his vows, gain my father's consent, and carry me back to London by the commencement of the next season. Now I can see, Hester, by your looks, that you are thinking of poor Ernest Woodbridge, but I never promised him, and besides, you know Sir Terence was my first love!"

Your first love: oh my dear Fanny! did you ever love him at all?"

"Why no, not exactly, I believe. But then I liked the idea of being called Lady Frances, and being the admired mistress of a splendid establishment."

Hester sighed, but she said nothing more then, for she saw that her sister was too full of wild visionary dreams of future splendour and pleasure, to suffer herself to be persuaded, even to her own good.

In the evening the baronet boldly presented himself at the farm, and the blushing Fanny introduced him to her father as a distant relation of the late Mrs. Ellincourt, and an old friend of her own. Even the prejudices of Hester were occasionally softened by the brilliancy and vivacity of the young Irishman's manners and conversation; but Mr. Moreland continued to be grave and distant. Ernest came at his usual time, but he found his place occupied, he feared too pleasantly; and Fanny, as by stolen glances she remarked his pale and anxious countenance, gradually lost all spirit to reply to the sallies of her noble admirer. The gaiety of Sir Terence appeared ceaseless and impenetrable; he seemed determined to sit out his rival, and did so; taking his leave, with evident reluctance, when it was impossible to stay longer. The following morning a letter was brought to Mr. Moreland, bearing the London post-mark; and the certainty that he had no connexions in that city, combined with his evident

All through that day Hester never once alluded to that which was evidently uppermost in her thoughts. But there was something in the expression of her anxious and affectionate glances which could not be misunderstood.

Towards evening Fanny began to get tired of keeping silence any longer on the subject nearest her heart, and drawing little Patty on her knee, she began to talk to her of the future.

"How should you like, Patty," she inquired, "to live in a fine large house, and to ride about in a real carriage,! and see all the fine things which I have told you are to be seen in London ?"

No, no!" exclaimed Fanny, drawing the child towards her, and weeping unrestrainedly upon her shoulder; "far from being angry, I am inuch obliged to you, Patty. But let us go to my father."

"I have made up my mind," she exclaimed, as she entered the sitting-room, "and am come to tell you all about it."

"You had better wait till to-morrow, my dear child, you will then have more time to reflect on the awful importance of that which is required of you."

"But if I can make you and dear Hester happy tonight," said Fanny, playfully, as she bent over him; come, Patty, you shall tell them what I have determined on."

The child looked at first a little bewildered, but suddenly, with a joyous expression of countenance, she exclaimed, "Then I do think that sister Fanny means to

send Sir Terence back to London by himself, and marry dear Mr. Woodbridge at last." Mr. Moreland started, and looked half incredulously at his daughter, but she only smiled and hid her blushing face in his bosom, passing at length from his fond embrace to receive the affectionate congratulations of the delighted Hester.

"And now," said Mr. Moreland, when they all had become more composed, "I will satisfy the curiosity which you expressed about that letter which I received this morning. It was from the executors of the late Mrs. Ellincourt, informing me that the will of that lady has been found, and that the whole of her property is therein bequeathed to you her adopted child."

Mercy!" exclaimed Fanny, turning very pale, "what an escape I have had. This, then, accounts for the sudden renewal of Sir Terence's suit, and the offer he has made me. But why did you not tell me of this before?"

"Because," replied Mr. Moreland, "I preferred trusting in the first place to your own unbiassed judgment, and the event has proved me right."

The remainder of that evening was spent in arranging plans for the future; and the only thing which threw a shade over the happiness of Eanny was the fear that Ernest Woodbridge could never forgive her weakness and caprice. Whether or not this suspicion proved groundless may be gathered from the reception of Sir Terence, when he called the next morning at the farm.

As the baronet waited in an apartment adjoining the usual sitting-room for his final answer, he could distinguish the joyous tones of his rival with painful distinct

ness.

"Poor Sir Terence O'Donovan!" said Fanny, in accents of affected pity, and a merry burst of laughter followed the exclamation.

The disappointed fortune-hunter had scarcely patience to wait for the anticipated reception of Mr. Moreland, nor did he attempt to disguise the rage and mortification which that gentleman's answer gave him. Indeed I am not quite sure whether he did not go so far as to curse the beautiful little village of D, and all its inhabitants, the young heiress herself inclusive.

The remainder of this short sketch I shall leave to be filled up by the imaginations of my readers. And if I have not failed in my endeavours to interest them in behalf of its heroine, they will picture her to their fancy in the full enjoyment of that happiness which was her future lot.

INFLUENCE OF THE STUDIES OF NATURE,

STAND out of my sunshine!" said Diogenes to Alexander, when the emperor asked what service he could render him. Haughty as the philosopher's reply may sound, it merely expresses the honest independence, which every highly-cultivated and well-balanced mind may feel towards those who possess nothing better than the accidental distinctions of rank or fortune. He indeed deserves our pity who needs the condescending smile of the proud, or the heartless flattery of the vain, either to rouse him to exertion or warm him into happiness.

The power of self-excitement is the most desirable of all attainments, and it is the most rare. To love knowledge merely for its usefulness-to form and strengthen virtuous dispositions, with the hope of no other reward than the deep tranquillity they bring is a task achieved by few; yet it is the only simple and direct road to lasting happiness. He who can find intellectual excitement in the fall of an apple, or the hues of a wild flower, may well say to the officious world, "Stand out of my sunshine!" To him Nature is an open volume, where truths of the loftiest import are plainly written; and the tempta

tions and anxieties of this life have no power to cast a shadow on its broad and beautiful pages.

I do not mean that solitude is bliss, even where enjoyment is of the purest kind. An eminence, that places us above the hopes and fears, the joys and sorrows of social life, must indeed be an unenviable one; but that which puts us beyond the reach of the ever-varying tide of circumstance and opinion is surely desirable; and nothing on which the mind can be employed tends so much to produce this state of internal sunshine as the study of Nature in her various forms.

Politics, love of gain, ambition of renown, everything, in short, which can be acted upon by the passions of mankind, have a corroding influence on the human soul. But Nature, ever majestic and serene, moves on with the same stately step and beaming smile, whether a merchantman is wrecked or an empire overthrown. The evils of man's heart pollute all with which they can be incorporated; but they cannot defile her holy temple. The doors are indeed closed against the restless and the bad; but the radiant goddess is ever at the altar, willing to smile upon all who are pure enough to love her quiet beauty.

Ambition may play a mighty game; may task the

sinews of nations, and make the servile multitude automaton dancers to its own stormy music; but sun, aud moon, and stars, go forth on their sublime mission independent of its power; and its utmost efforts cannot change the laws which produce the transient glory of the rainbow.

Avarice may freeze the genial current of affection, and dry up all the springs of sympathy within the human soul; but it cannot diminish the pomp of summer, or restrain the prodigality of autumn. Fame may lead us on in pursuit of glittering phantoms, until the diseased mind loses all relish for substantial good; but it cannot share the eternity of light, or the immortality of the minutest atom.

He who has steered his bark ever so skilfully through the sea of politics, rarely, if ever, finds a quiet haven. His vexations and his triumphs have all been of an exciting character; they have depended on outward circumstances, over which he has very limited power; and when the turbulent scene has passed away, he finds, too late, that he has lived on the breath of others, and that happiness has no home within his heart.

And what is the experience of him who has existed only for wealth? who has safely moored his richly-freighted vessel in the spacious harbour of successful commerce? Does he find that happiness can, like modern love, be bought with gold? You may see him hurrying about to purchase it in small quantities, wherever the exhibitions of taste and talent offer it for sale; but the article is too ethereal to be baled for future use, and it soon evaporates amid the emptiness of his intellectual warehouse.

He that lives only for fame will find that happiness and renown are scarcely speaking acquaintance. Even if he could catch the rainbow he has so eagerly pursued he would find its light fluctuating with each changing sunbeam, and fading at the touch of every passing cloud.

Nor is he who has wasted the energies of his youth in disentangling the knotty skein of controversy more likely to find the evening of his days serene and tranquil. The demon of dogmatism or of doubt may have grappled him closely, and converted his early glow of feeling, and elasticity of thought, into rancorous prejudice or shattered faith,

But the deep streams of quiet thought and pure philosophy gush forth abundantly from all the hiding-places of Nature; there is no drop of bitterness at the fountain; the clear waters reflect none of the Proteus forms of human pride; and ever, as they flow, their peaceful murmurs speak of heaven.

The enjoyment that depends on powerful excitement saps the strength of manhood, and leaves nothing for old

age but discontent and desolation. Yet we need amusements in the decline of life, even more than in its infancy; and where shall we find any so safe, satisfactory, and dignified, as battery and barometer, telescope and prism?

Electric power may be increased with less danger than man's ambition; it is far safer to weigh the air than a neighbour's motives; it is more disquieting to watch tempests lowering in the political horizon, than it is to gaze at volcanoes in the moon; and it is much easier to separate and unite the colours in a ray of light, than it is to blend the many-coloured hues of truth, turned out of their course by the sharp corners of angry controversy.

Finally, he who drinks deeply at the fountain of natural science, will reflect the cheerfulness of his own spirit on all things around. If the sympathy of heart and mind be within his reach, he will enjoy it more keenly than other men; and if solitude be his portion, he can, in the sincerity of a full and pious mind, say to all the temptations of fame and pleasure, Stand ye ont of my sunshine!"

OPENING OF THE AMERICAN CRYSTAL PALACE. Such a crowd, such a rush, such a confusion I never expect to see again. Equestrians and pedestrians; omnibuses and carriages; soldiers, civilians, and uncivil-ians; carts and curricles; city exquisites and country nondescripts; men on the run; women tiptoeing, with all sails spread; papas in a putter; fat men sweltering, lean men, with tempers as sharp as their bones, ruthlessly pushing through the crowd; musicians perspiring in tuneful agony; thermometer evidently on a spree; shirt collars prostrate; dust everywhere; police nowhere ; everybody in somebody's way,-whizz-buzz-rattlebang-crash-smash. Oh dear, where's pa?" "Sarah Maria, take care of your flounces." "Get out of the way, can't you?" "Mr. Jones, just see the way that baby's best bonnet is jammed!" "Hurry!" "I can't hurry: somebody has trod on my skirt, and burst off the hooks; so much for not letting me wear Bloomers! What a figure I cut to appear before the President, and no chance to apologize, Mr. Jones!" Well, it's eleven o'clock, and, after several abortive attempts, we succeed in arresting an omnibus, labelled for the " Hippodrome and Crystal Palace." Away we go, dashing through the crowd, regardless of limbs, vehicular or human. On entering the palace, we (my companion and I) found that all the most eligible seats were already occupied, and that what were left were reserved for some man of straw and his wife. It was no use to show one's ticket. "You mustn't sit here!" "You must'nt sit there! "You can't stand in that place!” “You can't go there!" "You can't come here!" and so the throng went forlornly about and around, old men and maidens, heads of families, clergymen, elegant ladies, all sorts of people, seeking places whereon they might rest, and finding none. We finally resolved on action, seized a couple of boxes of workmen's tools, emptied the contents on the floor, and converted the boxes into comfortable seats, in the most commanding position in the eastern gallery, notwithstanding the impertinent expostulations of the rosetted officers. Fern Leaves from Fanny's Portfolio.

It is the peculiar misfortune of women, resulting from the relative position which they occupy in society, that they never can see more than one side of a man's character. Of course, the fair side is always presented towards them; and all the darker traits, and wilder extravagances, are sedulously concealed on the reverse. This makes it so doubly dangerous for a girl to consult only her own preferences, and her own will, in making her

choice for life; and this also proves the expediency, on all occasions, of taking the advice of some experienced counsellor. Many a man may shine in the salon by his wit, taste, elegance, and address, or good breeding; and yet, when he quits society, and revolves upon his axis, the darker half of his day may be passed in the kennel, the stable, or the gambling-house.

NORTH RIVER POETRY.
Written by Steam.

I saw her on the for'rard deck a sitting in the sun,
A smile upon her ruby lip, and in her hand a bun;
I looked about a minute, and found my heart was fixed,
And I then begun to go it as strong as't conld be mixed.
Oh Crow's Nest, lofty Crow's Nest!
Far rising o'er the tide!

Did ever such a beauty

In such a steamboat glide?

And, waiter,—dark brown waiter!
Who carvest fast and free,

Did'st ever hand a 'tater
To maiden fair as she?

And, captain,-courteous captain,
Who helpest folks to land,
Did'st ever take a ticket
From such a pearly hand?
And, benches,-gentle benches,
Arranged in goodly ranks,

Did such a fairy figure

E'er rest upon your planks?

"Ah no!" replied the Crow's Nest,

As on the steamer slid;

"And no," returned the darkey, "I tink I neber did;"

And the captain said-"mong wenches She's just the one to strike;'

"

"And oh!" exclaimed the benches, "We never felt the like!"

One note of admiration
Went up from every one;
And I bowed in adoration
To the beauty with the bun.
"Twas at the Palisadoes

I told her of my love;

And she said, "Go ask my mother,

At Albany above."

So I travelled up the river,

In loving doubt and pain;

But "went it" in a quiver
Of rapture home again.

MODE OF CONFERRING FAVOURS.

There is nothing evinces such taste and delicacy of sentiment, as the gracious and benevolent manner of con ferring a favour. Many a kind feeling has been rendered nugatory by the manner in which it has developed itself; and many a good deed has lost its savour, and become, in the eyes of the recipient, even revolting, from the want of a delicate, and really generous expression. This is the reason why obligations are so often forgotten, and ingratitude apparently incurred.

Printed by Cox (Brothers) & WYMAN, 74-75, Great Queen Street, London; and published by CHARLES Cook, at the Office of the Journal, 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street.

WHAT DO YOUNG MEN MARRY?

A VERY important question this, and well deserving of profound attention, and a serious answer. Truly, marriage is itself so serions a matter, that it is a pity any one should for a moment attempt to view it as aught else. And, indeed, none but the most confirmed kind of bachelors-who know not "what marriage means,"can ever do so.

Joke about rheumatism if you will; jest on toothaches as ye list; make merry upon the subject of Chancery proceedings; be facetious about your income-tax; but eschew levity when writing, speaking, thinking about matrimony. Of all serious subjects place this at the head.

Who that has looked observingly on the many pairs,— or couples, rather, for all married couples are not pairs, anything but pairs, indeed,--can doubt the seriousness of the matrimonial state. We may illustrate it by comparison. Let us compare a wedding with even a funeral, which most persons will acknowledge to be rather a sombre affair. How this sad event rises into comparative vivacity and cheerfulness beside a wedding, let the announcements in our public streets testify. What is more common than to read on the undertaker's shopdoor--" Funerals performed;" unless it be to see on the neighbouring church door-" Marriages solemnized ?" It is plain that an interment, if it does not naturally suggest, at least admits of the idea of performance-of playing or acting a part. All save the "dear departed," may enjoy the performance exceedingly. He who is borne to his long home may have been a hard, griping, usurious, covetous hunks. His heir mourns for him in decorous crape and cambric; the mutes outwardly and visibly grieve; while invariably and heartily all rejoice and chuckle. The interment of the rich old miser is, in more senses than one, a good job. They perform his funeral with appropriate grimaces. But marriages are solemnized. There is nothing funny about them. There is no pretence or make-believe there. It is all sad, serious, sober, earnest; and if the happy couple do not see it at the time, they will feel it all the more acutely afterwards.

But if to marry be so serious a business, the question, What do young men marry? cannot be an unimportant onc. Now, methinks, some of my readers-if I may be allowed to credit myself with readers have already

1

[PRICE 1d.

answered the inquiry, in their own minds, or at least have concluded it to be one mightily easily answered. Not so fast, fair sir or madam. No, not "wives," certainly; for while a man may not marry his grandmother, paternal or maternal, nor yet some others of his relatives, he cannot marry his wife, for being his wife, they are already wedded, neither can he legally marry his neighbour's wife. And have but a little patience, kind reader, and you may find that you are just as completely at a nonplus to answer the question, in some cases, as we are ourselves; and, we assure you, cases have come within the range of our observation, in which we were fairly puzzled to say, or to see, what a young man married-or what for.

Take notice, we confine the question to young men. We might, indeed, include elderly men; but we purposely exclude what are known as middle-aged men. We give them credit for usually forming judicious matrimonial connections, and for being able and ready to give a reason for their selection of a life partner.

:

Once more. What do young men marry? We reply -anything, everything, the most extraordinary things conceivable e. g. my cousin, Fred. Courtenay, a young man of small fortune, practising a good profession, a rising young man, went to a gipsying party-and married a gipsy? Oh, no, madam; pray, hear me out-a pic-nic, "just a few friends, you know," that sort of thing. There he met Fanny Harley, who was on a visit to her aunt. Fanny wore curls, which, on this occasion, combs and bandoline were ineffective to confine. Especially one ringlet, in spite of her thousand coquettish attempts to secure the stray lock, would wave in the light breeze, and dance with each zephyr that fanned her cheek. 'Twas charming; so graceful, so, so Fred. glanced at this curl again and again, admired it, thought of it, after he had parted with her for the night, dreamt of it, called in the morning to see it, courted it. But it was not to be too easily carried off.

Fred. found to his deep concern that he had a rival. When he went to pay his wonted visit, there he was, seated, chatting away gaily. And his co-competitor for this prize was one of those careless, easy, good-natured fellows, who are the most disagreeable and intolerable of all rivals, inasmuch as they are never disconcerted at the appearance of another candidate in the field, and never risk their position in the lady's estcem, or affection, as the case may be, by becoming melancholy and moody at the presence of a