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GREENAWAY GOODFELLOW.-THE CAROLLERS.

time of change and trial-of success and depression. We find Greenaway has become an adventurer in the gold-fields of Australia. He had rejoined his sister; and after resting for a while in her happy home, and welcoming a minor Greenaway into existence, he started for the diggings. He was one of the most successful miners that ever prospected "upon his own hook," to use a phrase common among the cradle-rockers of Australia. He found one solid piece of pure gold which weighed upwards of sixty pounds. Fortunate fellow! In a few days he succeeded in realising what to him was exceeding wealth. Having become rich enough to satisfy himself he abandoned the toilsome life of the miner, and established himself in business in Victoria.

He had not been long in his new vocation when he was one day startled by the entrance of a gentleman with whose face he had been familiar.

"Well, Greenaway," said he, "I'm glad to see you alive. I hope you've not forgotten your old master." Poor Greenaway! His heart leaped with joy. "Oh, sir!" said he, "how glad I am to see you."

Then Greenaway took his old friend into his private office, and he asked Mr. Stewart's forgiveness for one action, the remembrance of which had caused hini so much bitterness.

"I was too abrupt," said Greenaway. "I forgot your kindness to me in a moment of passion; and I made a decision on the instant from which I could not force myself to draw back."

"Greenaway, perhaps it is I that owes the apology," said Mr. Stewart, "but I am too poor to make it. Perhaps, however, Providence has ordered things aright. I hope that you have had no reason to regret leaving the old country. You seem to be in the way of doing well."

Yes, Greenaway was doingwell, hewas thankful to say. "But you have not come alone to this country ?" Greenaway ventured to inquire.

He had not come alone. His wife was with him, and his daughter Julia.

Mr.

The blood coursed quickly through the arterial system of the fortunate miner, and his heart palpitated with strange emotion. He could not speak. His mind was in a whirlpool of excitement. Stewart relieved him by observing that he had only landed a few days ago; and while making a survey of the town, he had accidentally happened to observe his name upon the doorway; and thinking that it must be an indication of the whereabouts of his runaway young friend, he had called to satisfy himself upon the point.

Not many days after the above agreeable interview, we find Greenaway a visitor in the lodgings of Mr. and Mrs. Stewart; and his interesting attentions are freely bestowed upon the lovely Julia, and graciously permitted by her fond mother. Greenaway's social position placed him upon an equality with his old master; but he still felt for him that innate respect and regard which he entertained under different circumstances.

After Greenaway had left Ireland, Mr. Stewart encountered a series of losses in business, which forced him to abandon the position he had occupied. Being a sensitive man, and imbued with a degree of pride which imparted a tone of firmness to his character, he resolved not to remain in the old sphere of his mercantile activity. So, he gathered up the remnant of his means, and emigrated with his wife and daughter to the Land of Gold. And thus it was that Mr. Stewart and Greenaway were again brought together.

A mutual feeling of confidence and attachment sprung up between Mr. Stewart and Greenaway, which ripened into friendship. The first result of

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this was that they became partners in business. At the present time, it may be said without disrespect to their rivals, that Messrs. Stewart & Goodfellow are the most eminent importers of agricultural implements in the colony of Victoria.

A word in regard to one who has been incidentally referred to in this narrative-the fair little Julia. After the usual term of probation, and the usual interchange of the little etceteras which are so dear to hearts fluttering all over in the fragrant atmosphere of love, Julia became Mrs. Goodfellow. And she made Greenaway so happy, and her father and mother were so happy, and she was so pleased and so happy herself, that we might well believe if only one-half of the enjoyment they all felt could be imparted to the rest of the wide family of mankind, the world would send up to Heaven such a shout of exultation as was not heard since the morning when the sympathising angels sang out-" Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace-good-will towards men!" THOMAS HENRY.

The Carollers.

UNDERNEATH my window,
Where the snow lies white,

I can hear sweet voices
Singing in the night:
As the night-wind varies,
So they rise and fall,
In this quaint old carol
Joining one and all :-
"In the East a grey light
Prophesies the morn;
Up, and hail the daylight-
Christ the Lord is born!"

As a child, how often,

Till the midnight dim,
Have I waked and waited

For that Christmas hymn-
Heard the footsteps coming,

Heard them stop beneath-
For the burst of music

Watched with bated breath :

"In the East a grey light," &c.
Simple words of wisdom,
"Christ the Lord is born!"
Up, then, and be doing,

On the Christmas morn!
Up, and raise the fallen!

Up, and aid the poor!
Keep for all your fellows
Open heart and door!

"In the East a grey light," &c.
Up! if one have wronged thee,
Be the wrong forgiven!
Up! if any love thee,

Render thanks to Heaven!
So my heart interprets,
This old melody,
That beneath my window
Voices sing to me :-

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Rough Waters.

CHAPTER XX.

ROUGH WATERS.

TELLS HOW BREAD "CAST UPON THE WATERS" WAS

FOUND.

THEY were now at the door, when Mr. Letstieg said, "Catchwell, don't we require a warrant, or an order from a magistrate ?"

"All right, sir. I have that ar document in my pocket here."

Just as he was about to knock, he saw the detective, who had been engaged as a clerk by Wriggles, coming out of the public-house opposite.

"Hollo, Sayers, is the chick safe ?" "Begad, sir, he's off."

"God of Heaven

"Off!" exclaimed Mr. Letstieg. have pity upon me! Strengthen me, O Lord!" were the exclamations forced from his lips.

To describe the overwhelming anguish of Mr. Letstieg is beyond our power. Have you ever seen a fair child, dangled in a father's arms at an open window, fall to the pavement below, and the father, powerless to save, flinging back his head, and hiding his eyes with stiffened hands, in vain tries to shut out the terrible sight; in vain, for it is lithographed on his heart? Have you ever seen the agony which wrings the life-blood from loving hearts when parting, perhaps for ever? Have you seen the despair of the miser, who worshipped wealth, and knew no greater joy than to look upon it, come to find all-all gone-not a stiver remaining? If you have seen any of these sights of woe, you can then imagine Mr. Letstieg's grief. The grief of another was added to his own as he leaned against the wall for support. "How can I ever tell this to Louisa? It will kill her!"

"Talk not of grief till thou hast seen
The tears of warlike men,"

says Mrs. Hemans. Leave out "warlike," and you have a prosaic stern truth. Although Mr. Letstieg had been schooled in affliction-though he had the strength and consolation of religion, he could not check the tears that came unbidden.

The door of Mr. Wriggle's house opened, and it was with mutual surprise he and Mrs. Hunter looked at each other. The reader remembers that Mrs. Hunter was Mr. Wriggle's sister. Mr. Letstieg could not abide her vulgarity, but Mrs. Letstieg still said "there was a great deal of good in her;" but, then, kind-hearted Mrs. Letstieg had a good word to say for every one.

"Why, dear me, sir, who would have thought that you, of all people, would come here. I know how much you blamed my brother; but, then, you are so very forgiving. Many a time Hunter said you were a pattern to the congregation. You have heard how my poor brother has got into trouble something about papers. He wrote to me yesterday to come up at once, and though it was Sunday, I came with Tommy."

There was little occasion to tell that Master Tommy was with her, for, eschewing the natural and old-fashioned way of coming down stairs, by the steps, he was sliding down the banisters cross-legs, when, seeing his mother in the hall, and expecting the box in the ear with which she visited such pranks, he stopped short, and, losing his balance, fell on his head, causing a shock like a miniature earthquake, followed by a roar which testified that Master Tommy's lungs were no way affected.

"Gracious me! there's that young villain at his old

tricks, wearing the seat out of his trousers slid. ing along the banisters; and going over, she gave him a shake that, if any bones were out of joint by the fall, was sufficient to replace them.

"That boy, sir, gives me a great deal of annoyance. The only one that could ever control him or teach him anything was that Miss Singtrel or Singletree, or some name of that kind. What a pity she turned out so badly. I hope she did not impose on dear Mrs. Letstieg, who is as innocent as a child."

Mr. Letstieg listened quietly; he was in no humour to interrupt her, and, besides, he was waiting for Catchwell, who seemed to be holding an angry consultation with his brother detective outside, in which he caught the words " Drunk" and "Report."

"Wont you come into the drawing-room, Mr. Letstieg ?"

"No, thank you. When did the child that was here go away ?"

"Bless me, Tommy is bad enough; but that lad was ten times worse. We were not an hour in the house when both of them began to fight. He gave Tommy a black eye, and then slung himself like a wild cat out of the window. Tobias told me, in his letter, not to let that young scapegrace out of my sight; but except I had eyes in the back of my head I could not watch him."

"I would give five hundred pounds to lay my eyes upon that child. Alas! how I seem to be mocked by hope!"

"Five hundred pounds, did I ever !"

"Mrs. Hunter, I suspect that boy is my lost child.” "Your lost child, that there was such a great trial about!"

"Yes."

"Well, I often read of such things. Sir Walter Scott mentions a child that was stolen and turned up again; and in the London Journal aud Family Herald I read how-but, bless me, there's that boy at some mischief again;" and away went this thoughtless and, we blush to say it, good-for-nothing woman to correct her young hopeful, perhaps with a box in the ear. When she returned-"I hope my brother may get this affair of his settled, and that I may be able to return to-morrow-but you were saying that you thought that was your child."

Mr. Letstieg rose to depart; he did not care to enter into explanations or prolong the conversation with a woman incapable of feeling any sympathy with him in his trouble. The first shock of disappointment over, hope again filled his heart, and he went to see what Catchwell might now suggest.

"Don't be the least uneasy, sir, I'll nab him soon again, except he gets away in some of these forren vessels; sometimes they are glad to pick up lads like him."

"See, Catchwell, I'll double the reward; employ all the hands you can, and don't keep his poor mother and myself in this terrible suspense."

"This moment, sir, I am going to three or four haunts, and in all probability he is at some one of them. Good night, sir."

They parted, Catchwell on his search, and Mr. Letstieg, with a heavy heart, to tell again of "hope deferred."

When he reached Mr. Gilby's he stopt a moment before knocking. He knew how his poor wife would run down at that knock, and he pictured the look of agony with which she would hear of his want of success. He looked up to the windows, and saw the lights flitting from room to room; heard footsteps running hastily up and down stairs, and as the door opened, he heard the doctor, who was leaving, say

"Keep them quiet, now, and in a few hours all danger will be over."

ROUGH WATERS.

Pushing by the doctor, who was a stranger to him, "Gilby, tell me what has happened. Has she heard that our hope has been crushed again? The Lord is trying us very severely."

"Hush, man; don't murmur against the Lord. Your child is here, and his mother bending over him. She needs no mark to distinguish him, for he is like you in every feature."

"My child here! Father of Mercies, give me a grateful heart ;" and he bowed his knee in the hall with such a look of intense earnestness upwards as a martyr freed from suffering might give to welcoming angels. Rising from his suppliant posture, he said, "Tell me, Gilby, how he was found."

"He ran away from Wriggles, after thrashing a young nephew of his, and, as fast as his heels could carry him, was making towards the docks. There is a yard there, in which he has slept, I believe, for many a night. Running along, he tripped over a rope, and fell in. Richard Singleton had been watching about that spot for several nights, saw him, and, at the risk of his own life, saved your child. He has proved his gratitude for Louisa's kindness and yours, and I think he is this moment the happiest fellow in London. But, stay, you must not go up; the doctor has absolutely said no one must be allowed to disturb them." "Well, tell Louisa I want her."

"It is far better to leave her where she is, and you and I can get a cup of coffee here."

CHAPTER XXI.

THE ROUGH WATERS SUBSIDE.

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About a week after the events mentioned in the last chapter, Mr. and Mrs. Letstieg returned to their home with their child. Many a time they had to laugh at his primitive manners, and often to correct his modes of expression, as, for instance, when his mother told him that she would buy a pony for him to ride, he received the announcement by putting his thumb to his nose, and saying gammon." Once or twice he asked his father to "sky a copper," and said he was "" green' " in not knowing that he meant to play pitch-and-toss for halfpence. Tricks innumerable he played on the servants; and at the first dinner-party he actually pinned up the tails of the butler's coat; and, when helping himself to an apple at the dessert, threw one over to his father, saying, "Old boy, catch." These defects soon disappeared, and, under the judicious tuition of the best and gentlest of mothers, qualities were drawn out which will make him yet an ornament to society. His father intends him for the army, but wisely says that he will leave him to select for himself when the time for so doing comes.

The Singletons-aye, what of them? Richard is well known as the most earnest advocate of Total Abstinence principles in London, and, better still, is the prop and stay of his widowed mother. Henry is preparing for the ministry, and Adelaide will soon be

: but read the last letter from Mrs. Letstieg and it will explain all—

"MY DEAREST ADELAIDE,-You lay too great stress on the little kindness I was able to show you. It was God brought you in my way. Had I not met you that morning at Mrs. Hunter's, I might never have met my child. I shudder to think he might even have died a felon's death, led on to crime by guilty associates. I am a debtor-a deep debtor to your family. Did not Richard save my child's life at the risk of his own? Now, a few words about yourself. I am truly glad to hear that you are soon to be married to Mr. Burcher. He is worthy of you-he is worthy of the purest, loftiest love of woman. I know him well, and have prayed for his happiness. Abroad, in bitter

185

trials, he often comforted me; but enough of the past. You both must spend a month with us here after your marriage. May God bless you both.-Your affectionate friend, "LOUISA LETSTIEG."

No entreaties could induce Mr. Gilby to drop the prosecution against Wriggles. On the 10th of July the case was to be tried-cases I should have written, for he was to be tried for the abduction of the child, as well as for buying the stolen title-deeds.

At last the day of trial came, and knowing ones predicted that Wriggles would easily get through the "title-deeds case se;" but Catchwell was confident that the abduction case would settle him. On the morning of the 10th all were on the very tip-toe of expectation. Many rumours were afloat. One leading journal commented on the case very severely, and declared the amount of bail was too small, and that Wriggles would never stand his trial. However, we shall just look in at Mr. Wriggles and see what he really intends to do, and not harass ourselves with conjectures.

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Can this really be. What, Tobias Wriggles asleep! The Court has been sitting for the last ten minutes, and Tobias Wriggles is "wanted." The clock strikes one, two three, ten, eleven. Start up Tobias Wriggles, the important case in which you are concerned deeply concerned, may be called on sooner than you expect, and it would be very ugly to have "No appearance" entered, especially when you know the consequences. The hot water is in the bedroom; it is cold by this; the white necktie, which you always wear so starched and stiff, lies in immaculate whiteness across the back of the chair. The sleep of the innocent is very calm. Certainly, Tobias Wriggles, "thy bosom lord sits lightly on his throne." Yet, even conscious innocence should show some little anxiety to clear away those foul aspersions on your character. Ha! how rudely these rude men knock at thy door! No answer. They now hold a consultation; something about breaking open the door. Why, every man's house is his castle in this land; yet, without ceremony, that tall fellow, a regular Patagonian in size, with large black whiskers, puts his broad shoulders to the door and bursts it open. Now Wriggles up-ho, man; awake! grounds for an action here; call lustily, and shout "robbers," for there is your clerk, that young man you employed a short time ago, at the head of the party; the safe is open, and there are valuable papers lying there. Tobias Wriggles, thou hast gone voluntarily before a tribunal from which there is no appeal-no lawyer with eloquent tongue can "blazen evil deeds" thereno outward appearance, however fair, can hide the deformity within. Never did a life so truly verify that "the wicked are like the troubled sea." On rough waters the righteous are often tossed, but for them there is a rest-for you, alas! there is none. Tobias Wriggles, truly thy life was a "long lie."

Before him on a table was a manuscript; the writing was scarcely legible, so ill-shapen were the letters, written by fingers clutching the pen convulsively in the throes of death. He had rubbed his finger over the first lines he had written, they were not legible, then followed :- "For years such has been my life, a living death, worse a thousand times than death; hell cannot be worse; but for me my wife might be alive now, it was my cruelty hastened her end. Through revenge for his dislike to me, I paid Gipsy Moll, formerly a servant of mine, to steal his child; but I swore her by the solemn oath of her tribe, to do it no harm; yet she pretended that she misunderstood me, and that she drowned the child. I paid her for her silence, paid her well. Why do I tell these things? I must. Great God! have mercy! Widows and orphans I have wronged, and not one

186

"A BRAND PLUCKED FROM THE BURNING."-" THE DESTROYER."

good deed can I call to mind. Take warning, young men; if you have but one meal a day be content, rather than climb to affluence by wicked ways. Oh, God!-these pains! its growing dark and coldmercy-mercy - mercy- God of the sinner have

mercy

Thus he died, tortured by remorse, a terrible warning to all who hasten to be rich; he lived for himself, and never thought of the end, and he who never bowed a knee for years in supplication, now seeks mercy from the God he never served. Remem ber, my friends (who can help moralizing over such a death ?) that life is "a long, long reaching out of the soul to something beyond her," and must not be crampt and spent in things with which the "kingdom to come" has nothing to do.

Mixing up things true with things imagined, we have scattered a few moral lessons, and now, in bidding you "farewell" reader, we hope you may get through every difficulty as easily as you have waded through "Rough Waters."

THE END.

"A Brand Plucked from the Burning."

In the mire of the street a drunkard lay;
For many a year he'd spent
His earnings all, "just over the way,"
Where the landlady smiled content,
As she clutched each shilling day by day,
Leaving none for wife, or rent.

To-night, he had ask'd for one glass more,
No money, alas, he'd got;

With anger, she spurn'd him from her door,
And the poor degraded sot,

With a scowl in frightful curses swore,
Then staggered from the spot.

But want of food, and the cursed drink,
Had told on his feeble frame;

And soon his tottering footsteps sink

In the mire of sin and shame,

On the cold, dark street,-on perdition's brink! And he utters a fearful scream!

For a horse came prancing along the path,
A "pale horse," with rider grim,
And the drunkard saw the sword of wrath,
The sword that was meant for him,
And he shudder'd, and shook, as one who hath
The ague
in every limb.

But hark! there's a voice on the dismal street,
Says, "Brother, why will you die,

Be a man once more, up, up on your feet,
You may save yourself,-Come, try;"
And that stranger's voice was music sweet
To the wretch that low did lie.

It inspired new hopes within his breast;
All his strength returned amain;
He arose at the stranger's wise behest,

And he grasp'd the "pale horse" rein,

And the horseman, Death, put his sword to rest In its scabbard back again,

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WHAT of the vulture which pounces upon its prey? What of the lightning which strikes but to kill? What of the tempest which uplifts its awful voice, or of the violent volcano which blackens the sky and scatters with desolating power? What of the savage beasts of prey, and the hungry monsters of the deep? Yea, what of the plague which walketh in darkness, or of the pestilence which wasteth at mid-day? Are they not all comparatively harmless and innocent when compared with the fire-fiend of Intemperance, who is unceasingly destroying the sons and daughters of men ? In all their terrible combinations, when their effects are viewed morally and spiritually, they are as nothing to the wide-spread sorrow and death which are occasioned by the intoxicating cup. Oh! my countrymen, we ought to mourn in sackcloth and ashes before God in token of our humiliation for the curse which is in the land.

He has

Behold that fascinating demon, Alcohol! the serpent's eye to attract, and the tiger's paw to kill. He allures the young and the heedless, and the strong men bow down before him. He curses many of the sons of toil, and numbers of our skilled artizans be tortures and enchains. By him many ministers have been thrown from their pulpits, and shorn of all their moral and spiritual glory. His dark domain is more extensive than any government upon the earth; and all the civilized nations have been degraded by his power. We have, however, deeper feelings, when we contemplate the relentless tyranny he has for centuries exercised over the bodies and the minds of the wandering and ruined Magdelenes of our world. For them we have the deepest feelings and the heaviest sighs, and from our eyes flow briny and scalding tears. We utter against Alcohol our deepest and most implacable curse, when we look at the withering and blighting effects which it produces upon those who were amongst the loveliest of our race. They were once innocent and beautiful. They sat upon their father's knee and always reflected an answer to their mother's smile. Many fondly anticipated the time when they should be the truly loving and the loved. They were brilliant gems in the social crown. They lived at home in purity and love. They heard and loved the evening reading and the father's prayer, and gladly did they unite in the song of praise. Their fond hearts thought of heaven, and their eyes beamed with hope and joy. But a change came-a sad reverse; a promise broken, mean or cold acts on the part of those in whom they had placed confidence, and upon whom they had relied as their future partners in life. All has changed. They felt desolate and alone. They flew to the tempting glass, in the hope of forgetting their sorrow, but alas, alas; it proved but to be the sure forerunner of their future

DEAR SCOTLAND, FARE-THEE-WELL.-THE PEAT BEDS OF HOLLAND.

ruin. They forsook the ways of truth; their thoughts became impure, and their imaginations evil; their souls desolate, and their prospects dark. When woman falls a victim to this terrible idolatry, she wor ships the fire-god wildly and madly, and, flinging away all moral restraint, she rushes on, defiant of the voice of conscience, and reckless as to the results; and, though a gloomy eternity may hang upon the one tempting and fatal glass, she eagerly quaffs the poison, and then sinks for ever into the dark sphere of eternal death. When woman falls, it is generally that she rises no more. When she becomes a drunkard, she is lost to the best interests of society, and to the fondest wishes which charity, which thinketh no evil, can entertain. There comes from the deep chambers of her soul a voice which says lost. Her former companions turn from her, and their footsteps echo and re-echo lost, lost; morality and refined intelligence combine, and the cry they utter is lost, lost; and the evil spirits, anticipating her doom, fly through the dark realm of Hades, exclaiming lost, lost; and from the heaven of God's love the same voice is heard. The stars shine upon her shame, and utter their divine protest; while the winds and the waves join in their chorus of death. When woman falls, her recovery is next to impossible. The star of her hope has disappeared, and before her once beautiful but now bleared and distorted vision there is nothing but a gloomy prospect and a fearful looking for of judgment to come. In reviewing the position of the once loving mother and loving sister, what a change has taken place! The dead are silent. But from this host of the slain ones a soul-thrilling voice is heard, and louder than the thunders we can hear it say, "These are they who sowed to the wind, and, lo, they have reaped the whirlwind; they have purchased destruction at a terrible cost, and this is their righteous award."

London.

Dear Scotland, Fare-thee-well!

DEAR Scotland, now before we part,

Though small the offering be,

I'd sing, all gushing from the heart,
One song in praise of thee;
Then once again my woodland lyre

Thy music high shall swell,

And touch my heart with passion's fire
To sing my last farewell!

"Land of the mountain and the flood,"

Land of deep ocean caves,

Land where the martyrs shed their blood,
Land of their honoured graves ;
Land of the bearded thistle green,
Land of the heather bell,
Land where the snow is ever seen-
Dear Scotland, fare-thee-well!

Land of the noble and the good,

Land of the free and brave,

Land where the Bruce and Wallace stood, Their fatherland to save ;

Land around which the "Wizard" flung His mighty magic spell;

Land where the ploughman poet sungDear Scotland, fare-thee-well!

Land of the patriot and the sage,
Land full of deep romance,
Land that's renowned in history's page,
Land of the tartaned clans;
Land which the foot of Knox hath trod,
By moorland, lake, and fell;
Land of my own forefathers' God-
Dear Scotland, fare-thee-well!

Belfast.

187

ULLIN.

The Peat Beds of Holland.

MANY curious speculations have been ventured in regard to peat and its formation. As an economic question, it is of great moment, for, to tens of thousands in Europe, it forms the only description of fuel in use. Ancient forests having been destroyed to furnish food for their fires, men have sought underground, and amongst the marshes, for material wherewith to warm themselves. Sir Walter Scott used to say, "Tell me how a nation warms itself, and I will tell you what it is." To no nation in Europe does this remark apply so well as to curious old Holland. Its method of keeping the pot boiling is indissolubly connected with the manners and customs of its people. If anywhere, surely there the religious symbol of the hearth, with its motto-pro aris et pro focis, is thoroughly understood. Around the inglenook by the great roaring fire-place, the Dutch delight to meet and speak of their ancient glories, and the traditions of their race. Many a story of the seakings who came plunging through their spongy lands in the far-off days of old; many a stirring tale of daring deeds which won the oozy shores from Imperial Rome may be heard, pleasantly mingled with memories of the fairy days when the nymph of Edam, dancing through the mossy shallows of the Zuider Zee, came clothed in the graceful forms of the green duck-weed. In Holland, where everything is peculiar, even the smoke of the cottages is different from that of every other nation. Virgil would have been delighted with the lightsome bursts of that white cloudy vapour, which ever and anon, as fresh turf is supplied, rushes joyfully out of the old-looking chimney-tops. Again, the slowly combustible, yet enduring power of the fuel, aptly typifies the character of the people-the Hollandsche patientie, which is seen in the inner as well as outer life of the Dutch. Pliny, that inquisitive philosopher, greatly admired the idea of using what he called baked earth, for cooking food, in those countries which had not wood for fuel. He says that it proved serviceable in comforting the stomachs of the people, when stiffened by the Northern frosts. "Sigentia septentrione viscera sua urunt," is the old man's waggish remark.

The Dutch seem to have made use of peat, since the most remote periods. At first, clumsy and irregular pieces were taken from the bog-if such a term can be applied to a locality where the rich humus usually rests on peat-leaving it much cutup and distorted. But as we pass down the stream of time, we find, that with the fashion of the ages, the shape of the turf changed and became representative in its character. The present form is a parallelopiped, or elongated brick, not unlike that used in Ireland. The people assert that the word turf comes from an old noun signifying poverty, but of what, they do not tell us. Poor they never were, if we mean by that the absolute famine-stricken position

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