bestowed on his father-in-law.) You straying pilgrims, pining in single wretchedness, apply the right piaculum, marriage. Short courtships are best. Wed a wife, establish a little circle of your own at home. Assume the matrimonial crown, and prepare to enjoy the peace and comfort afforded by the married state. Give up to a (female) party what was not meant for mankind. It is true harder work and more serious cares may then fall to your lot-but what a powerful Geni, solacing by gentleness and attraction, is a good wife! No longer a rampacious steed curveting at pleasure, besides being sometimes made a sumpter of, you will certainly be turned into thill-horse, but then if you are put in Love-shafts, what

of that!

Mr. Ward, who is himself a denizen of a closely-populated part of London, informs us that, having, in the summer of 1829, buried the chrysalis of a sphinx in some moist mould contained in a wide-mouthed glass bottle, covered with a lid, he discovered, in watching it from day to day, that the steam, which during the heat of the day arose from the mould, became condensed on the inner surface of the glass, and returned whence it came, thus keeping the mould always in the same state of humidity. About a week before the final change of the insect took place, a seedling fern, and a grass, made their appearance on the surface of the mould.

WARD CASES.

This bottle was placed by Mr. Ward outside his study window, a room facing the north, and there it remained for four years, requiring no attention-the circulation remaining the same, the grass flowering once, the fern producing three or four fronds annually; and perishing at last, only in consequence of the rusting of the lid, and the admission of rain water.

"Gorgeous flow'rets in the sunlight shining,
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day,

Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining,
Buds that only open to decay;"

-scattered with a generous profusion in every part of the habitable world; in the snowy arctic regions, and in the sunny lands of the south-on the hoary Nile, and in the sparkling rivulets of our own loved land-on the sandy plains of Africa, and in our quiet fields and woods-in the lonely isles of ocean, and on the shattered ruins of our halls and towers-nay, on the very walls and roofs of our cottage dwellings-beneath the foot of the laughing child, and round the grave of the grey-haired man. Everywhere in all the world, in every age, and in every clime, they smile around us, winning hearts, more than we may number, from wrong and evil thoughts; silently sympathizing with every mood of man, shining joyously in the path of the happy, beaming forth looks of gentle and loving reproach to the guilty, and offering their surest lessons of comfort and confidence to the weary-hearted and sad.

And for those whose lot in life denies them the free enjoyment of Nature's gems in their native homes-who can sufficiently value the teachings of the solitary, dwindling "flower-pot" in the smoke-darkened window-the patch of hardy stone-crop in the corner of the window-sill; or the unhappy aloe, hanging rootless and earthless from the dusky ceiling, flourishing not over-much it is true, yet affording, even in its captivity, a passing pleasure to its fellow inmates, and acting, in this forlorn and unnatural situation, as a heaven-appointed consumer of foul, and a manufacturer of pure air;-Mr. Ward has, by his discovery of the efficacy of air-tight cases for the growth of plants, conferred an inestimable boon on his fellow men; a boon which will probably, in the course of time, be considerably augmented, by the rapidly-increasing improvements in the manufacture of glass, which, by facilitating the process, must reduce the prices, and bring wholesomesized windows, and even small cases for the protection of a plant or two, within the reach of a class to whom such things are at present unattainable.

The most ready mode of realizing, by experiment, this fairy-land summer,

"Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers," is by procuring a wide-mouthed bottle, filling one-sixth of it with soft sandstone, or light mould, making the soil perfectly moist without allowing any water to settle at the bottom; planting therein a small fern, closing the mouth with a cork or lid covered with oiled silk, bladder, or some such substance; and a diminutive, but effectual, Ward Case is established. For a more complete and ornamental structure, a frame should be made, of any wood which may be preferred, and of such dimensions as may suit the window in which it is destined to remain. On this frame stands a box or trough, closely and compactly mitred and dovetailed together with brass nails, as iron is liable to rust. This box is to be filled with mould, and to contain on its upper edge a groove, which shall exactly fit the glass case which it is to receive, and in which there is to be a door on one side, for the purpose of enabling the owner occasionally to remove a superfluous leaf, or to destroy the fungous vegetation which will sometimes spring up, to the detriment of the other plants.

Upon the surface of the mould contained in the box, fancy may now find full scope; microscopic rocks may rear their heads; a fairy lake fringed with the more diminutive ferns may decorate the centre, mysteriouslyformed pots may hang suspended by invisible cords from the transparent roof, whilst from these descend quaintly and gracefully-trailing plants, and roses, fuchsias, even bulbous plants; but above all ferns, mosses, and jungermannias may raise their heads in all the pride of beauty. It must however be borne in mind that "plants requiring

a humid atmosphere should not be enclosed with those preferring aridity."

"Proceeding further still," says Newman, "a large conservatory may be constructed, or even a large garden entirely enclosed with glass; all the doors should be fitted with great nicety and exactness, and would be better if double, and always one of them shut before the other is opened."

It is not, however, with such magnificent visions that we have to do; we will therefore describe a more humble means of attaining, on a less scale, the same end. A case, of a very moderate price, may be contrived by placing a bell glass on a deep earthenware dish or bowl filled with mould; the dish must be somewhat larger than the glass, so as to admit of a plastering of mortar or some such substance on the outside of the edge of the latter, in order to prevent evaporation. The glasses with a knob, as it is termed, on the top, and which are considerably cheaper than the perfect ones, will answer our purpose admirably; care must, however, be taken that they are not suffered to stand in such a position that the knob shall act as a focus for the rays of the sun, so as to become a burning glass. These glasses vary in price, according to their size, from one or two shillings upwards, and might probably be obtained from a manufactory, for even a smaller sum.

Mr. Newman relates the following curious fact with regard to the preservative power of these cases Having, on a hot day in summer, brought home some seedling ferns, each having a single frond and extremely minute delicate roots, he placed in a phial a small quantity of very wet earth, and then passing a pin through the single frond, and pinning it to a cork covered with wet wash-leather, he fixed the cork firmly in the phial, and left the fern hanging at the head of the pin with its roots free and downwards. He then hung up the phial on the garden wall, and on examining it at the end of a year, he, to his great joy, found his little fern still hung from the pin, its roots grown longer, and two new fronds formed; the original frond was withered, though still strong enough to support the plant on the pin. And this, without its coming in contact with its mother earth."" Instances such as these and most curious facts might be largely multiplied, but our limits forbid our either giving them, or entering into any explanation of the principles by which the vegetable world thus supplies itself. We can only, therefore, urge all such of our readers as are enabled to do so, to make the experiment for themselves, albeit they confine themselves to an humble phial and a single plant, remembering always that, though forbidden intercourse with the outward air, their nurslings must not be deprived of the vivifying stimulus of all living beings, of the free light of heaven, the light which emanates from the Creator of all this visible world, who,

"One source of life, one animating soul,

Dwells in each part, and moves and guides the whole."

And who shall say but this one imprisoned plant may serve as a gentle guide to open before their eyes the volume of Nature,-the volume, in the words of a modern writer, which is "written in the only language which has gone forth to the ends of the earth, unaffected by the

confusion of Babel."

MORAL SOUNDNESS OF THE LONDON POPULATION.

To me the London nation appears remarkably distinguished for their strong moral sense, and their acute, quick intelligence. In these, no people in the most educated, virtuous, or simple countries or districts, at home or abroad. can be compared to the Londoners. It stands to reason that this should be their character. They are a people living in the midst of temptation and opportunity, and therefore necessarily in the perpetual exercise,

daily and hourly, of self-restraint and moral principle; living in the midst of the keenest competition in every trade and branch of industry, and therefore necessarily in the perpetual exercise of ingenuity and mental power in every work and calling. The needy, starving man in this population exerts every day, in walking through the streets of London, more practical virtue, more selfrestraint, and active, virtuous principle, in withstanding temptation to dishonest or immoral means of relieving his pressing want, and he struggles against, and overcomes more of the vicious propensities of our nature, than the poor, or rich, or middle-class man in a country population, or small town population has occasion to exercise in the course of a whole lifetime. Man must live among men, and not in a state of isolation, to live in the highest moral condition of man. The London population may be far enough from this highest moral condition, but they are individually and practically educated by the circumstances in which they live, into high moral habits of honesty and self-restraint. Look at the exposure of property in London, and at the small amount of depredation in proportion to the vast amount of articles exposed to depredation in every street, lane, and shop; and consider the total inadequacy of any police force, however numerous-and in all London the police force does not exceed five thousand persons-or of any vigilance on the part of the owners themselves, however strict, to guard this property, if it were not guarded by the general, habitual, thorough honesty of the population itself. Look at the temptations to inebriety, and the small proportion of the people totally abandoned to habitual drunkenness, or even io the hourly dram-drinking of Scotch people, or the schnaps of the lower classes in Germany. Virtue is not the child of the desert or of the school-room, but of the dense assemblages of mankind in which its social influences are called into action and into practical exertion every hour. The urchin on the pavement, dancing Jim Crow for a chance halfpenny, and resisting, in all his hunger, the temptation of snatching the apple or the cake from the old woman's stall or the pastry-cook's window, is morally no uneducated being. His sense of right, his self-restraint, his moral education, are as truly and highly cultivated as in the son of the bishop who is declaiming at Exeter Hall about this poor boy's ignorance and vice, and whose son never knew, in his position, what it is to resist pressing temptation, secret opportunity, and the urgent call of hunger. Practical moral education, a religious regard for what belongs to others, the doing as you would be done by, the neighbourly sympathy with, and help of real distress, and the generous glow at what is manly, bold, and right in common life, and the indignation at what is wrong or base, are in more full development among the labouring class in London than among the same class elsewhere, either at home or abroad. They put more of the fair-play feeling in their doings. The exceptions to this character-the vice, immorality, blackguardism, brutality of a comparatively small number,and many of these not born and bred in the lowest ranks, but in much higher positions, from which they have sunk besmeared with vice, immorality, and dishonesty which caused their fall-cannot be justly taken as a measure of the moral condition of the lower or labouring classes in London. The genuine cockneys are a good-natured, hearty set of men; their mobs are full of sport and rough play; and the ferocious spirit of mischief, wickedness, and bloodshed rarely predominates. Considering their great temptations and opportunities, and the inadequacy of any social arrangements, or military or police force that we possess to oppose them, if a majority were inclined to active deeds of mischief, the London population may claim the highest place among the town populations of Europe, for a spirit of self-restraint on vicious propensities, and for a practical, moral education in the right and reasonable.—Laing's Observations &c.

THE ONE HOLIDAY OF THE SCOTTISH PEASANTRY.

SCOTLAND has no holidays like other countries; no national merry-makings and junketings; no time of general mirth and enjoyment. The Catholic religion recognised a large number of holidays, which were engrafted, as is supposed, for the most part, on old heathen festivals; these were in course of time converted into saint's days, and dedicated to religious observances, usually followed by general relaxation and enjoyment on the part of the people. But the Reformation in Scotland, which was of the most sweeping kind, utterly demolished all the festivals of the olden time, and everything that could remind the people of the prostrated religion. It was not so in England, where most of the old Catholic festivals are still preserved, especially Christmas, Shrovetide, Easter, and Whitsuntide. These, it is true, are now regarded by the great body of the people, no longer as religious holidays, but as grand festivals of the hearth and the family. Christmas time in England is the high celebration of the home, when friends and relations meet together under the old roof-tree, and exchange words of kindness, friendship, and love. But the Scotch people know nothing of the Christmas festivities which prevail south of the Tweed. The day is but an ordinary working day with them; there is no religious service on that day, no bells are rung, no Christmas dinner is provided, no old associations are called up at the sound of the word "Christmas." It was John Knox who thus utterly demolished Christmas in Scotland, and all other holidays consecrated to religious and festive purposes by the old religion.

Still there are festivities peculiar to the season in Scotland; and these, strange to say, appear to be among the last relics of Druidical heathenism lingering in the country. Hogmenay, the night before the new year, was the night on which the pagan worshippers of the god Thor, slaughtered their cattle for the festival of the following day, hence it was called the hoggin nat, or slaughter night; and on such occasions the minne, or cup, was drained by the sacrificers. From this slaughter-cup has hogmenay and its observances been derived; and this cup is still presented, and freely drained on that night. In most families, the members sit up sipping the "barley-bree," or "het-pint," unless where teetotalism prevails; and when the hour of twelve strikes there is a universal grasping of hands, and the wish passes from mouth to mouth of "a gude new year-here's t'ye!" Then there is a running about from house to house "first-fittin'," each being accompanied by his whiskey-bottle and glass, or by his "het-pint," with "dads o' short-bread" and "curran'-laif." In Edinburgh, many years ago, New Year's morning used to be given up to revelry and riot, but

other towns of Scotland.

Hogmenay night begins what are called the "daft days," and they continue till after Hansel Monday. During that period the little boys and girls get themselves dressed up as guizards, in great grandfathers' and grandmothers' coats and gowns, wooden swords and fans, and fausse faces, when they go about amusing their friends, and sometimes acting barbarous scraps of old plays. The acting of plays at this season is doubtless the remains of a very old custom; and there are accounts extant of the acting of such plays, accompanied sometimes by great licence, many hundred years ago. The daft days in Scotland, correspond with the French fête de fous, or fool's festival, the annual occurrence of which was so great a scandal to the synods of France several centuries ago.

On Hogmenay a store of currant-loaf, bun, and shortbread is usually laid in, with the new year's cheese; and a degree of jollity prevails during the "daft days," though all the work-a-day operations are carried on as usual, without holiday. The only national holiday of the Scottish peasantry, is AULD HANSEL MONDAY; this always occurs on the first Monday after old New Year's Day, even though old New Year's Day should fall on a Monday, which is the case this year; and auld Hansel Monday therefore falls on the 13th of January. Its origin is not known, but from time immemorial it has been celebrated by the rural population as a day of festivity and family present-making; the new style being kept in the towns. On that day all the members of the family are gathered together under the cottage roof again, the lads from distant farmsteads, the lasses from their places in neighbouring towns, and if Jenny or Shoosy have got a sweetheart, it is the occasion on which she quietly introduces him to her "mither," (though she may not yet have had courage enough to say a word to her about it), and thus announcing to "the guid folk at haim," that there is to be a wedding soon. Hence the day is one that is looked forward to in all country places with expectations of great delight, and it is long remembered with feelings of deep joy.

Let us give a memory of an auld Hansel Monday of other days, the like of which many a cottage household throughout Scotland will be witness to on Monday next.

The gudewife has washed out the clay floor to the doorsteps, put the awmry in order, and redd up the scanty deal furniture, all of which, scoured white with sand, is in brilliant apple-pie order. Jenny, the eldes: daughter, a comely quean, with red cheeks and blue eyes, has her gown kilted up, her sleeves rolled high above her blushing elbows, and is busy with a batch of barm scones, which she is rolling out for the ready-heated girdle.

Jenny, woan," cries the gudewife, "mak haste mak haste, we'll hae a' the bairns here direckly. See if there's no Johnnie comin' o'er the hill, an', losh guid us, what a braw lass he's gotten wi 'im; wha can she be? Some neebour's bairn, I dar say. But I no ken ane like that."

By this time Jenny's at the door, and gazing out across the fields. The ground is sprinkled with snow, and the sparrows and red-breasts hop twittering about the door, or are picking at the thatch overhead, while a keen wind blowing from the east whirls the white snow here and there into drifts. The "owrie cattle" weather-fend themselves behind the farm-yard dyke; and the sheep, feeding in the turnip-field, cower along the hedges, which are now stript and give no shelter. But there is a clear sky overhead, the sun blinks out cheerily, the air is bracing though keen, and the snow is not so thick as materially to impede the wayfarer's progress, so that it is generally agreed to be "fine Hansel Monday wather." Jenny has recognised at a glance, with her keen woman's eye, the approaching visitors, and she returns into the warm hearth "wondering what her mither could be thinkin' aboot no to ken her ain dochter."

"What! Shoosy?"

"Aye, just Shoosy. Eh! but she's braw!"

And the mother gazes out again; and Shoosy sure enough it is her youngest, whom she has not seen for a year past on last Hansel Monday. She left her home a mere girl for the great town, laden with good counsel and kind wishes, accompanied by her mother's tears and her father's prayers. And here she is again, scarcely looked for-her place being a long way off, and she had not promised to come. But Johnny, her brother, had "gotten a gliff o' her comin," and met her at the coach; so here she is at the door, where the mother welcomes her back again, and brings her in to the chimla lug. For a time, amidst the load of inquiries of Shoosy, Johnny was almost unseen. But he, too, had by this time cast off his plaid, laid aside his bonnet, got his warm welcome, and taken a seat; and the kebbock was forthwith on the table with the currant-bun, and a waught of sweet milk.

The mother could scarcely gaze her fill of her daughter; comely, well-proportioned, and tall, she had shot out like a young poplar. The flaxen hair parted in the middle of her forehead was confined by a narrow snood of velvet, on the centre of which shone a little brilliant, "a present from my young leddie," she said; and when she had laid aside her tartan shawl, a best Galashiels, she revealed a figure full of the budding beauty of young womanhood. Anxious inquiries were made on both sides: on the one, whether she "attended a place o' worship regular," whether she liked her mistress, and what kind o' folk they were-whether they were 'god-fearin'' folk; and on the other for brother Geordie, and sister Bell, and, above all, for "faither."

"They're a' weel," answers the mother, "God be praised for his mony blessins! An' ye'll see ye're faither and a' the lave o' them the' day, gif the bools row fair." And, sure enough, here's old Archie, the father of the flock (Bauldie they name him about the place), hirplin' by the window, with his son Geordie, who has just carried off the prize at the shooting-match in the loan hard by. You might have heard the shots ringing through the air for the last three hours and more. It has been a rare day of luck for Geordie, for a prime pig has been added to their winter's stores through his skill. And the new comers are cordially greeted in turn; and Geordie, who is a wit in his way, is full of havers, and asks Shoosy whether she has not brought her sweetheart with her? and Shoosy blushes scarlet, and tells Geordie to be done wi' his havers, for he is dafter than ever, and "aye the auld hie-how!" And, last of all, here comes maternal Bell with her gudeman, and a tribe of bairns at their heels-fine, roaring fellows, in red comforters, and

almost as red noses and cheeks. Geordie is into the thick of them in no time, and they are clambering about him, shouting for beans and pease, with their comforters still about their throats, while the family congratulations are going on amid the din. Bell has little Dick in her arms, who is unrolled from his swathing of flannel out of a sound sleep, and he opens his eyes upon a blazing fire and a crowded cottage full of strange faces. He sets up a shout, which the mother stills, as mothers best know how, by filling his mouth with the generous teat. Dick is forthwith made blest, and the social inquiries go forward. Bell can do nothing but ejaculate her wonder at "how Shoosy has grown!" and "what a strappin' hussie she is!" and "how like she is tae oor Jess!"

But hark! here is a rap at the door-a stranger rap! Who can this be? Look at Jenny, she has divined in an instant. Her mother has already had imparted to her a hint that "a lad from across the moor had promised to convoy her hame, and that she had asked him to step in betimes an' take a chalk o' dinner wi' them."

This is hint enough for the mother. "She only hopes he is a dacent, weel-doin' lad;" and asks, “Wha does he come o'?"

Jenny tells; and the mother says

"Dacent folk, dacent folk; I ken his mother brawly, and an eydent, cantie boddie she is. They belong to the Auld Licht folk, I reckon ?"

Jenny knows all about it; but she only "trows so." But the mother has got the hint, and she is now at the door. A great, bang young fellow, rather sheepish,

stands there.

"I cam' for Jenny, an' she telt me—" "Ou, aye, lad; come in it's an unco cauld day, but fine Hansel Monday wather."

And the compliments of the season are exchanged, and the aspirant for Jenny's hand is straightway introduced to the company. Thinks the mother to herself, as she sees his great bulk in the doorway between her and the light, "Wow, man, but ye're big! Gin ye be only as guid as ye're gawsie, Jenny's hae a bonny bargain o' ye!

Jenny, meanwhile, as soon as she heard the voice of the stranger, ran and plunged her head down into a kist, where she tumbled about a multitude of things, searching, she said, for a table-cloth, but which she could not find. She is called up out of it by Geordie, who asks her, blushing all colours though she be, and though you could have knocked her down with a feather, "if she had not a word for the stranger." But Jenny only exchanges with him a blushing glance, and shrinks away into the furthest corner, still looking for the cloth.

And now the steaming dainties-at least such as poor folks, who taste butchers' meat but rarely, esteem as such -are placed upon the board; some sitting round there, while the younkers, with Geordie, occupy the kist, and keep up a rollicking, sometimes at Jenny's expense. Grace is said, and a blessing prayed for on the heads of the scattered members of the flock now called together again under their parent's roof, and the protection of their father's God is asked against the temptations of the world and the wiles of the Evil One. At last, grace is ended, and Geordie strikes in with a fa' tae!"

And then the hearty meal is over, and a blessing is pronounced, after which the bottle is drawn from the cupboard, and a jug o' toddy is brewed for general circulation, which makes Geordie funnier than ever. First one neighbour drops in to see the bairns, and then another, and cracks o' auld lang syne become delightful; Hansel Mondays are passed in review, and many reflections are thrown in by the older relations about the lapse o' time, and "the young anes shovin' the auld anes frae their stools." At last, Geordie gets tired of the moral reflections, and nothing will serve him but a foursome reel! What? never was sic a thing