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only order of evil ones who suffer hell without seeing and knowing that it is hell. But they are under a heavier curse even than this; they inflict torments, second only to their own, with an unconsciousness almost worthy of spirits of light. While they complacently conclude themselves the victims of others, or pronounce that they are too singular or too refined for common appreciation, they are putting in motion an enginery of torture, whose aspect will one day blast their minds' sight. The dumb groans of their victims will sooner or later return upon their ears from the heights of the heaven to which the sorrows of men daily ascend. The spirit sinks under the prospect of the retribution of the unamiable; if there be indeed an eternal record-an impress on some one or other human spirit -of every chilling frown, of every querulous tone, of every bitter jest, of every insulting word-of all abuses of that tremendous power which mind has over mind. The throbbing pulses, the quivering nerves, the wrung hearts, that surround the unamiable-what "a cloud of witnesses" is here! and what plea shall avail against them? The terror of innocents who should know no fear-the vindictive emotions of dependents who dare not complain -the faintness of heart of life-long companions-the anguish of those who love-the unholy exultation of those who hate-what an array of judges is here! and where can an appeal be lodged against their sentence? Is pride of singularity a rational plea? Is super-refinement, or circumstance from God, or uncongeniality in man, a sufficient ground of appeal, when the refinement of one is a grace granted for the luxury of all, when circumstance is given to be conquered, and uncongeniality is appointed for discipline? The sensualist has brutified the seraphic nature with which he was endowed-the depredator has intercepted the rewards of toil, marred the image of justice, and dimmed the lustre of faith in men's minds-the imperial tyrant has invoked a whirlwind to lay waste, for an hour of God's eternal year, some region of society. But the unamiable--the domestic torturer-has heaped wrong on wrong and woe on woe, through the whole portion of time that was given him, until it would be rash to say that there are any others more guilty than he. If there be hope or solace for the domestic torturer, it is that there may have been tempers about him the opposite of his own. It is matter of humiliating gratitude that there were some which he could not ruin, and that he was the medium of discipline, by which they were exercised in forbearance, in divine forgiveness and love. If there be solace in such an occasional result, let it be made the most of by those who need it; for it is the only possible alleviation to their remorse. Let them accept it as the free gift of a mercy which they have insulted, and a long-suffering which they have defied.-From Deerbrook, a Tale, by Harriet Martineau.

GREENLAND FISHING BOATS. THE only thing in which the Greenlanders manifest much skill is in the structure and management of their boats, the kayak, or boat for one man, and the oomiak, or women's boat, both formed of a light framework of wood, covered with seal-skin. The latter is usually about twentyfour feet long, and five or six feet wide, though some are built nearly a half larger. The covering consists of sixteen or twenty seal-skins, saturated with blubber, and thoroughly dried. Neither nails nor spikes are used in their construc the whole being fastened together by the sinews of the seal, w-1 +1 heir entire strength consists in their elasticity. They are Hat-for a calm sea, as a stiff breeze or a head, and only fitted capsize them. The ice is also apt to cut the skin 6 sure to they are covered, when the natives repair the damage by

stuffing the hole with blubber, or draw them upon the shore, and sew a patch on the place! which is soon accomplished, as two persons can easily carry one of them. They are rowed by four or five women; and, with a full cargo on board, can accomplish thirty miles or more in a day; though, on long voyages, one cannot reckon on more than twenty or twenty-four on an average, as every fifth day the boat must be taken out of the sea, to allow the skin, now saturated with water, to dry. The former-the kayak, or man's boat-is from twelve to fourteen feet long, about eighteen inches wide, and a foot deep, formed of wood and whalebone, covered above and below with skin, and seldom weighs more than twenty or thirty pounds. In the middle is an opening, surrounded by a hoop, in which the Esquimaux slips; and drawing his seal-skin cloak tight round it, renders the whole impervious to water. There is only one oar, six feet long, with a thin blade at each end, fenced with bone. In this frail bark he fears no storm, floating like a sea-bird on the top of the billows, or emerging from beneath the white waves that dash over his head. Even when upset, he rights himself by a stroke of his oar under the water; but if this is lost or broken, he is certain to perish. Few Europeans ever learn to row the kayak, and many even of the natives can never attain sufficient skill to regain their equilibrium when overturned. Edinburgh Cabinet Library.

NECESSITY OF A STEDFAST
CHARACTER.

THE man who is perpetually hesitating which of two things he will do first, will do neither. The man who resolves, but suffers his resolution to be changed by the first counter-suggestion of a friend-who fluctuates from opinion to opinion, from plan to plan-and veers, like a weathercock, to every point of the compass, with every breath of caprice that blows-can never accomplish any thing great or useful. Instead of being progressive in any thing, he will be at best stationary, and more probably retrograde, in all. It is only the man who first consults wisely, then resolves firmly, and then executes his purpose with inflexible perseverance, undismayed by those petty difficulties which daunt a weaker spirit-that can advance to eminence in any line. Let us take, by way of illustration, the case of a student. He commences the study of the dead languages; but presently a friend comes, and tells him that he is wasting his time, and that, instead of obsolete words, he had much better employ himself in acquiring new ideas. He changes his plan, and sets to work at the mathematics. Then comes another friend, who asks him with a grave and sapient face, whether he intends to become a professor in a college; because, if he does not, he is misemploying his time; and that for the business of life, common mathematics is quite enough of mathematical science. He throws up his Euclid, and addresses himself to some other study, which in its turn is again relinquished, on some equally wise suggestion: and thus life is spent in changing his plans. You cannot but perceive the folly of this course; and the worst effect of it is, the fixing on your mind a habit of indecision, sufficient of itself to blast the fairest prospects. No-take your course wisely, but firmly: and having taken it, hold upon it with heroic resolution, and the Alps and Pyrenees will sink before you the whole empire of learning will lie at your feet; while those who set out with you, but stopped to change their plans, are yet employed in the very profitable business of changing their plans. Let your motto be Perseverance. Practise upon it, and you will be coninced of its value by the distinguished eminence to which et vou.--Wirt's Essays.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE LOST ONE.

BY THE HON. D. G. OSBORNE.

I SOUGHT her in her former home,
Beneath her own pure country air;
I sought her where we used to roam,
Among the flowers all fresh and fair,-
As soft as e'er the zephyr played,

As bright as e'er the glad sun shone,
The flowers, in hues as fair array'd,

Were fragrant still,-but she was gone. I sought her 'neath the pauper's roof, Where sickness spread its sorrow round, But whence despair had held aloof,

While there her angel form was found. Upon his couch the sick one lay,

But in his sunken eyes there shone Of hope or joy no cheering ray,

As once there did-for she was gone.

I sought her in the crowded scene,

Where beauty mingles with delight, Where hers the lightest laugh had been,

And hers the eyes that flashed most bright. Gay were the thoughts of that young throng, As gay perchance as e'er they were, But wearily from dance and song

I turned, for she was gone from there. Beneath the calm majestic sky

Whose stars in distant radiance shone, One night I knelt and prayed to die,

Since now my lot on earth was lone. And then as sorrowing I knelt,

A hope sprang up to cheer my prayer: On heaven I gazed, and then I felt

That she, the lost, was smiling there.

VARIETIES.

LOVE OF HOME.-I have at times tried to imagine the feelings of a man who is about to emigrate, fully convinced that he never again will look upon his native land-to my mind it brings thoughts allied to death. I could fancy that I was going away to die-going to live somewhere until death came-in some huge prison, with a gaol-like sky above it, and an area that might stretch hundreds of miles, with a wide sea around it, on the margin of which I should wander alone, sighing away my soul to regain my native land. Every thing would be strange to me; the landscape would call up no recollections; I should not have even a tree to call my friend, nor a flower which I could say was my own. Ah! after all, it is something to look upon the churchyard where those that we loved are at rest, to gaze upon their graves, and think over what we have gone through with them, and what we would now undergo to recall them from the dead. Reader, pardon these childish thoughts-they forced themselves into my mind, and I have recorded them; they seem to awaken my memory anew, and strip me of a score of years; they have a foolish hold on my affections. But surely it is a worthy passion to cherish; there seems something holy about the past; it is freed from all selfishness; we love it for its own sake; we sigh for it because it can never again be recalled; even as a fond mother broods over the memory of some darling that is dead, as if she had but then discovered how much her heart loved it.-Miller's Rural Sketches.

LOVE OF CHILDREN.-Tell me not of the trim, precisely arranged homes where there are no children; "where," as the good Germans have it, "the fly-traps always hang strand [ on the wall;" tell me not of the never-die.

days; of the tranquil, unanxious hearts, where children are not! I care not for these things. God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race-to enlarge our hearts, to make us unselfish, and full of kindly sympathies and affections; to give our souls higher aims, and to call out all our faculties to extended enterprise and exertion; to bring round our fireside bright faces and happy smiles, and loving, tender hearts. My soul blesses the Great Father every day, that he has gladdened the earth with little children.-Mary Howitt.

THE GREAT MOGUL.-The Great Mogul, ignorant of the extent of the great continents, imagined himself emperor of the greatest part of the habitable world; and when Sir Tho mas Roe, who visited him in 1615, presented him with a map which showed the proportion his dominions bore to the whole earth, he was so vexed that he ordered the maps to be immediately returned to Sir Thomas. Before Sir Thomas Roe left the court of the Mogul to return to England, he requested a letter to the king (James I.) The request was agreed to, and the letter written: but the Mogul was much perplexed as to the manner in which the seal should be affixed. If it were placed below the writing, he imagined it might lower his own dignity; and if above it, he thought the king of England might be offended. At last he consulted with his ministers, and settled that the seal should be sent separate from the letter, that it might afterwards be placed wherever the king of England might think proper.-Bingley's Travellers.

DOGS.-One day, in the latter part of 1825, a pointer dog called at the shop of Mr. Lancaster, chemist and druggist, in Leeds, where he had often been before, and walking on three legs, held up one of his fore-paws, in which he had received some injury. The leg was dressed, and the dog, gratefully wagging his tail, retired. He afterwards attended every day for some time, and was punctual to the hour at which he first came: he crouched and moaned when pained by any operation, but never manifested any disposition to bite. After he had found out the benefit to be derived from medical skill, he brought another dog with him to partake the like advantages. They found the shop occupied, and waited their opportunity, when the old patient, Don, used every means to entice his companion into the shop, and at last succeeded. When the doctor came, Don held up his own recovered paw, and touched his companion's nose, when Mr. Lancaster found that he also had a thorn in the foot. This was cured like the first. Don shows his gratitude by coming to see Mr. L., and will not leave the house until he has paid his respects to him.

HEALTHY RESIDENCE.-There is no circumstance connected with health, concerning which the public are, in my opinion, so ill informed, as the requisites of a healthy resi dence, both as regards local position and internal construction. In this island we have chiefly to guard against humidity, on which account our houses should not be built in low, confined situations, nor too near water, especially when stagnant, and, still less, near marshes. Neither should a house be too closely surrounded by trees or shrubs. Trees at some distance from a house are both an ornament and an advantage, but become injurious when so near as to overshadow it, or prevent the air from circulating freely around it, and through its various apartments. The atmosphere of a building overhung by trees, or surrounded by a thick shrubbery, is kept in a state of constant humidity, except in the driest weather; and the health of the inmates rarely fails to suffer in consequence.—Sir James Clark on Consumption.

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LONDON SATURDAY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY JAMES GRANT, AUTHOR OF "RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS," "THE GREAT METROPOLIS," "PORTRAITS OF PUBLIC CHARACTERS," &c.

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ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE LOST ONE.

BY THE HON. D. G. OSBORNE.

I SOUGHT her in her former home,
Beneath her own pure country air;
I sought her where we used to roam,
Among the flowers all fresh and fair,-
As soft as e'er the zephyr played,

As bright as e'er the glad sun shone,
The flowers, in hues as fair array'd,
Were fragrant still,-but she was gone.
I sought her 'neath the pauper's roof,
Where sickness spread its sorrow round,
But whence despair had held aloof,

While there her angel form was found.
Upon his couch the sick one lay,

But in his sunken eyes there shone Of hope or joy no cheering ray,

As once there did-for she was gone.

I sought her in the crowded scene,

Where beauty mingles with delight, Where hers the lightest laugh had been,

And hers the eyes that flashed most bright. Gay were the thoughts of that young throng, As gay perchance as e'er they were, But wearily from dance and song

I turned, for she was gone from there.

Beneath the calm majestic sky

Whose stars in distant radiance shone, One night I knelt and prayed to die,

Since now my lot on earth was lone. And then as sorrowing I knelt,

A hope sprang up to cheer my prayer: On heaven I gazed, and then I felt

That she, the lost, was smiling there.

VARIETIES.

LOVE OF HOME.-I have at times tried to imagine the feelings of a man who is about to emigrate, fully convinced that he never again will look upon his native land—to my mind it brings thoughts allied to death. I could fancy that I was going away to die-going to live somewhere until death came-in some huge prison, with a gaol-like sky above it, and an area that might stretch hundreds of miles, with a wide sea around it, on the margin of which I should wander alone, sighing away my soul to regain my native land. Every thing would be strange to me; the landscape would call up no recollections; I should not have even a tree to call my friend, nor a flower which I could say was my own. Ah! after all, it is something to look upon the churchyard where those that we loved are at rest, to gaze upon their graves, and think over what we have gone through with them, and what we would now undergo to recall them from the dead. Reader, pardon these childish thoughts-they forced themselves into my mind, and I have recorded them; they seem to awaken my memory anew, and strip me of a score of years; they have a foolish hold on my affections. But surely it is a worthy passion to cherish; there seems something holy about the past; it is freed from all selfishness; we love it for its own sake; we sigh for it because it can never again be recalled; even as a fond mother broods over the memory of some darling that is dead, as if she had but then discovered how much her heart loved it.-Miller's Rural Sketches.

LOVE OF CHILDREN.-Tell me not of the trim, precisely arranged homes where there are no children; "where," as the good Germans have it, "the fly-traps always hang stranⱭ on the wall;" tell me not of the never-die

days; of the tranquil, unanxious hearts, where children are not! I care not for these things. God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race-to enlarge our hearts, to make us unselfish, and full of kindly sympathies and affections; to give our souls higher aims, and to call out all our faculties to extended enterprise and exertion; to bring round our fireside bright faces and happy smiles, and loving, tender hearts. My soul blesses the Great Father every day, that he has gladdened the earth with little children.-Mary Howitt.

THE GREAT MOGUL.-The Great Mogul, ignorant of the extent of the great continents, imagined himself emperor of the greatest part of the habitable world; and when Sir Tho mas Roe, who visited him in 1615, presented him with a map which showed the proportion his dominions bore to the whole earth, he was so vexed that he ordered the maps to be immediately returned to Sir Thomas. Before Sir Thomas Roe left the court of the Mogul to return to England, he requested a letter to the king (James I.) The request was agreed to, and the letter written: but the Mogul was much perplexed as to the manner in which the seal should be affixed. If it were placed below the writing, he imagined it might lower his own dignity; and if above it, he thought the king of England might be offended. At last he consulted with his ministers, and settled that the seal should be sent separate from the letter, that it might afterwards be placed wherever the king of England might think proper.-Bingley's Travellers.

DOGS.-One day, in the latter part of 1825, a pointer dog called at the shop of Mr. Lancaster, chemist and druggist, in Leeds, where he had often been before, and walking on three legs, held up one of his fore-paws, in which he had received some injury. The leg was dressed, and the dog, gratefully wagging his tail, retired. He afterwards attended every day for some time, and was punctual to the hour at which he first came: he crouched and moaned when pained by any operation, but never manifested any disposition to bite. After he had found out the benefit to be derived from medical skill, he brought another dog with him to partake the like advantages. They found the shop occupied, and waited their opportunity, when the old patient, Don, used every means to entice his companion into the shop, and at last succeeded. When the doctor came, Don held up his own recovered paw, and touched his companion's nose, when Mr. Lancaster found that he also had a thorn in the foot. This was cured like the first. Don shows his gratitude by coming to see Mr. L., and will not leave the house until he has paid his respects to him.

HEALTHY RESIDENCE.-There is no circumstance connected with health, concerning which the public are, in my opinion, so ill informed, as the requisites of a healthy residence, both as regards local position and internal construction. In this island we have chiefly to guard against humidity, on which account our houses should not be built in low, confined situations, nor too near water, especially when stagnant, and, still less, near marshes. Neither should a house be too closely surrounded by trees or shrubs. Trees at some distance from a house are both an ornament and an advantage, but become injurious when so near as to overshadow it, or prevent the air from circulating freely around it, and through its various apartments. The atmosphere of a building overhung by trees, or surrounded by a thick shrubbery, is kept in a state of con stant humidity, except in the driest weather; and the health of the inmates rarely fails to suffer in consequence.-Sir James Clark on Consumption.

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