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adapted for the purpose, or elsewhere, as agreed
Now, we ask-is not this diabolical? Marriage, which ought to be the most sacred of all engagements, is here used as a mere peg for an advertisement. The word "marriage," we conceive, is but a colorable evasion of something far too shocking to contemplate. People thus "introduced" would very rarely, we imagine, take refuge in matrimony. We should rather expect to see them falling from the top of the monument, or to hear of a shocking catastrophe having taken place on Waterloo Bridge!
Oh, what an age of wickedness is this!
THOUGHTS ON THE SKY.
IT IS A strange thing how little, in general, people know about the sky! It is the part
of creation in which Nature has done more for the sake of pleasing man-more for the sole and evident purpose of talking to him, and teaching him, than in any other of her works; and it is just the part in which we
least attend to her.
The noblest scenes of the earth can be seen and known but by few. It is not intended that man should live always in the midst of them. He injures them by his presence-he ceases to feel them if he be always with them. But the sky is for all; bright as it is, it is not" too bright nor good for human nature's daily food." It is fitted in all its functions for the perpetual comfort and exalting of the heart, for the soothing it and purifying it from dross and dust. Sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, somtimes awful: never the same for two moments together; almost human in its passions, almost spiritual in its tenderness, almost divine in its infinity. Its appeal to what is immortal in us, is as distinct as its ministry of chastisement or of blessing to what is mortal is essential. And yet we never attend to it-we never make it a subject of thought, but as it has to do with our animal sensations!
We look upon all by which the sky speaks to us, more clearly than to brutes-upon all which bears witness to the invention of the Supreme-that we are to receive more from the covering vault than the light and the dew that we share with the weed and the worm. There exists nothing,of meaningless and monotonous accident; too common and too vain to be worthy of a moment of watchfulness or a glance of admiration. If in our moments of utter idleness and insipidity we turn to the sky as a last resource, which of its phenomena do we speak of? One says it has been wet; another it has been windy; and another it has been warm. Who among the whole clattering crowd
can tell us, of the forms and the precipices of the chain of tall white mountains that gilded the horizon at noon yesterday? Who saw the narrow sunbeam that came out of the south, and smote upon their summits until they melted and mouldered away in a dust of blue rain? Who saw the dance of the dead clouds, when the sunlight left them last night, and the west wind blew them before it like withered leaves? All has passed unregretted or unseen; or, if the apathy be ever shaken off, even for an instant, it is only by what is extraordinary.
And yet it is not in the broad and fierce manifestation of the elemental energies-not in the clash of the hail, nor the drift of the whirlwind-that the highest characters of the sublime are developed. God is not always so eloquent in the earthquake, nor in the fire, as in "the still, small voice."
They are but the blunt and the low facul
ties of our nature, says John Ruskin, which can only be addressed through lamp-black and lightning. It is in quiet and subdued passages of unobtrusive majesty, the deep, and the calm, and the perpetual-that which must be sought ere it is seen, and loved ere it is understood things which the angels work out for us daily, and yet vary eternally, which are never wanting and never repeated, which are to be found always, yet each found It is through these that the lesson of devotion is chiefly taught, and the blessing of beauty given.
An Editorial Serret.
A secret in the Public's mouth,
VERY CURIOUS IS OUR POSITION JUST NOW, and very curious are some of the letters and communications that find their way into our "Editor's letter-box."
We are daily puzzled, perplexed-confounded, by some of the questions put to us. Our correspondents, masculine and feminine, multiply exceedingly. Gladly would we remain neuter, as regards certain questions; but finding no rest given us until we have answered them, we reluctantly comply with the wishes of the writers. We are expected to know everything, and to furnish advice gratis!
Under such circumstances, no wonder is it that we are obliged to preserve the strictest incognito; and to shroud ourself closer than ever in the "mysterious cloak," so often referred to. This said cloak has stood us in good stead-rendering us perfectly invisible. Hundreds have tried to waylay us, but we have readily slipped through their fingers; and hundreds have "called" to see
us, and slunk away disappointed. Our name is secret, our person impalpable to the touch, our ensemble invisible to the sharpest eye. We flit into our sanctum noiselessly, and dissolve into thin air when we make our exit to the busy world. We see and hear every thing, yet are we seen and heard by none. We repeat this, to satisfy all who are so annoyingly "curious." They never have seen us-never will see us. Why, therefore, do they sacrifice so much valuable time? If we reply to all questions asked-what would they more?
There is only one way of getting access to our royal person; and that is, by the chord of sympathy and cordiality which genially binds us and our choicest readers so closely together. That is the key which unlocks our heart. We will visit all over the world, most gladly; only let the masonic signal of brotherly and sisterly love reach us. The open sesame" that we require, is simple; but it is eloquent. We seek no honor, want no homage-but wherever we go, we must feel at home." These remarks will be extensively understood. They are called for, or would not have been offered. OUR JOURNAL is a printed record of what we are. What we therein profess, that do we practise. Singular are we-very!
We may introduce here, very consistently, the result of a note addressed to us by one of our kind readers. The object of his communication was, to set us right upon the subject of a remark we made at page 258-about "Character-reading." We ridiculed the idea of any one being able to define character simply by the handwriting, and called all such professors "jugglers."
Our unknown friend says:
are wielded with an impetus commanding attention wherever exhibited, his natural feeling of humility asserts her prerogative; allowing no appearance of pride to divide the laurels, or share the honorable position it is his destiny to fill. mortalium omnibus horis sapit), so no character But as no one is correct at all hours (Nemo can be "perfect." Imperfections must and will make inroads, to act as antagonistics. These may be wisely designed to show, by contrast, the spotless beauty of virtue and the hideous deformity of vice. Ambition, therefore, the graphiologist would deem to be "the" failing; but the poisoned barb is mollified by Benevolence.
Wealth may be desired and sought after; but no mercenary motive will be instrumental in its accumulation.
The desire for domestic happiness and comfort, in "Ignotus" reigns paramount; nor would he rather a personal pecuniary deprivation; for, like allow any invasion upon his recreation-suffering Esop's bow, when
"Once relax'd, "Twill bear a tighter string."
Such is a literal transcript of " Our Editor's" character.* The power of divination in the graphiologist, He gives it as he received it. is left for the decision of the public.
ideas that some people form of our identity and It is not a little amusing to note the very odd find on our table letters addressed to us as a qualifications. On reaching home, we frequently "reverend," a "doctor," a "professor," &c., &c. Our worthy postman is bewildered-fairly puzzled, by our famous titles," each day adding to the variety. A question was recently raised in a public carriage, travelling through Hammersmith to London-as to who we really were. A strange gentleman (very strange!) took upon himself to answer the question. He said he knew us wellvery well; and that we were-a Quaker! He described us as of "a stern presence, but of uncompromising principles; austere in manner, but of a kind heart, hard features, a rotund_person, and a peculiarly-plain cut.' We nev-er! Perhaps, however, it is well to be thus "figured." It will protect our royal person. "Our Editor" of a stern presence and hard features! rotund, austere-and a Quaker too! Let us remark that, if not provokingly handsome, he is not so alarmingly ugly. He is "sensitive" on this point!-ED. K. J.
WHY dost thou wound and break my heart,
THE HUMAN STOMACH.
An infant, everybody knows, is flooded in milk whenever it begins to pipe. This uni
NATURE'S with "little" pleased. "Enough's" a feast; versal remedy, we find, the infant stomach
A sober life but a small charge desires.
considers unwise. But the noisy teat-ling
UR "CODES OF HEALTH," AND OUR RULES FOR LIVING," have, we find, immortalised us all over the civilised world. Even those who at first differed from us have gradually veered round, and now confess we are right. This is well. We love to see people enjoy themselves; nay, more-we like to join in their enjoyment, "provided of liquor into the bargain, to be obtained at the always" Moderation takes the head of the public-house. The worst of it was, I had no re table, and Discretion sits as Vice-President. dress, but I took care to let everybody participate Then can we be jolly as anybody. Our in my disgust, by inciting my neighboring arms animal spirits are positively boundless. This and legs to kicks and contortions; and to the small by the way. voice which dwelt upstairs, I suggested such shrill cries as made every person in the house detest the little body of which I was the centre.
The sweet almondy taste of the delicious food my poor mother gave me, says the Stomach,-. was changed to a sort of London milk, slightly impregnated with Geneva. The tricks this woman played were frightful. The doctors told her to drink porter; and so she did, and every other sort
The human Stomach is a curiosity. Born with certain powers, it exercises them always for the benefit of its owner; but when overtasked, it turns restiff, and very properly throws off its load. A good thing is it that it can throw it off! Our aldermen must think so sometimes, for their motto is,
Oh! that my stomach were a cable long, and every inch a palate!
We have just received a very useful and a very clever little work, called " Memoirs of a Stomach;" and the preceding remarks have been made by way of introducing its author, who is just the sort of person to write such book-being "A Minister of the Interior." We have a great regard for this said minister, and most cordially recommend the cultivation of his acquaintance by all who are in the habit of eating and drinking. He peeps into the stomach of a babe, deluged with pap; and tells us, in vivid language, all the narrow escapes from destruction we every one of us have experienced, from the pap-boat upwards. This is done sagaciously and pleasantly; indeed we never met with a more waggish "Minister of the Home-department." Soft as pap is, he hits us hard with it!
But as everybody will read this book, we shall merely offer a few random extracts. What is a Stomach? Listen to its own
My personal appearance, I must acknowledge, is not prepossessing, as I resemble a Scotch bagpipe in form, the pipe part being the oesophagus or gullet, and the bag myself. I often wish there were more stops," especially when I am played upon by gluttony; and perhaps there would have been, could I give vent to noises similar to those of the Caledonian instrument, whose strains are so terrible that the brave Highlanders are said to rush into battle to escape them.
If every Stomach could speak, would it not be loud in abuse of its owner! We think so.
This accounts for so many ugly babies,— said to be "choked with wind!" But now for step further. We are peeping into a cup of bread-sop-a most curious-looking, unlikely article, for keeping a child's stomach in order :
I believe my innocent attendants imagined they were giving me ground corn. Corn, indeed! Why, when I came to test it by the aid of my powerful machine of analysis-a machine so strong I could dissolve a marble, and tell you its component parts
when, I say, I came to test it by a strong acid, found that there was not more than twenty per being made of a common sort of starch, alum, cent. of flour in the whole composition, the remainder Paris. In a penny bun lately analysed, were found ground bones, potato flour, and often plaster of three grains of alum and ten of chalk, and in others plaster of Paris.
the Stomach in all its accurate delineations of We cannot, nor is it needful for us to follow what is going on hourly in the whole human race. We can only wonder that the "Bills of Mortality" are so comparatively light, considering the pains taken to produce sudden has a stomach. The "Minister of the Intedeath, or lingering illness, by every one who rior" is justly hard upon tobacco, and the fumes of smoke; which no doubt do send tens of thousands yearly to their long home. We have written against the use of it, till we are weary, also, against its twin brother, ardent spirit. The Stomach says, that tobacco is
endured that which could not be cured; and My advice to every lover is-take care of your though ultimately cigars and pipes subscribed stomach; for his influence is greater than you their share with other evils in injuring the system imagine. I feel perfectly persuaded, that more lovematches have been broken off owing to this very respectable organ than to any other cause. It is all very well to term the reasons for remaining single-prudence; and the necessity of providing that sort of thing. But the truth is, a derangement means to keep your carriage and servants, and all
and drying up the juices of the body, still I shared the ill with my adjacent brotherhood; and personally I received the injury and insult with the dignity
of a Stomach conscious of his own rectitude.
At this season, of course, we all venture abroad for a little sweet air,-either on board of the digestive powers makes both men and a river steam-boat or in some place of public women petulant, over sensitive, sceptical, and fasresort. We cannot find it! The air is every-tidious; and it engenders a host of other ill qualities, where fouled by city clerks and beardless erroneously thought to emanate from the brain or shopboys nor can we escape the fumes of liver. The ancients were wrong, when they atdried cabbage leaves, turn which way we tributed to this last organ the seat of the affections; and the moderns are equally so in debiting love to the account of the heart. The stomach is the real source of that sublime passion, and I swell with pride and inward satisfaction when I make the
One half, at least, of the animals whose ugly mouths are distorted by the projection of those (facetiously called)" cigars," show symptoms of sickness. Their pale visages tell us, as plainly as possible, that their punishment is extreme. They puff and puff away, till their gooseberry eyes lose what little expression was in them when they first came out, and we find them fast asleep. The Stomach tells us a nice tale about these and all other smokers. Faugh! What a set of filthy wretches men are, when they go out for a summer holiday! Well may they hate birds, trees, flowers, and the infinite variety of nature's beautiful productions; when gorging, smoking, and drinking, are by them considered the grand end of life!
Speaking of the digestion of men and animals, the "Minister of the Interior" remarks,
A cow's stomach digests, in its own peculiar way, admirably for the necessities of a cow. A gizzard does the duty of mastication for the bird tribe. A boa constrictor's slow working apparatus is excellently well adapted for that gentle animal ; and the inside of many insects is as complicated as their life is varied, and is nicely calculated to serve them on earth, air, or water. Now, the stomach of a human being is equally congenial to man's nature, and the higher his intellectual faculties, the more sensitive and delicate is his inside. In organic structure, it is, of course, the same in all men; and a Hottentot's digestive organs, and those of Sir Isaac Newton, would present identical conformations but the sympathy of the nervous energies marks the subtle difference. Thence I again affirm that the moral acts upon the physical, and vice versa, by the most delicate sympathy and wonderful
We wish all our readers to "digest" well these very sensible and important observations. We do all of us offend so much
against our best friend, that we require con
The Stomach is very candid. He avows that he himself fell in love; and adds:—
fession; but let me tell you a stomach has a heart, I beg that I may not be laughed at for this conand a very tender one too. The worst part of the affair was that, like the great potentates of the earth, I was obliged to promise my affections to an object I had never seen. It is true Mr. Brain gave me an inkling of her likeness; but the reader will see at once, from the nature of my position, that I was not capable of visional contemplation. Upon this point, indeed, I was so much interested, that longed to knock away the plaster between the ribs, and get a glance at the lady; but as such a proceeding would have been unjust to others, I sat like Pyramis behind a wall, without even a chink through which to look at Thisbe. I soon discovered
that the damsel who was the cause of this internal commotion (for there was not a portion of the whole body but which was influenced in some way or other) was nothing better than a hosier's daughter, living near the university.
But we have now given a very fair insight into the nature and object of this work, which every stomach ought to purchase for its own individual benefit. We did purpose extracting the Minister's permission as to what, and how much, might be partaken of at dinner-time. But this would occupy more space than we
We offer no excuse for having made this introduction between the public and our Minister of the Interior.
At a season when every one is bent upon enjoying themselves, we do not venture upon any "heavy" subject; and therefore have confined ourself to that which is useful, profitable, and undeniably interesting.
Woe be to him who despises our friendly warning!
The Stomach tells us many other curious things; and among others, cautions lovers in « WHAT thing is Love, which nought can counterparticular to take care how they offend. His advice is good, and it is worth recording. Hearken, young people; aye, and old people too!-
Nought save "itself."-ev'n such a thing is Love!
MARVELS OF THE CREATION.
THE MARINER Who first crossed the central Atlantic in search of a new world, was astonished when, on the 19th of September, 1492, he found himself in the midst of that great bank of sea-weed-the sea-weed meadow of Oviedo-the Sargasso Sea which, with a varying breadth of 100 to 300 miles, stretches over twenty-five degrees of latitude, covering 260,000 square miles of surface, like a huge floating garden, in which countless myriads of minute animals find food and shelter. Now, it is the eddy of the numerous sea rivers which collect in one spot, and the cold water of the Northern Atlantic mixing with the warm streams of the western and southern currents, which produce the temperature most fitted to promote this amazing development of vegetable and animal life. What becomes of the dead remains of this vast marine growth? Do they decompose as fast as they are produced? or do they accumulate into deposits of peculiar coal, destined to reward the researches of future geologists and engineers when the Atlantic of our day has become the habitable land of an after-time?
In the chart of the Pacific Ocean, we are presented with another remarkable instance of the influence of sea rivers on vegetation. From the shores of South Victoria, on the Antarctic continent, a stream'of cold water, 60 degrees in width (our readers will re collect that in high latitudes the degrees of longitude are very narrow), drifts slowly along in a north-east and easterly direction across the Southern Pacific, till it impinges upon the South American coast to the south of Valparaiso. There it divides into two arms; one of which stretches south and east, doubles Cape Horn, and penetrates into the south-western Atlantic; the other flows first north-east, and then north-west, along the shores of Chili and Peru,carrying colder waters into the warm sea, and producing a colder air along the low plains which stretch from the shores of the Pacific to the base of the Andes. This current, discovered by Humboldt and called after his name, lowers the temperature of the air about twelve degrees; while that of the water itself is sometimes as much as twenty-four degrees colder than that of the still waters of the ocean through which it runs.
The cold air seriously affects the vegetation along the whole of this coast; at the same time that the cold stream raises fogs and mists, which not only conceal the shores and perplex the navigator, but extend inland also, and materially modify the climate. The beautiful and beneficent character of this modifying influence becomes not only apparent, but most impressive, when we consider, as the rain
map of the world shows us, that on the coast of Peru no rain ever falls; and that, like the desert Sahara, it ought therefore to be condemned to perpetual barrenness. But in consequence of the cold stream thus running along its borders," the atmosphere loses its transparency, and the sun is obscured for months together.
"The vapors at Lima are often so thick, that the sun seen through them with the naked eye assumes the appearance of the moon's disc. They commence in the morning, and extend over the plains in the form of refreshing fogs, which disappear soon after mid-day; and are followed by heavy dews, which are precipitated during the night." The morning mists and the evening dews thus supply the place of the absent rains; and the verdure which covers the plains is the offspring of a sea river. What a charming myth would the ancient poets have made out of this striking compensation!
'TIS SWEET,-'TIS SAD!
'Tis sweet to mark the violet blow,
"Tis joy to mark the tiny face
"Tis joy to mark the love we store,
"Tis sad to mark the leafy fringe
And sad to gather round the bed
But sadder yet to feel the love