Spirit of the Annuals.

THE JUVENILE FORGET-ME-NOT,

Edited by Mrs. S. C. Hall,

Is, as heretofore, a very delightful and instructive little volume, with 10 embellishments of sufficient merit for any adult annual. The little purchasers, or rather, receivers, may again meet in its pages such clever contributors to their entertainment and improvement as the ingenious editor, Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Carmichael, Mrs. Hofland, Miss Pardoe, Mary Howitt, the Rev. R. Walsh, Rev. C. Williams, and F. G. Elliott. Dr. Walsh's paper is a neat dialogue upon Choke-damp and Fire-damp; Mrs. Carmichael's contribution is A Visit to the Botanical Garden of St. Vincent, with facts new to juvenile readers. Both those are extractable papers for the "larger growth;" but we pass on to a few selections from a lively sketch by Miss Leslie, of Philadelphia, which has been transplanted hither from an American work.

me,

Country Lodgings in America.

It has often been a subject of surprise to that so many, even of those highly-gifted people who are fortunate enough to possess both sorts of sense (common and uncommon), show, nevertheless, on some occasions, a strange disinclination to be guided by the self-evident truth, that in all cases where the evil preponderates over the good, it is better to reject the whole than to endure a large portion of certain evil for the sake of a little sprinkling of probable good. I can think of nothing, just now, that will more aptly illustrate my position than the practice, so prevalent in the summer months, of quitting a commodious and comfortable home, in this most beautiful and convenient of cities, for the purpose of what is called boarding out of town; and wilfully encountering an assemblage of almost all "the ills that flesh is heir to," in the vain hope of finding superior coolness in those establishments that go under the denomination of country lodgings, and are sometimes to be met with in insulated locations, but generally in the unpaved and dusty streets of the villages and hamlets that are scattered about the vicinity of Philadelphia.

These places are adopted as substitutes for the springs or the sea-shore; and it is also not unusual for persons who have already accomplished the fashionable tour, to think it expedient to board out of town for the remainder of the summer, or till they are frightened home by the autumnal epidemics. The last time I was induced to make a trial of the delights of country lodgings, I had been told of a very genteel lady (the widow of an Englishman, said to have been highly connected in his own county), who

had taken a charming house at a short distance from the city, with the intention of accommodating boarders for the summer; and I finally allowed myself to be prevailed on to become an inmate of her establishment, as I had just returned from the north, and found the weather still very warm.

Two of my friends, a lady and gentleman, accompanied me when I went to engage my apartment. The ride was a very short one, and we soon arrived at a white frame house, with green window-shutters, and also a green gate, which opened into a little front garden with one gravel walk, two grass-plats, and four Lombardy poplar trees, which, though excluded in the city, still keep their ground in out-of-town places.

There was no knocker, but after hammering and shaking the door for nearly five minutes, it was at last opened by a bare-footed bound-girl, who hid herself behind it as if ashamed to be seen. She wore a ragged light calico frock, through the slits of which appeared at intervals a black stuff petticoat; the body was only kept together with pins, and partly concealed by a dirty cape of coarse white muslin; one lock of her long yellow hair was stuck up by the wreck of a horn comb, and the remaining tresses hung about her shoulders. When we inquired if Mrs. Netherby was at home, the girl scratched her head, and stared as if stupified by the question; and on its being repeated, she replied that "she would go and look," and then left us standing at the door. A black servant would have opened the parlour, ushered us in, and, with smiles and courtesies, requested us to be seated. However, we took the liberty of entering without invitation, and the room being perfectly dark, we also used the freedom of opening the shutters.

The floor was covered with a mat which fitted no where, and showed evidence of long service. Whatever air might have been introduced through the fire-place, was effectually excluded by a thick chimney-board, covered with a square of wall-paper, representing King George IV. visiting his cameleopard. I afterwards found that Mrs. Netherby was very proud of her husband's English origin. The mantel-piece was higher than our heads, and therefore the mirror that adorned it was too elevated to be of any use. This lofty shelf was also decorated with two paste-board baskets, edged with gilt paper, and painted with bunches of calico-looking flowers; two fire-screens ditto, and two cardracks in the shape of harps, with loose and crooked strings of gold thread. In the centre of the room stood an old-fashioned round teatable, the feet black with age, and the top covered with one of those coarse unbleached cloths of figured linen, that always look like dirty white. The curiosities of the centretable consisted of a tumbler of marigolds; a

dead souvenir, which had been a living one in 1826; a scrap work-box, stuck all over with figures of men, women, and children, which had been most wickedly cut out of engravings, and deprived of their back-grounds for this purpose; an album, with wishywashy drawings and sickening verses; a china writing-apparatus, destitute alike of ink, sand, and wafers; and a card of the British consul, which I afterwards learned had once been left by him for Mr. Netherby. The walls were ornamented with enormous heads, drawn in black crayon, and hung up in narrow gilt frames, with bows of faded gauze riband. One head was inscribed Innocence, and had a crooked mouth; a second was Beneficence, with a crooked nose; a third was Contemplation, with a prodigious swelling on one of her cheeks; and the fourth was Veneration, turning up two eyes of unequal size. The flesh of one of these heads looked like china, and another like satin; the third had the effect of velvet, and the fourth resembled plush.

All these things savoured of much unfounded pretension; but we did not then know that they were chiefly the work of Mrs. Netherby herself, who, as we learned in the sequel, had been blessed with a boardingschool education, and was, according to her own opinion, a person of great taste and high polish.

It was a long time before the lady made her appearance, as we had arrived in the midst of the siesta, in which it was the custom of every member of the establishment (servants included) to indulge themselves during the greatest part of the afternoon, with the exception of the bound-girl, who was left up to "mind the house." Mrs. Netherby was a tall, thin, sharp-faced woman, with an immense cap, that stood out all round and encircled her head like a halo, and was embellished with an enormous quantity of yellowish gauze riband, that seemed to incorporate with her huge yellow curls-fair hair being much affected by ladies who have survived all other fairness. She received us with abundance of smiles and a profusion of flat compliments, uttered in a voice of affected softness; and on making known my business, I was conducted up stairs to see a room, which, she said, would suit me exactly.

It was small, but looked tolerably well; and though I was not much prepossessed in favour of either the house or the lady, I was unwilling that my friends should think me too fastidious, and it was soon arranged that I should take possession the following day. Next afternoon I arrived at my new quarand tea being ready soon after, I was introduced to the other boarders as they came down from their respective apartments. The table was set in a place dignified with the title of "the dining-room," but which was,

ters;

in reality, a sort of ante-kitchen, and located between the acknowledged kitchen and the parlour. It still retained vestiges of a dresser, part of which was entire, in the shape of the broad lower shelf and the under closets. This was painted red, and Mrs. Netherby called it the side-board. The room was narrow, the ceiling was low, the sunbeams had shone full upon the windows the whole afternoon, and the heat was extreme. A black man waited on the tea-table, with his coat out at elbows, and a marvellous dirty apron, not thinking it worth his while to wear good clothes in the country. And while he was tolerably attentive to every one else, he made a point of disregarding or disobeying every order given to him by Mrs. Netherby, knowing that, for so trifling a cause as disrespect to herself, she would not dare to dismiss him at the risk of getting no one in his place,-it being always understood, that servants confer a great favour on their employers when they condescend to go with them into the country. Behind Mrs. Netherby's chair stood the long-haired boundgirl (called Anna by her mistress, and Nance by Bingham, the black waiter), waving a green poplar branch by way of fly-brush, and awkwardly flirting it in every one's face.

The aspect of the tea-table was not inviting. Every thing was in the smallest possible quantity that decency would allow. There was a plate of rye-bread, and a plate of wheat, and a basket of crackers; another plate with half a dozen paltry cakes, that looked as if they had been bought under the old Court House; some morsels of dried beef on two little tea-cup plates, and a small glass dish of that preparation of curds which, in vulgar language, is called smear-case, but whose nom de guerre is cottage-cheese-at least, that was the appellation given it by our hostess. The tea was so weak that it was difficult to discover whether it was black or green; but finding it undrinkable, I requested a

glass of milk; and when Bingham brought me one, Mrs. Netherby said, with a smile, "See what it is to live in the country!"

The company consisted of a lady with three very bad children; another with a very insipid daughter, about eighteen or twenty, who, like her mother, seemed utterly incapable of conversation; and a fat Mrs. Pownsey, who talked an infinite deal of nothing, and soon took occasion to let me know that she had a very handsome house in the city. The gentlemen belonging to these ladies never came out till after tea, and returned to town early in the morning.

Towards sunset, I proposed taking a walk with the young lady, but she declined on account of the dew; and we returned to the parlour, where there was no light during the whole evening, as Mrs. Netherby declared that she thought nothing was more pleasant than to sit in a dark room in the summer.

And when we caught a momentary glimpse from the candles that were carried past the door as the people went up and down stairs, we had the pleasure of finding that innumerable cock-roaches were running over the floor, and probably over our feet-these detestable insects having also a fancy for dark

ness.

[Next is an amusing picture of American education.]

The gentlemen talked altogether of trade and bank business. Some neighbours came in, and nearly fell over us in the dark. Finding the parlour (which had but one door) most insupportably warm, I took my seat in the entry-a narrow passage, which Mrs. Netherby called the hall. Thither I was followed by Mrs. Pownsey, a lady of the Malaprop school, who had been talking to me all the evening of her daughters, Mary Margaret and Sarah Susan, they being now on a visit to an aunt in Connecticut. These young ladies had been educated, as their mother informed me, entirely by herself, on a plan of her own, and, as she assured me, with complete success; for Sarah Susan, the youngest, though only ten years old, was already regarded as quite a phinnominy (phenomenon), and as to Mary Margaret, she was an absolute prodigal.

"I teach them every thing myself," said she, "except their French, and music, and drawing, in all which they take lessons from the first masters. And Mr. Bullhead, an English gentleman, comes twice a week to attend to their reading, and writing, and arithmetic, and the grammar of geography. They never have a moment to themselves, but are kept busy from morning till night. You know that idleness is the root of all evil."

"It is certainly the root of much evil," I replied; "but you know the old adage, which will apply equally well to both sexes, 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.'

"Oh! they often play," resumed Mrs. Pownsey. "In the evening, after they have learned their lessons, they have games of history, and botany, and mathematics, and all such instructive diversions. I allow them no other plays. Their minds are certainly well stored with all the arts and sciences."

"But, Mrs. Pownsey," said I, "do you never permit your daughters to read for amusement ?"

at the children reading that book, and says it is filled with crimes and horrors. But so is all the ancient history that ever I heard of; and of course it is proper that little girls should know these things. They will get a great deal more benefit from Rowland than from reading Miss Edgeworth's story-books, that sister Watson is always recommending." "Have they ever read the history of their own country?" said I.

"I suppose you mean the History of America," replied Mrs. Pownsey. "Oh! that is of no consequence at all; and Mr. Bullhead says it is never read in England."

[Some of this may be rather Trollop-ish, but the reader must recollect it is by an American authoress, and of native fidelity. Here are two pretty poetical breathings of natural history for young minds.]

TO THE BRAMBLE.-BY THE AUTHOR OF
CORN-LAW RHYMES.

THY fruit full well the school-boy knows,
Wild bramble of the brake!
So put thou forth thy small white rose-
I love it for his sake.

Though woodbines flaunt, and roses blow,
O'er all the fragrant bowers,
Thou need'st not be ashamed to show
Thy satin-threaded flowers.

For dull the eye, the heart is dull
That cannot feel how fair,
Amid all beauty beautiful,

Thy tender blossoms are.
How delicate thy gauzy frill!

How rich thy budded stem!
How soft thy voice, when woods are still,
And thou sing'st hymns to them.
While silent showers are falling slow,

And whispering through the bush,
A sweet air lifts the little bough,
Amid the general hush!

The violet near the moss'd grey stone
Hath laid her weary head;
The primrose to the grave is gone;

The hawthorn-flower is dead;
But thou, wild bramble, back dost bring,
In all their beauteous power,
The fresh, green days of life's fair spring,
And boyhood's blossomy hour.
Again thou bidst me a boy,

More fain than bird or bee
To gad, in freedom and in joy,
O'er bank and brae with thee.

THE NAUTILUS.-BY MARY HOWITT. LIKE an ocean-breeze afloat, In a little pearly boatPearl within and round about, And a silken streamer out, Over the sea, over the sea, Merrily, merrily, saileth he! Not for battle, not for pelf, But to pleasure his own self, Sails he on for many a league, Nor knoweth hunger nor fatigue; Past many a rock, past many a shore. Nor shifts a sail nor lifts an oar: Oh! the joy of sailing thusLike a brave old Nautilus !

Much he knows the northern whaler,

More the Great Pacific sailor;
And Phoenicians, old and grey,

In old times knew more than they;

But, oh! daring voyager small,
More thou knowest than they all!
Thou didst laugh at sun and breeze
On the new-created seas:

Thou wast with the dragon broods
In the old sea solitudes,
Sailing in the new-made light
With the curled-up Ammonite!
Thou survived the awful shock
That turned the ocean-bed to rock,
And changed its myriad living swarms
To the marble's veined forms-
Fossil-scrolls that tell of change.
Thou wast there!-thy little boat
Airy voyager, kept afloat
O'er the waters wild and dismal,
O'er the yawning gulfs abysmal;
Amid wreck and overturning-
Rock-imbedding, heaving, burning!
Mid the tumult and the stir,
Thou, most ancient mariner,
In that pearly boat of thine,
Sat'st upon the troubled brine!
Then thou saw the settling ocean
Calming from its dark commotion;
And, less mighty than the first,
Forth a new creation burst -
Saw each crested billow rife

With ten thousand forms of life;
Saw the budding sea weed grow
In the tranquil deeps below,
And within the ocean-mines
Hourly-branching corallines.

Thou didst know the sea, ere man
His first voyage had began-
All the world hadst sailed about
Ere America was found out-
Ere Ulysses and his men
Came to Ithaca again;

Thou wast sailing o'er the sea,
Brave old voyager, merrily,
While within the forest grew
The tree that was the first canoe.
Daring circumnavigator,

Would thou wert thine own narrator!

Keeper's house; few, however, are aware of its real magnitude. The trunk is hollow, and there is sufficient room within it for a table, round which twelve persons may sit. At three feet from the ground it measures thirty-one feet in girth. The circumference of the interior is twenty-two feet. The doorway was originally a cleft, which is now five feet five inches high, and upwards of two feet broad. The present height of the trunk is about forty feet, and its age is unknown. The old tree has been more than once honoured with the presence of royalty, and is now used as a place of temporary confinement for juvenile depredations in the chestnut season.-Greenwich Guardian, No. 1.

Affection believes not in death, until it be present in the house.-L. E. L.

A Falconer.-A little girl reading in English history that the imposter, Lambert Simnel, having first been made a scullion in Henry VII.'s kitchen, “was afterwards advanced to the dignity of falconer," inquired of a sister a little older than herself, what was a falconer. Why, you ninny!" answered the sagacious child, who had caught the word "kitchen " a little while before, "what should he be, but a person who takes care of the forks!"

A few days since, in the sale of Mr. Heber's library, was J. Crouch's "Muses' Tears for the death of Henry, Duke of Gloucester," 1660.

Mathematical Demonstration.-The late eccentric mathematician, Professor Vince, of King's College, Cambridge, being once engaged in a conversation with a gentleman who advocated duelling, is said to have thrown his adversary completely hors de combat, by the following acute and characteristic reply to his question : "But what could you do, sir, if a man told you to your very face "You lie ?' "What cud I do? why, I wudn't knock him down, but I'd tell him to pruv it. Pruv it, sir, pruv it, I'd say. If he cudn't, he'd be the liar, and there I shud have him; bu', if he did pruv that I'd lied, I must e'en pocket the affront; and there I expect the matter wud end."

J. M. R.

had embarked for a foreign station on board Hoisting an Ensign.-A young officer ment. The captain of the vessel happening, a man-of-war, with a detachment of his regiin his hearing, to order, for the purpose of making a signal, " An ensign to be hoisted at the mizen-peak," the simple youth exclaimed: "Well! I'm not first ensign for duty-that's one comfort!" J. R.

Printed and published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) London; sold by G. G. BENNIS, 55, Rue Neuve St. Augustin, Paris; CHARLES JUGEL, Francfort; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers.

SWORDS, a small town, distant northward from Dublin about seven miles, consists chiefly of one street. It was formerly a place of much greater importance than at present: it still derives a considerable degree of interest from the vestiges of its past splendour, although these receive little aid, or illustration, from the page of history. We learn, however, from the Monasticon, that a sumptuous monastery was founded here in the year 512, by the celebrated Irish saint, Columb, who gave it "a missal written by himself, blessed the well here, and placed St. Finan Lobhair, or the Leper, over the abbey." The records chiefly relate the dis. asters of this foundation and the contiguous town. In the year 1012, Swords was reduced to ashes by the Danes. It was rebuilt, but burnt again, and plundered, together with the Abbey, in 1035 or 1037, by Connor O'Melaghlin, Prince of Meath. Its last destructive visitation took place A. D. 1166.

Little more is recorded of Swords until the seventeenth century. Here it was that the first Irish army of the Pale assembled, on November 9, 1641, preparatory to the VOL. XXIV. 2 G

commencement of a long series of fatal hostilities. On January 10, following, Sir Charles Coote attacked, and drove this body of troops from its intrenchments, with very inconsiderable loss of men on his side, the only officer killed being Sir Lorenzo Carey, second son of Lord Falkland.

Among the antiquities of Swords, are the ruins of a castellated palace of the Archbishop of Dublin; and a few traces of a nunnery founded at an unknown date. The only ecclesiastical remains, strictly speaking, are a fine and lofty round tower, coeval with the foundation of the original monastery, and the abbey belfry, a square building of the fourteenth or fifteenth century. These antiquities, with a modern church, form the remarkable group of architectural objects represented in the above Engraving, from a sketch made by a tourist of last summer.

First, in interest, is the Round Tower, which is in fine preservation, having been repaired but a few years since. Its height is stated at 73 feet: at the top is a semicircular caping, surmounted by a small cross, which pious emblem is said to have been erected at

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