they make on these occasions. I have heard, under circumstances of some peril, the North American Indian warwhoop; but that is trifling compared with it, and their countenances are hideous beyond description. My principal astonishment was, that they did not actually kill each other, or at least break each other's bones, for they seemed to strike with all the fury and vigour of a real engagement; but they kept such exact time, that at a moment's notice they all left off, and began joking and laughing."

The practices of the New Zealande rs in regard to the female sex are abundantly revolting. Their virtue, while unmarried, is held in very little estimation, or rather is made the subject of regular traffic by their parents or nearest relations. Cook indeed describes this trade as conducted in a somewhat more reserved and respectable manner than in Otabeite, or the other islands; but even this decorum seems now in a great measure lost. After marriage, however, fidelity is exacted with the utmost rigour, and with all the relentless severity of the national character; the breach being punished with instant death. During Mr. Earle's stay, a chief, being satisfied of the guilt of one of his wives, took up his patoo-patoo, or stone hatchet, went to her, and without reproaching her, or saying a single word, struck her dead on the spot. He had such a remnant of humanity as not to eat her; but the body was thrown unburied to the dogs, till the English gave it sepulture. Yet the great men, having numerous wives, many of whom were originally captives, are not always unwilling to treat for the disposal of them. A chief, who saw that a fine young girl, one of his ten wives, was a favourite with the English, invited and even importuned them to take her in exchange for a musket; but into this treaty they did not think fit to enter.

Superficial writers have represented this people as destitute of religion, because they have neither temples,priests, nor sacrifices. But the New Zealanders are strongly impressed with the usual train of ideas which prevail on this subject among rude nations. They adore a supreme being, named Atua (Eatooa of Otaheite) as the author of every change in nature,-yielding to his will even a blind and mistaken submission. Attempts are made to cure a slight disease, but whenever it assumes a dangerous aspect, it is concluded that the Atua has determined

secure

upon taking the patient away, and that it would be profane to endeavour to obstruct this design; the sufferer is therefore devoutly abandoned to his fate. But the most striking superstition is that of taboo, by which a particular spot, with the aid of certain mystic ceremonies, is invested with so sacred a character, that it cannot be made the theatre of any ordinary occupation, nor even trode upon, without incurring the deadliest guilt. One application of this belief is exceedingly useful. Whenever a field is sown or planted, the taboo is applied, and forms round it a fence more than the loftiest wall or hedge. This consecration, however, is most inconvenient to a stranger, who cannot take a walk into the fields without being liable, at one step, to find himself become a profane being, the object of universal horror. Our author had the utmost difficulty in obtaining forgiveness for having lighted his fire with a few tabooed chips from a neighbouring dockyard. "A poor hen of ours did not escape so well; she, poor thing, ventured to form a nest, and actually hatched a fine family of chickens amid these sacred shavings. Loud was the outcry, and great the horror she occasioned, when she marched forth cackling with her merry brood around her. She, and all her little ones, were instantly sacrificed."

JOE CRAMBOURNE AND HIS WIVES. (For the Olio.)

THE HANDSOMEST, PRETtiest, and

NEATEST WOMEN IN LIVERPOOL.

As soon as I mounted the coach for the North, I made up my mind for a joke by the droll appearance of another passenger who placed himself by my side. The coachman, the pleasantest fellow alive, was of my opinion. The horses galloped out of London in fine style. The roads were firm by the frost, but not slippery. The air was very keen; but, during the noon, really delightful to a traveller clothed without and within, in the best possible keeping. My companion's name and occupation were no secret, by his own confession. His tongue began to move, and he raised his voice to a strong pitch that all in his company should hear it beyond the roll of the wheels. "This is my arch way of riding," said he, as we passed Highgate. "My name is Joe Crambourne, and I am, by trade, a gen

tleman. My first wife was the handsomest woman in Liverpool. The bucks of the day, who had been for ever running after her, when she was single, acknowledged it.' Joe,' said they, is the happy man! He's got the Liverpool Beauty.' Poor creature! I lived many happy years with her; but she died without issue. I ventured to tie the marriage-knot a second time, by an union with the prettiest woman in Liverpool, as every body acknowledged my cara sposa to be. Fortune favored me, by her having three sons on the birth-days of three memorable poets: On Byron's, Moore's, and Campbell's. They are christened; the eldest, Joe Noel Byron Crambourne! The second, Tom Moore Crambourne ! and the youngest, Thomas Campbell Crambourne! These circumstances, gentlemen, are attested facts. But I sigh to confess the truth; I am now on my way to the same city, in search of a third wife! I have given my love and duty faithfully to the two wives I have followed to the grave; and I hope to find their place supplied by the neatest female in the city." Saying this, he pushed his chin into the shawl which surrounded his neck, as the coach stopped at Barnet; his thread of discourse was broken. In his person, Joe Crambourne was short and thickset. His face was ruddy, and his nose more so. The flesh of his face nearly hid his dark eyes, and the gout had made some progress in thickening his ancles. Good living stretched the holds of his waistcoat, and years threw him on the verge of fifty. Wit, however, sparkled in his looks, good-nature in his manners, and he possessed so large a fund of detail that it would carry him any where pleasantly, whether in search of a wife or a friend. Success to Joe Crambourne! A TRAVELLER.

DEATH OF CHARLES V.

THE manner of life followed by this great prince in his retirement was exceedingly simple. His chief exercises were those of devotion: he observed, as far as his infirmities would permit, the rule of the order (hermits of St. Jerome) with as much scrupulosity as if he had contracted the obligation by vow. For some months he relaxed from this severity by horticultural and mechanical recreations; but he never allowed them to interfere with more serious pursuits. Every morning he heard mass, and repeated a given number of pray

ers; every afternoon he listened to a sermon, or a homily of St. Augustine; every evening, vespers and complins. The interstices of his time were filled up by devout meditation, or by occasional converse with his domestics and the brotherhood, who were greatly edified by his religious zeal, and by his deep humility. Not only was all ceremonial banished, but he insisted on being accounted merely as one of the fraternity, declaring that he would rather serve than be served. He sang with so much sweetness and skill, that the monks are said frequently to have crept to the door of his cell to hear him more distinctly. That he had a scientific knowledge of the art, appeared from his instantly detecting a false note when raised by any brother in the choir. He had not much to distribute in private charity, as that duty was well performed by the monastery. In one instance, however, the manner was objectionable, and he solicited its disuse. The winter following his arrival, and most of the succeeding spring, was a season of famine. The peasantry flocked in great numbers to the gates; and when the porter of the monastery was unequal to the task of relieving the multitude, the monks joined him in the charitable office. Among the applicants were many women; some young and beautiful. Charles, who feared for the virtue of the fathers, loudly condemned the intercourse; and complained with such effect to the visiters-general of the order, that, in a chapter held for the occasion, it was decreed that no alms should thenceforth be disturbed at the gate, but that a certain quantity of corn should be given to each poor family by the alcaldes of the neighbouring towns and villages. At the same time he himself caused proclamation to be made, that whatever woman ventured nearer to the monastery than a chapel about two miles distant, should receive 100 stripes. Throughout life Charles had been a bigot, though policy had often made him smother the sentiment. Here, where no disguise was wanted, he appeared in all the deformity of the character. In his conversations with the prior and brotherhood, he observed that if any thing could draw him from his retreat, it would be the hope of pu nishing heretics; and that he had written to the inquisitors, exhorting them to pursue all with relentless severity, deliver all over to the flames, and to have mercy on none, not even if they should recant. He said that no

dependence could be placed on the man who had once apostatised, nor was the sincerity of the recantation to be believed. Nay, he expressed his regret that he had not executed Luther, even though, by so doing, he would have violated the safe-conduct he himself had granted, and brought everlasting infamy on his name. Heresy, he said, was a crime, not against human but the Divine Majesty; and that to connive at its escape, was treason to the Highest. Yet, notwithstanding these execrable sentiments, he was ignorant, even by his own confession, of the Protestant tenets of faith. When a deputation from the Duke of Saxony and other reformed princes had waited on him, requesting that the preachers of the new doctrine might dispute in his presence with the Roman Catholic divines, and that the decision of the victory should rest with himself-nay, when assured that, in return for such a permission, the Protestant princes would join him, with all their forces, against the King of France, he refused his consent, for fear, as he confessed, lest some heretical opinion should find entrance into his mind. He added, by way of triumph, that once, when other princes of the same faith humbly besought him not to believe them heretics unheard, but to afford them at least the means of vindicating themselves-when they proposed as a lure the junction of their arms against the Grand Turk, promising him even the reduction of Constantinople-he had turned his back on them, exclaiming, "God forbid that I should consent to such a condition with the view of my own advantage! All my ambition is to know Christ, and him crucified!" Such a mind was obstinately shut against all evidence, nor would the demonstrations of an apostle have removed the impediment. The relation is not honourable either to the justice or understanding of the emperor. In perusing the monastic life of the imperial penitent, it is difficult to believe that he preserved at all times his mental sanity. He used the discipline with such severity that he was often covered with gore; and he expressed his regret that, owing to his bodily infirmities, he could not incur the additional mortification of sleeping in his clothes. St. Francis de Brogia, who had exchanged a ducal coronet for the coarse mantle of the jesuits, and who visited him in his retirement, observed, with more justice than we should have expected from an enthu

siast, that he should comfort himself by reflecting how many nights he had passed under arms in the service of Christendom, and should thank God for having thereby done what would be more acceptable in the sight of heaven than could be performed by many monks in their cells. He spoke with more justice, and with a better insight into his state, when he observed that he looked back with the more sorrow on his past life, as the retrospect did not exhibit a single day that pleased him— not one sufficiently devoted to the glory of God. At length he drew towards the close of his career. From a feeling common enough in his cloister, he caused not only his own tomb to be constructed, but his coffin and shroud to be made, and assisted at his own obsequies. Shortly afterwards he was seized by a fever, then by a cold shivering. In vain was blood drawn from him; his disorder rapidly increased, and he rapidly grew weaker. All hope of recovery being abandoned, he confessed daily, and at length caused the extreme unction to be administered to him by the prior, just as was practised with the monks, some of whom were by his couch, joining him in repeating the penitential psalms. The following morning he again asked for the communion; and on the representation of his confessor that the repetition so soon was unnecessary, he persisted, observing that he had need of every preparation for so long a journey. When the sacred rite was administered, he exclaimed with pathos, "In me manes, ego in Te maneam!" Towards evening he grew worse; after midnight, perceiving that all around him were wrapt in melancholy silence, he said, "My hour is come! give me that taper and crucifix!" Though, a few hours preceding, four of his domestics had not been able without difficulty to turn him in bed, he now, we are told, changed from one side to the other with as much facility as if nothing ailed him. He took the lamp with one hand, the crucifix with the other; and after gazing for some time on the holy symbol of salvation, he exclaimed, in a voice loud enough to be heard n the neighbouring cells, "Jesus!" and at the same moment surrendered his soul to God.

Cab. Cyclop. Vol. 38.

MISERY OF LIVING TOO LONG.

AT a wretched village in the Electorate of Hesse, the author of the "Low Countries" found a poor old American lady, whose history, simple as it is contains a complication of woe hardly to be paralleled. It is simply and touchingly described; and may afford a lesson to those who cannot find patience to bear the ordinary ills of life:

"I have been here only a few days, and never was I more heartily sick of any place in my existence. What must it be for an utter stranger to be banished to such a place for a life-time! yet one such case there actually is, lingering in hopeless poverty, at the wretchen Wabern-an American lady, doomed by a most wayward succession of ill luck, to breathe on through days and months and years of this "living death," with hardly means to supply the most inexorable of the demands of nature. She was married to a German officer in the commissariat during the first American war, who died without leaving a farthing. The poor widow now wholly depends for escaping the wretchedness of high-way beggary on the gratuity of a few dollars a year, ill paid from the bounty of the elector, a sum hardly sufficient even in this cheap country to cover her "looped and widowed raggedness," and keep her in potatoes. To her other heavy griefs this poor lost gentlewoman adds the miseries of age far advanced, and of more rapidly advancing infirmities. Yet are these ills as nothing, she says, in comparison of the desolation she suffers, without having one friend to whom she can unburden her sorrows. She has daughters living in the village; but they are strangers equally to her heart and to herself," having, at a very early age, married labourers and stonebreakers, and become embruted by their society into a state of utter indifference to their mother's feelings, which they cannot understand; and one crumb have they not to spare from their hard earnings towards her support. Become familiar with scenes of distress in a place where poverty is only kept at bay by the dint of hard labour, so far as appearances are concerned, they see little in their mother's lot varying from that of other paupers with whom they are familiar. parent's keen pang of remembered days, they, of course, know nothing about, so that they can feel no sympathy, and

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offer no consolation. On the contrary, the wretched hoydens are perpetually before her eyes only as monuments of her misfortunes, adding gall to a cup of bitterness which already overflows. Perhaps it is impossible for simple misfortune, unaggravated by guilt, to go much farther. The poor gentlewoman's story is but too well authenticated; and were it not so, her withered worn look of despair, and the ingenuous manner and way of telling her simple narrative, were, God knows, evidence enough to rebuke the doubts of the most heartless suspicion. One may easily discern, through the veil which her years and sufferings have spread over her features that she has been handsome in her day. She still retains the air of a gentlewoman; and now and then, as she talked of her country, would grow cheerful. The recollection of her early years seemed to light up her intelligent features for a moment like the flitting gleam of a winter sky. It was but for a moment. The ordinary cast of her features was in harmony with her feel. ing of deep settled sadness, yet blending rather with resignation than despair. It is a great struggle to wear out the dress of life in this way.

CURIOUS ANCIENT STATUTES. For the Olio.

Ale. If any ale-house keeper shall sell less than a full quart of ale for a penny, or of the small ale two quarts for one penny, he shall forfeit for every such offence the sum of twenty shillings.-1st James I. chap. 9.

Fairs. The King commandeth that from henceforth neither fairs nor markets be kept in church-yards, for the honour of the Church.-13th Edward I. stat. 2, chap. 6.

Woollen Caps.-All persons above the age of seven years shall wear upon Sabbath and Holydays, upon their heads, a cap of wool, knit, thicked, and dressed in England, upon pain to forfeit, for every day not wearing, three shillings and fourpence. - 13th Elizabeth, chap. 19.

Fast Days. Whosoever shall, by preaching teaching, writing, or open speech, notify that eating fish, or forbearing of flesh, is of any necessity for saving the soul of man, shall be punished, as spreaders of false news are and ought to be.-5th Elizabeth, chap. 5. sect. 40.

Pins. No person shall put to sale any pins, but only such as shall be