to any interloper who, by chance, might have stumbled upon our whereabouts. We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and our chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, who took exceeding interest in our proceedings. He at length became so obstreperous, that we grew fearful of giving the alarm to some stragglers in the vicinity; or, rather, this was the apprehenshion of Legrand; for myself, I should have rejoiced at any interruption which might have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The noise was at length very effectually silenced by Jupiter, who, getting out of the hole, with a dogged air of deliberation, tied the brute's mouth up with one of his suspenders, and then returned, with a grave chuckle, to his task. When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a depth of five feet, and yet no signs, of any treasure became manifest. A general pause ensued, and I began to hope that the farce was at an end. Legrand, however, although evidently much disconcerted, wiped his brow thoughtfully, and recommenced. We had excavated the entire circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit, and went to the further depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared. The gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at length clambered from the pit, with the bitterest disappointment imprinted upon every feature, and proceeded, slowly and reluctantly, to put on his coat, which he had thrown off at the beginning of his labour. In the meantime I made no remark. Jupiter, at a signal from his master, began to gather up his tools. This done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we turned in profound silence towards home. We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when, with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized him by the collar. The astonished negro opened his eyes and mouth to the fullest extent, let fall the spades, and fell upon his knees. 'You scoundrel,' said Legrand, hissing out the syllables from between his clenched teeth-you black villain! -speak, I tell you!-answer me this instant without prevarication!-which-which is your left eye?' 'Oh, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for sartin?' roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his right organ of vision, and holding it there with a desperate pertinacity, as if in dread of his master's attempt at a gouge. 'I thought so!-I knew it! Hurrah!' vociferated Legrand, letting the negro go, and executing a series of curvets and caracols, much to the astonishment of his valet, who, arising from his knees, looked, mutely, from his master to myself, and then from myself to his master. 'Come! we must go back,' said the latter, 'the game's not up yet; and he again led the way to the tulip-tree. 'Jupiter,' said he, when we reached its foot, come here! was the skull nailed to the limb with the face outwards, or with the face to the limb?' 'De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de eyes good, widout any trouble.' Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you dropped the beetle?' Here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's eyes. 'Twas dis eye, massa-de lef eye-jis as you tell me,' and here it was his right eye that the negro indicated. That will do we must try it again.' Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied that I saw, certain indications of method, removed the peg which marked the spot where the beetle fell to a spot about three inches to the westward of its former position. Taking now the tape-measure from the nearest point of the trunk to the peg, as before, and continuing the extension in a straight line to the distance of fifty feet, a spot was indicated, removed by several yards from the point at which we had been digging. Around the new position, a circle somewhat larger than in the former instance was now described, and we again set to work with the spades. I was dreadfully weary, but, scarcely understanding what had occasioned the change in my thoughts, I felt no longer any great aversion to the labour im posed. I had become most unaccountably interested, nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the extravagant demeanour of Legrand-some air of forethought or of deliberation which impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually looking, with something that very much resembled expectation, for the fancied treasure, the vision of which had demented my unfortunate companion. At a period when such vagaries of thought most fully possessed me, and when we had been at work perhaps an hour and a half, we were again interrupted by the violent howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the first instance, had been, evidently, but the result of playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a bitter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping into the hole, tore up the mould frantically with his claws. In a few seconds, he had uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two complete skeletons, intermingled with several buttons of metal, and what appeared to be the dust of decayed apparel. One or two strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a large Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther, three or four loose pieces of gold and silver coin came to light. At sight of these, the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be restrained; but the countenance of his master wore an air of extreme disappointment. He urged us, however, to continue our exertions, and the words were hardly uttered, when I stumbled, and fell forward, having caught the toe of my boot in a large ring of iron that lay half buried in the loose earth. We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes of more intense excitement. During this interval we had fairly unearthed an oblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect preservation and wonderful hardness, had plainly been subjected to some mineralising process, perhaps that of the bi-chloride of mercury. This box was three feet and a half long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet deep. It was firmly secured by bands of wrought iron, riveted, and forming a kind of open trellis-work over the whole. On each side of the chest, near the top, were three rings of iron-six in all-by means of which a firm hold could be obtained by six persons. Our utmost united endeavours served only to disturb the coffer very slightly in its bed. We at once saw the impossibility of removing so great a weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of the lid consisted of two sliding bolts. These we drew back, trembling and panting with anxiety. In an instant, a treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the rays of the lanterns fell within the pit, there flashed upwards a glow and a glare, from a confused heap of gold and of jewels, that absolutely dazzled our eyes. I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I gazed. Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand appeared exhausted with excitement, and spoke very few words. Jupiter's countenance wore, for some minutes, as deadly a pallor as it is possible, in the nature of things, for any negro's visage to assume. He seemed stupified, thunderstricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in the pit, and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let them there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At length, with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy-'And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole-bug! de poor little goole-bug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind ob style! Aint you shamed ob yourself, nigger? answer me dat!' It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both master and valet to the expediency of removing the treasure. It was growing late, and it behoved us to make exertion, that we might get everything housed before daylight. It was difficult to say what should be done, and much time was spent in deliberation, so confused were the ideas of all. We finally lightened the box, by removing two-thirds of its contents, when we were enabled, with some trouble, to raise it from the hole. The articles taken out were deposited among the brambles, and the dog left to guard them, with strict orders from Jupiter, neither, upon any pretence, to stir from the spot nor to open his mouth until our return. We then hurriedly made for home with the chest; reaching the hut in safety, but after excessive toil, at one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as we were, it was not in human nature to do more immediately. We rested until two, and had supper; starting for the hills immediately afterwards, armed with three stout sacks, which, by good luck, were upon the premises. A little before four we arived at the pit, divided the remainder of the booty, as equally as might be, among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, again set out for the hut, at which, for the second time, we deposited our golden burdens, just as the first faint streaks of the dawn gleamed from over the tree-tops in the east. We were now thoroughly broken down; but the intense excitement of the time denied us repose. After an unquiet slumber of some three or four hours' duration, we arose, as if by preconcert, to make examination of our treasure. To be continued. SPRING VIOLET S. Violet is for faithfulnesse, Which in me shall abyde, Hoping likewise that from your hearte shutter-like lip, which completely conceals the stigma. This flower is most remarkably firmly knit together, and difficult to dissect, and its construction is, as we have shown, very peculiar. The seed-vessel is also curious, consisting of a sort of berry-like case, partly covered by the calyx till the seeds are ripe, when, by means of a sort of elastic spring, it bursts open, and divides into three valves, each of which includes a membrane, bearing four rows of seeds down its centre. These seeds are of a pale chestnut brown. It is a peculiar feature in this flower that the corollas are often wholly devoid of petals, yet produce fruit as well as if such were not the case. This circumstance accounts for so many seed-vessels being often found on plants on which blossoms have been sought in vain. The Violet has medical uses of various kinds. Culpeper (who gives to each plant and flower a guardian planet) says, that this is a fine pleasing plant of Venus, of a mild nature, no way harmful.' He tells us, that 'applied poultice-wise to the grieved place,' the leaves or flowers of the Violet will ease pains in the head caused through want of sleep.' Gerard records that the later physicians do think it good to mix dry Violets with medi cines, which are to comfort and strengthen the heart' Whether physically or morally he does not say. History, mythology, poetry, medicine, sentiment, botany, even the cookery book, has something to say on this subject. History tells us that the Violet was formerly the emblem of liberty, Napoleon Bonaparte adopted it when at Elba as a badge by which his adherents might be known, and it was said among his partisans that he would return when the Violet returns, in the spring.' Mythology says, that when Japiter transformed Io into a cow, the earth was caused spor taneously to produce this fragrant flower as her food. Poetry-oh, what does not poetry say about her favour ites? Shakspere, the prince of poets, knows not how to speak of ladies or of love without including a comparison with this sweet flower, which, of all flowers, has most of his sentiment. Ophelia says, I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died.' lisarius, when praising his two princely boys, Guider and Arviragus, says— They are as gentle As zephyrs blowing beneath the Violet, And the same poet likens a strain of soul-subduing Herrick, poetry :— 'The sweet south That breathes upon a bank of Violets, too, salutes the Violet in sweet strains of So chants a sonneteer in the year 1584; but the poets of modern days do not 'spend the sweet breath of praise' in extolling this humble flower, as did those of more simple times. It may be because the scented Violet is no longer confined to the sweet vernal season, and no longer speaks to us exclusively of the time when the sun first rises up in his strength at springtide, and calls forth the precious things of the earth which have long slept beneath the snows of winter, that it is less prized than of old. Formerly, it was only to be found when the first young buds appeared on the willows, the swelling blossoms of the primrose and the elegant pendants of the hazel-catkin adorned every hedgerow, and the blithe birds first began to carol among the yet naked branches of the trees, and it then, being bound up with such associations, possessed indeed most surpassing charms. But now, that the Russian Violets may be had all through the winter, and that we need seldom, from October to June, be without a full glass of their sweet blossoms on our table, we seem to bave lost an enjoyment, and almost to have destroyed one of the links which bind the heart of man to the scenes of country life at least so it seems to us, for these exotic sweets are not to our mind half so dear, half so suggestive of bright thoughts, as those which were only to be obtained by means of a ramble amidst the woods and wilds, when every tree begins to indicate by its thickened appearance that it will soon swagger in its leafy gallantry.' The Violet has its botanical interest, for its structure is very singular and beautiful, but, like its other perfections, likely to be passed over unnoticed by those who do not go beyond superficial observation. The early Violet consists of five distinct sepals, which stand up round the flower so as to form a sort of hollow cup, in the centre of which is the corolla. The five petals of which this consists seem at first to have nothing remarkable in their appear- A modern writer (Eden Warwick) says, 'of Christian ance; but, if they are closely examined, it will be found poets, Milton alone has entered fully into the spirit and that the lower petal has its claw drawn out behind into a poetry of the ancient mythology. The Song to Echo in spur, which projects through two of the sepals; the two Comus,' is one of the most beautiful examples of his clear side petals being also curiously constructed at the base, so perception of the power of adaptation to modern scenery as to form a triangular roof-like opening in the centre of inherent in the classical mythology. The scene is truly the flower, through which may be seen a small, pale green English: the moonlight, the rippling brook, the violetball. As there is no appearance of either stamens or embroidered vale, the overhanging rock, where Echo lives pistil, the examiner may wonder what is become of them, unseen, the love-lorn nightingale, are all known to the but, if he opens the spur, he will find within it five curious lover of rural scenery; yet he feels, at the same time, ir looking anthers, which appear to grow out of the recep-resistibly inclined to believe that, in that spot where oft tacle without any filaments. The filaments are, however, not really wanting, but they are placed above the anthers, and dilated so as to look like a brown membraneous hood or canopy. Two of the anthers have, in addition, a long tail, which is concealed in the spur of the petal. The pistil consists of a large ovary bent in its narrowest part, and swelled out at its tip into the hollow ball seen through the opening in the centre of the flower. This ball has an orifice in front, under which lies a kind of 'Welcome, maids of honour, You do bring In the spring, And wait upon her.' Yet you are he has wandered alone to hear the nightingale, dwells one By slow Meander's mansion green, Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well' Clare, the village minstrel, gives us a graceful hint of The Pansy freaked with jet' is honoured by a place in its habits: And just to say the spring was come, But we must forbear, and only further say, in reference to the meed of praise bestowed on it by poetry, that, at the floral games at Toulouse, instituted early in the 13th century, the prize given to the best troubadour was a Golden Violet. But there is one more eulogist of our flower, whose quaint and poetic prose rivals the metrical praises of many a man of more pretension. The March Violets of the gardens,' says he, have a great prerogative above others, not only because the mind conceiveth a certain pleasure and recreation by smelling and handling of those most odoriferous flowers, but that also for that very many by these Violets receive ornaments and comely grace; for there be made of them garlands for the head, nosegays, and posies, which are delightful to look on, and pleasant to smell to, speaking nothing of their appropriate virtues. Yea, gardens themselves receive by these the greatest ornament of all, chiefest beauty, and most gallant grace; and the recreation of the mind which is taken hereby cannot be but very good and honest, for they admonish and stir up a man to that which is comely and honest; for flowers, through their beauty, variety of colour, and exquisite form, do bring to a liberal, gentle, and manly mind the remembrance of honesty, comeliness, and all kinds of virtue; for it would be an unseemly and filthy thing (as a certain wise man saith) for him that doth look upou and handle fair and beautiful things, and who frequenteth and is conversant with fair and beautiful places, to have his mind not fair, but filthy and deformed.' So speaks Sentiment, by the pen of Gerard; and what Medicine says we have before quoted as far as convenient; so now for the cookery-book, which informs us, that this sweet flower is famed for flavouring sorbet-or, as we usually call it, sherbet-and one old herbalist tells us, that of Violets and sugar are made certain plates, called 'Sugar-violet, or Violet-tables, which is most pleasant and wholesome.' And now, ladies, comes the tit-bit of our narrative, the best of all-of Violets you may make a cosmetic which is next to magical in its effects. 'Anoint thy face with goats' milk, in which Violets have been infused,' says a Gaelic recipe, and there is not a young prince upon earth who will not be charmed with thy beauty.' Whether it be necessary that the young princes who are thus to fall in love with you should first see you, we know not, but we should suppose that Mrs Glass's principle 'first catch your hare' must be followed. The Violet has but one relative-a fair sister, called the Pansy, or Heart's-ease-the blossom of which differs but little in form from the Violet, though its leaves (from the protrusion of bracts, which at the first glance give them the appearance of being cut into several deep divisions) seem to be, and indeed are, very dissimilar from its congener, and the blossom is as much superior in the brilliancy of its colouring as it is inferior in scent. The name Pansy is evidently derived from pensee, a thought. Ophelia, in her madness, says 'There is Pansies, that's for thoughts: alas! Pansies were no heart's-ease to her. They are called 'Paunes' by Spenser, and by many fanciful names by rustic as well as old writers, such as, Two faces under a hood,' 'Kiss me here quickly,' 'Loye in Idleness;' for which latter appellation Shakspere thus accounts : "That very time I saw, Flying between the cold moon and the earth, In maiden meditation fancy free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell. It fell upon a little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's woundAnd maidens call it Love in idleness.'' the hearse of Lycidas, associated as ever with the glowing Violet;' in conjunction with which, Milton also places it as decking the couch of Adam and Eve :'Pansies, and Violets, and asphodel, And hyacinths-earth's freshest, softest lap.' The Heart's ease is the Viola tricolor, and abounds ir our corn-fields and pastures, the little pale flower there found being the original whence, by culture, we obtain all those gorgeous varieties which now ornament our par terres. TRAVEL. Nor only from the life it imparts to previous knowledge, but on account of the actual teaching it affords, the experience of travel is invaluable. I speak not so much of detached facts as regards population, manufactures, and the statistics of political economy; these may often be learned from the pages of an encyclopædia. There is a species of information scarcely to be gathered in the study, or if so attained, but inadequately realised, and therefore without effect. It is that series of facts and impressions, those general ideas which go to form what may be called a philosophy of life. The standard by which the untravelled measure their destiny is generally local. With them, the world of books and the real world are totally unconnected. It is only by throwing ourselves, as it were, into the ocean-tide of humanity, that we can obtain a glance at the great laws of life. When we have wandered into distant lands, and seen the same mysterious destiny shared by millions of similar beings; when we have heard the prayers, joined the festivities, witnessed the loves, and shuddered at the crimes of different nations, we gain, as it were, a new conviction of the universality of the system of things under which we live. We perceive that our lot is not peculiar. We recognise, with new sensibility, a power sustaining and guiding this immense community of spirits, and we fall back upon this primitive truth with an unwonted trust and a profound reverence. Those who surround a man in his own country are, as it were, but repetitions of himself. Familiarity renders him blind to the characteristics of his nature which they teach him. In strange communities, however, the traits of character are so modified as to be striking. And thus it often happens that a traveller is indebted to his absence for his most valuable self-knowledge. Abroad, too, he is thrown upon his own resources. He feels perhaps, for the first time, that he is a stranger and a pilgrim on the earth.' And in this experience there is permanent advantage. The will acquires new force, for its exercise is necessary to maintain his position and prosecute his purposes. The perceptive powers are called into more intense action, for he is required to observe where novelty excites, and information must be rapidly acquired. The great lesson of self-dependence is learned in travel, if it is learned at all; for, however friendless a man's position may be in his own country, the very familiarity of things will yield him no little support. But, when all accustomed props are withdrawn, and the scene is changed to a far-off land, to his own mind must the traveller look for his means of success: to his own capacities of self-government and social influence, for those aids and appliances essential to rational enjoyment. What latent energy and heroic perseverance did travel call forth in such men as Mungo Park, Bruce, Ledyard, and Belzoni! If a man's past education has been neglected, his energies previously untasked, travel will surely make the misfortune felt. The lessons spread before him in an unexplored volume of nature and man, will present but a confused or blank page, if there is no reflective habit to unlock its stores, no generous sympathies to give interest to its details, no well-considered principles to illumine its obscurity. As the unfortunate Casper Hauser was incapable of motion or speech when released from his long imprisonment, so the uninformed and weak I can neither enjoy personal progress nor elevating communion, when ushered unattended upon the highway of the world.-The Optimist, by Tuckerman. HOME FINDINGS. My dear Ellen, when will you endeavour to cure your self of this disposition to untidiness? Just look what a room! A dirty handkerchief in one corner, a pair of old slippers in another; your drawers half open, with strings hanging out of some, and corners of tumbled garments peeping from others; your wash-basin full of dirty water, with the soap melting and wasting at the bottom of it; and your towels lying about, wet and crumpled, instead of being spread out neatly on the horse to dry. And-really, Ellen, you are too bad!-here is your best black dress pushed into this bandbox, all in a heap, and the crape full of creases. Oh! child, you will never be fit for any thing. What a state of disorder your mind must be in, to judge by its outward manifestations!' Ellen, during this well-deserved lecture from her orderly and careful mother, sat lounging in an easy-chair by the bedside, affecting to be too much absorbed in an interesting book to hear half the reproofs addressed to her. At length she looked up with a languid air. 'I wish, mamma,' she said, fretfully, 'you would not trouble me about such trifles. I have just got to such a beautiful part of this tale, I must see how it ends. Do, dear mamma, just go into the parlour, and I will tidy away all in good time. After all, it is only a bedroom. No one ever sees it; and what does its appearance signify? One cannot spend one's whole life in keeping things neat.' For your own sake, Ellen, you should like to see them Some day or other you will sorely repent this disor. derly turn. Now, do, my dear child, pay attention to what I say, and rouse yourself from that absorbing book. The morning, when active duties have to be discharged, is no time for dreaming over fictions, however beautiful. You know that we cannot afford to keep two servants, and you do not consider how much your carelessness adds to Sarah's labour, unless, indeed, when your mother makes up for your deficiencies.' she hastened down stairs, the street-door closed behind him. She threw herself on the sofa, and burst into tears. As for the young gentleman, he said to himself as be strode down the street, I thought my former playmate retained some pleasant recollections of me. I supposed she would have remembered our last parting beside the old well. Perhaps she does, but it is evidently with a desire to avoid fulfilling the pledge then given. Very well, Ellen. I was determined that no other than yourself should become my wife, but your conduct has dispelled that dream. Not even to wish to see me! She must be changed indeed.' Found. That disorder and untidiness, while they are a nuisance to all well disposed persons, may, in certain cases, exercise a fatal influence on the prospects of the individual indulging in them. SOLITARY THOUGHTS. Unthinking heads who have not learned to be alone are in a prison to themselves, if they be not also with others; whereas, on the contrary, they whose thoughts are in a fair and hurry within, are sometimes fain to retire into company to be out of the crowd of themselves. He who must needs have company, must needs have sometimes bad company. Be able to be alone; lose not the advan tage of solitude and the society of thyself; nor be only content, but delight to be alone and single with Omnipotency. He who is thus prepared, the day is not uneasy, nor the night black unto him. Darkness may bound his eyes, not his imagination. In his bed he may lie, like Pompey and his sons, in all quarters of the earth; may speculate the universe, and enjoy the whole world in the hermitage of himself. Thus, the old ascetic Christians found a paradise in a desert, and with little converse on earth, held a conversation in heaven. Thus they astronomised in caves, and, though they beheld not the stars, had the glory of heaven before them.-Sir Thom Browne. THE BEAUTIES OF MORNING. Everybody knows the morning in its metaphorical s applied to so many occasions. The health, strength, 101 beauty of early years, lead us to call that period the morning of life. Of a lovely young woman, we say she is Ellen made no reply, but throwing down her book with a half-groan, as much as to say, 'Oh! mamma, what a very dreadful bore you are!' sulkily began to effect sundry reforms in her littered apartment. Mrs Leece, satisfied to see that she had at length roused her daughter to a partial performance of her duty, left the room, and pro-bright as the morning;' and no one doubts why Lucifer ceeded to the kitchen to give orders for dinner. Time went on, and Ellen, absorbed in a species of dreaminess and sentimentality that caused her to despise what she called 'trifles,' which term included all the small but necessary decencies of life, became more and more slatternly. Conscious of neglected tresses, trodden down slippers, and stockings out at heels, she invariably disappeared when callers were announced; and thus it happened that she missed one caller whom she would have given worlds to see, namely, a young lieutenant, a friend of her brother's, and an old acquaintance of her own, who paid a hurried visit to Mrs Leece, on his way to his new quarters in the north. On this occasion, Mrs Leece followed her daughter up stairs, where she found her before the glass, frantically endeavouring to get herself in order to appear before a dashing young fellow, who had a critical eye for dress, and would have detected any deficiency. Come, Ellen, make haste,' said the mother, Henry Wilkins has inquired for you, and he has not long to stay. It would seem so odd if you did not come down to see him, you used to be such good friends.' 'I am making all the haste I can, mamma. Do look me out some clean stockings; they are in that drawer. Oh dear! there is not one without a hole in it; and I remember Henry used to be so particular, and he sees everything. Go, and keep him amused, dear mamma, while I mend a pair. By the by, did you see my new slippers? I think I left them in your room last night. I will put on my clean lilac muslin. Oh dear! I shall never be ready.' Ellen's efforts were in vain. It took her so long to make herself unexceptionable in appearance, that the lieutenant's time expired, and he was forced to go. Just as is called 'son of the morning.' But the morning itself, fes new. The manifestations of the power of God, like his mercies, are 'new every morning,' and fresh every moment. We see as fine risings of the sun as ever Adam saw, and its risings are as much a miracle now as they were in his day, and I think a good deal more; because it is now a part of the miracle that, for thousands and thousands of years, he has come to his appointed time, without the variation of a millionth part of a second. Adam could not tell how this might be. I know the morning; I am acquainted with it, and I love it. I love it, fresh and sweet as it is-a daily new creation, breaking forth, and calling all that have life, and breath, and being, to new adoration and enjoyments, and new gratitude.- Daniel Webster SOCIAL CONVERSE. CONVERSATIONAL people are exceedingly scarce. Rarely do we meet with persons able, or, if able, willing, to beguile the time by conversation on the trifling, general, current topics of the day. This want of conversational power is a standing, almost universal, and very lamentable feature in the character of the Englishman. Nor does the Scotchman appear to at all greater advantage in this respect. Some of our Continental neighbours are still more taciturn than we. Others of them, and especially the French, fall into what, if it be an extreme, must be acknowledged to be a far more agreeable one than ours. We account it to be a radical, and beyond question a very serious, defect in our character as a nation, that, between the ages of fifteen and fifty-five, in every rank of life, we are, when in company with strangers or even acquaintances, unless they be particular friends, almost to a man as silent as statues. English children can chatter for hours together; old men are insufferably garrulous; youths and maidens, men and women, and more particularly the second and fourth classes, oan, when in what they deem proper company, manifest as great a fluency of speech as is at all desirable. But this is at home, or, as we have intimated, on fit occasions, at certain times and places. It is not for want of information; it is not from a deep affection or even reverence for silence; it is not that most of us have by nature a remarkable gift of saying nothing, that we are mum; for, as we have said, we can talk away rapidly and sensibly enough at home. It certainly is passing strange that a whole nation should sentence itself to the almost total deprivation of so copious a source of instruction and amusement as is opened to us in casual intercourse with those who, residing in different districts, and moving in other circles of society from our own, have by educational habit been led to take views and form opinions respecting various subjects not coming so directly within the sphere of our observation, should be content to allow hours of tedium to drag their weary length along, unrelieved by a single remark to those whom chance may have given for companions. Surely it is wholly owing to an extraordinary oversight, that none of those philanthropic and patriotic individuals, whose energies, bodily and mental, are constantly put forth in endeavours to benefit their fellow-creatures and themselves, by proposing schemes and projecting plans for the improvement of the people,' 'the welfare of the masses,''the good of the million,' and so forth, have never yet originated a 'society for the promotion of rational conversation among railway travellers, and in small and select parties.' Why should incessant ingenuity expend it self in the supply of comfort for steam-boat and railway travellers,' in the various forms of horse-cloth rugs, mufflers, woolly, silky, furry, fuzzy caps and gloves, spiritflasks, and sandwich-boxes? Why, we indignantly and remonstratingly ask, should daring enterprise confine its lofty mission to offers of life and limb insurance, founded on Cockerish calculations of fractures and deaths per mile per head? Collect any half-dozen or eight persons promiscuously from the middle grade of society, and shut them up in a railway carriage-and, that there shall be no pretence for exclusiveness, let it be a second class carriage-and, ten to one, every individual will, as he or she settles down into a seat, subside into a state of glum isolation from all around. Such a curious combination of gravity, dignity, and suspicion overspreads every countenance, that you would imagine you had stumbled upon a grand jury, or rather a bench of judges, assembled to hear some very important cause argued. Each one looks, and doubtless feels, uneasy, and eyes the rest as though expecting momentarily to have to resist some encroachment or repel a sudden, malicious attack. These poor people possess a thousand wishes, feelings, and sympathies in common. As many subjects of conversation in which all might join are open to them; but, unless the ice be broken on first taking their seats, it is more than probable they will maintain their reserve until they reach their journey's end. If any adventurous wight design to inveigle his fellow-travellers into a little pleasant intercourse during their ride, let him be advised to give no quarter, but to commence the attack at once on entering the carriage. We have heard the very profound and original, not to say exciting remark, that the train was two minutes and a quarter behind time in starting, give rise to quite an interestingly-animated conversation. But let the critical moment pass, and it is to the last degree improbable that there will be a nice opening for a young man again during that journey. Every minute the coolness chills, soon it arrives at the freezingpoint, and how many degrees below zero it reaches by the time of separation we possess no means of ascertaining. Indeed, if silence has been preserved until the first station be reached, he must be a courageous mortal who would then attempt to break it. Such an attempt would seem to argue a presumptuous confidence in one's own power of communicating information or of pleasing, that would naturally arouse the opposition of every right-minded Englishman. And then, what can be said at such a stage of the proceedings which shall not wear the appearance of having been studied? and how can the most simple observation be at all appropriate? Should any singularly magnanimous person on first starting hazard the statement, that the weather is very fine or wet, as the case may be (though, by the way, let us advise our readers under such circumstances always to omit the intensive adverb, and to say, 'The weather is fine, sir or madam,' which omission gives the person to whom your remark is addressed the opportunity of carrying out your idea, and of not only acquiescing, but of avoiding a servile agreement with you by adding, Very), this remark will appear quito natural and disinterested, if made just as you are elbowing yourself into your seat; but how strange, how uncalled for, how almost absurd, would it appear after you have sat staring through the window for a quarter of an hour to make such a reflection on the weather! Of course it would sound as though you had just made the discovery, or had suddenly waked up out of a nap, or had some special end in view or interested motive in saying so. And, in fact, whatever idea you might venture to propound to interrupt a silence of fifteen minutes' continuance, would necessarily have such an air of sudden inspiration as would render the utterer of it an object of unpleasant observation for some considerable period. Besides this, to whom are you to address yourself? There seems to be something almost invidious in singling out any individual in particular to be the butt of your wit, malice, or kindness, as it might be variously considered; while, should you address yourself to your audience generally, it is more than probable the prevailing opinion will be, that you are thinking aloud, or talking to yourself. In short, were a Frenchman to pop his head into such a carriage, he would imagine that a company of unfortu nate creatures were going to be executed, or at least imprisoned for life. And yet, perhaps, every one present is travelling with the intention of enjoying himself. There, in the right-hand corner, sits an old gentleman who has closed his eyes and his lips most pertinaciously ever since he scated himself; and yet, when he is in company with persons he is acquainted with, he is an unbearable old bore, ever and for ever telling little tales, which branch out when half told into two or three anecdotes, and these at certain points bifurcate into other stories; so that, though you may have climbed the trunk, and have crept along a branch, and so have proceeded to a smaller bough, you quite despair of ever gathering a leaf of the tree. Oh, that he would now become the old man eloquent!' There is not a story he narrates, not even the most gnarled, but would now prove acceptable. But no; there he sits as mute as though he were dumb. Next to him is our young friend, rather fashionably dressed; and, having glanced at the illustrations in Punch,' he finds even its piquant sentences too tame to excite his appetite for amusement. Now, although he sits there yawning, and looking the picture of Ennui, he could talk very passably on two or |