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clam. She accompanied the offering with the following note.

"Most dear, and most clement, our lord the king,

"As our fruit has not succeeded better this year than the last, you must condescend to receive it, such as it is. I and my husband have picked out the best we could find, and we have packed it up as well as we were able with straw and hay. We hope you will eat it in good health. Pray God give you a long life, in order that you may be able to come and see us for many years to come. I will always keep the best I have for you. I and my husband entreat you, therefore, to regard us with favour; especially, because our little bit of land produces less than it did, and that we have a debt upon it of 120 crowns, ten groschen, and six fenins. Moreover, we commend you to the protection of Almighty God; and we shall be, till death, and for ever, of your majesty, "the faithful and devoted subjects,

"I And My Husband."

To this communication Frederick replied thus :—

"Good mother,

"I am much obliged to you for your fine fruit. If God grants health and life to me, I will return and see ou a year hence. Keep something for me, in order that - may find it when I come to you. With regard to what you tell me of your little bit of land being charged with a debt of 120 crowns, ten groschen, and six fenins, that is really a bad business. You should be very economical, otherwise your affairs will go back instead of advancing. I send you herewith 200 crowns, which I have also packed up as well as I was able. Pay your debts with them, and free your bit of land. Take care to economize as much as you are able: this is a counsel which I give you seriously, as your attached king, "Frederic."



Human life has not a surer friend, nor many times a greater enemy, than Hope. Hope is the miserable man's God, which in the hardest gripe of calamity never fails to yield him beams of comfort. It is to the presumptuous man a Devil, which leads him awhile in a smooth way, and then on a sudden makes him break his neck. Hope is to man as a bladder to one learning to swim; it keeps him from sinking in the bosom of the waves, and by that help he may attain the exercise; but yet it many times makes him venture beyond his height; and then if that breaks, or a storm rises, he drowns without recovery. How many would die, did not Hope sustain them! How many have died by hoping too much! This wonder we may find in Hope; that she is both a flatterer and a true friend. Like a valiant captain in a losing battle, it is ever encouraging man, and never leaves him, till they both expire together. While breath pants in the dying body, there is Hope fleeting in the wavering soul. It is almost as the air on which the mind doth live.

There is one thing which may add to our value of it; that it is appropriate unto man alone. For surely beasts have not Hope at all; they are only capable of the present; whereas man apprehending future things, hath this given him for the sustentation of his drooping soul. Who could live surrounded by calamities, did not smiling Hope cheer him with expectation of deliverance? There is no estate so miserable as to exclude her comfort. Imprison, vex, fright, torture, shew death with his horridest brow, yet Hope will dash in her reviving rays, that shall illumine and exhilarate in the swell of these.

Nor does Hope more friend us with her gentle shine, than she often fools us with her sweet delusions. She cozens the thief of the coin he steals; and cheats the gamester more than even the falsest die. It abuseth universal man, from him that stoops to the loam wall (a cot of clay) upon the naked common, to the monarch on his purple throne. Whatsoever good we

see, it tells us we may obtain it, and in a little time tumble ourselves in the down-bed of our wishes; but it often performs like Domitian, promising all with nothing. It is indeed the rattle which Nature did provide, to still the froward crying of the fond child, man. Certainly it requires a great deal of judgment to balance our hopes even. He that hopes for nothing will never attain to any thing. This good comes of over hoping, that it sweetens our passage through the world, and sometimes so sets us to work as to produce great actions. But then again he that hopes too much shall deceive himself at the last; especially if his industry goes not along to fertilize it. For Hope without action is a barren undoer. The best is to hope for things possible and probable. If we can take her comforts without transferring to her our confidence, we shall surely find her a sweet companion. I will be content my hope shall travail beyond reason; but I would not have her build there. So I shall thus reap the benefit of her present service, yet prevent the treason she might beguile me with.—Owen Feltham, 1G36.

The swelling of an outward fortune can
Create a prosp'rous, not a happy man;
A peacefull Conscience is the true Content,
And Wealth is but her golden ornament.

QiAiiLiis. 1630.

Happiness.—That wherein God hmself is happy, and the holy Angels happy, and in the defect of which the devils are unhappy,—that dare I call happiness. Whatsoever conduceth unto this may with an easy metaphor deserve that name; whatsoever else the world terms happiness is to me a story out of Pliny—an apparition, or real delusion, wherein there is no more of happiness than the name. Bless me in this life with but peace of my conscience, command of my affections, the love of thy self, and my dearest friends; and I shall be happy enough to pity Caesar. These are O Lord the humble desires of my most reasonable ambition, and all I dare call happiness on earth; wherein I set no rule or limit to thy hand or providence; dispose of me according to the wisdom of thy pleasure. Thy will be done though in my own undoing.—Sirthos. Brown.

TO CORRESPONDENTS. We have received a letter from a correspondent' who seems to be afraid that a sentence in our introductory article may lead to the belief that we intend to make our Magazine a Sunday Paper. We can only say, that nothing can be further from our intentions: and we are quite certain that the passage referred to cannot, by any fair means, be made to bear such a construction. The 'pause from labour' was referred to the end of the week, and we surely need not remind our correspondent that Saturday is the end of the week, and Sunday the beginning. To prevent any such apprehension, we beg to state, that in London our Magazine is published on Friday afternoon, so that three cannot be the slightest reason for any fear that it will interfere with the due observation of that day, which we most anxiously desire to be kept holy throughout the land.



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The Nannau Oak, which is here represented, had I been for ages an object of superstitious dread to the peasantry of Merionethshire. On the 13th July, 1813, | it fell suddenly to the ground, completely worn out with age. A drawing of this remarkable tree had fortunately been made by Sir Richard Colt Hoare, only a few hours before it fell, which has perpetuated its resemblance, and will long preserve the recollections connected with its history. It represents it as it then stood, pierced and hollowed by time, and blasted by the stroke of lightning; and with its blanched and withered branches forming a strong contrast to the freshness and beauty of the surrounding scene.

In the neighbourhood it was known as the Haunted Oak—the Spirit's Blasted Tree,—or, in Welch, " CcuVol. I.

bren yr Ellyll," the Hobgoblin's Hollow Tree. It owed its fearful names to a circumstance well known in the history of that country. Howel Sele, a Welsh chieftain, and Lord of Nannau, was privately slain, during a hunting quarrel, by his cousin, Owen Glyndwr, or Glendower, and hidden for a long time within its hollow trunk. The remembrance of this tragical event was afterwards preserved by tradition iu the family of the Vaughans of Hengwyrl; nor was it w holly lost among the peasants, who would point out to the traveller the "Haunted Oak;" and as they passed it in the gloom of night, would quicken their pace, and perhaps murmur a prayer for personal protection, against the crafts and assaults of the demon of the tree.

. "The irregular and wild Glyndwr, (at least so tradition says) being enraged with Howel, who had refused to espouse his kinsman's and his country's cause, determined, during a cessation of arms, like Earl Percy of old, "to force the red deer from the forest brake," in the domains of the unbending lord of Nannau. Thither he repaired; and encountering Howell alone, but armed, they fought. Glyndwr conquered—his cousin fell. Owen returned in haste to his stronghold, Glyndwrdry. Howel was sought for, but nowhere found. The vassals of Nannau were filled with consternation and alarm; Sele's sorrowing lady shut herself up from the world in the solitude of her now gloomy castle. Year succeeded year, and yet no tidings were received of the absent Howel. His fate remained long unknown to all save Glyndwr, and his companion Madog. At length, one tempestuous evening in November, an armed horseman was descried urging his flagging steed up the hill that leads to Nannau, from the neighbouring town of Dolgellau: It was Madog—who, after the death of the fiery, yet generous Glyndwr, hastened to fulfil his last command, and unravel the horrid mystery. He told his melancholy tale, and referred to the blasted oak in confirmation of its painful truth. Howel's unhallowed sepulchre was opened, and his skeleton discovered, grasping with his right hand his rusty sword. The remains were removed to the neighbouring monastery of Cymmer, for burial, and masses were performed for the repose of the troubled spirit of the Lancastrian Sele [Cambro-Briton].

The above tradition forms the subject of a very fine ballad by Mr. Warrington, printed in the notes to Marmion, by Sir Walter Scott. Let Madog, in the poet's words, complete the tale. Led by the ardor of the chace,

Far distant from his own domain,
From where Garthmaelen spreads her shade,

The Glyndwr sought the opening plain.

With head aloft and antlers wide,

A red-buck roused, then cross'd his view;
Stung with the sight, and wild with rage,

Swift from the wood fierce Howel flew.
They fought, and doubtful long the fray,

The Glyndwr gave the fatal wound.
Still mournful must my tale proceed,

And its last act all dreadful sound.

I marked a broad and blasted oak,
scorched by the lightning's livid glare,

Hollow its stem from branch to root,
And all its shrivell'd arms were bare.

Be this, I cried, his proper grave!

(The thought in me was deadly sin)
Aloft we rais'd the hapless chief,

And dropped his bleeding corpse within.
He led them near the blasted oak,

Then conscious, from the scene withdrew;
The peasants work with trembling haste,

And lay the whitened bones to view.

Back they recoil'd: the right hand still

Contracted, grasp'd a rusty sword,
Which erst in many a battle gleamed,

And proudly deck'd their slaughtered lord.

Pale lights on Caddy's rocks were seen,
And midnight voices heard to moan;

'Twas even said the blasted oak
Convulsive heav'd a hollow groan.

And to this day the peasant still

With cautious fear avoids the ground;

In each wild branch a spectre see,
And trembles at each rising sound.

This celebrated oak measured 27 feet 6 inches in chcumference, and stood on the estate of Sir Robert

Williams Vaughan, Nannau Park, Merionethshire; who, after its fall, had a variety of utensils manufactured from its wood, which is of a beautiful dark colour, approaching to ebony; and there is scarcely a house in Dolgelle that does not contain an engraving of this venerable tree, framed with the wood. At Nannau there are several relics; amongst others, a frame containing an engraved portrait of Pitt, and under it the following motto: "Y Gwr fal y dderwn a wynebodd y dymestl." "This man, like the oak, faced the tempest.'

A sepulchral tree somewhat similar has lately been discovered in France, in the hollow trunk of which was found the skeleton of a man, with his head downwards. No traditions, however, are extant, which either throw, or pretend to throw, any light upon this curious occurrence: neither were there any attendant circumstances which could prove whether the individual had been murdered, or whether "some fantastical suicide had chosen this extraordinary mode of self- destruction."


Under the title of Natural Magic Sir David BrewSter has just added a delightful little volume to Mr. Murray's Family Library, from which we extract an account of several extraordinary cases of the destruction of human bodies without flame.

That animal bodies are liable to internal burning is a fact which was well known to the ancients. Many cases which have been adduced as examples are merely cases of individuals who were highly susceptible of strong electrical excitation. In one of these it is asserted, that the sparks of fire thus produced reduced to ashes the hair of a young man; and in another, that the wife of a physician to the Archbishop of Toledo, emitted by perspiration an inflammable matter of such a nature, that when the ribbon which she wore over her shift was taken from her, and exposed to the cold air, it instantly took fire, and shot forth like grains of gunpowder. Peter Borelli has recorded a fact of the very same kind respecting a peasant whose linen took fire, whether it was laid up in a box when wet, or hung up in the open air. The same author speaks of a woman who, when at the point of death, vomited flames; and Bartholin mentions this as having often happened to persons who were great drinkers of wine or brandy. De Castro mentions the singular case of a physician, from whose backbone there issued a fire which scorched the eyes of the beholders; and Krantius relates, that certain people of the territory of Nivers were burning with invisible fire, and that some of them cut off a foot or a hand where the burning began, in order to arrest the calamity. Nor have these effects been confined to man. In the time of the Roman consuls, a flame is said to have issued from the mouth of a bull without doing any injury to the animal.

The reader will judge of the degree of credit which may belong to these narrations when he examines the effects of a similar kind which have taken place in less fabulous ages, and nearer our own times. A Polish gentleman in the time of the Queen Bona Sforza, having drunk two dishes of a liquor called brandy-wine, vomited flames, and was burned by them; and Bartholin thus describes a similar accident: "A poor woman at Paris used to drink spirit of wine plentifully for the space of three years, so as to take nothing else. Her body contracted such a combustible disposition, that one night, when she lay down on a straw couch, she was all burned to ashes except her skull and the extremities of her fingers." Christopher Sturmius informs us that in the northern countries of Europe flames often evaporate from the stomachs of those who are addicted to the drinking of strong liquors : and he adds, "that seventeen years before, three noblemen of Courland drank by emulation strong liquors, and two of them died scorched and suffocated by a flame which issued from their stomach."

One of the most remarkable, is that of the Countess Zangari, which has been minutely described. This lady, who was in the sixty-second year of her age, retired to bed in her usual health. Here she spent above three hours in conversation with her maid, and in saying her prayers; and having at last fallen asleep, the door of her chamber was shut. As her maid was not summoned at the usual hour, she went into the bed-room to wake her mistress; but, receiving no answer, she opened the window, and saw her corpse on the floor, in the most dreadful condition. At the distance of four feet from the bed there was a heap of ashes. Her legs, with the stockings on, remained untouched, and the head, half-burned, lay between them. Nearly all the rest of the body was reduced to ashes. The air in the room was charged with floating soot. A small oil lamp on the floor was covered with ashes, but had no oil in it; and in two candlesticks, which stood upright upon a table, the cotton wick of both the candles was left, and the tallow of both had disappeared. The bed was not injured, and the blankets and sheets were raised on one side, as if a person had risen up from it. From an examination of all the circumstances of this case, it has been generally supposed, that an internal combustion had taken place; that the lady had risen from her bed to cool herself, and that, in her way to open the window, the combustion had overpowered her, and consumed her body by a process in which no flame was produced which could set fire to the furniture or the floor. The Marquis Scipio Mallei was informed by an Italian nobleman who passed through Cosena a few days after this event, that he heard it stated in that town, that the Countess was in the habit, when she felt herself indisposed, of washing all her body with camphorated spirit of wine.

So recently as 1744, a similar example of spontaneous combustion occurred in our own country, at Ipswich. A fisherman's wife, of the name of Grace Pett, of the parish of St. Clements, had been in the habit, for several years, of going down stairs every night after she was half-undressed, to smoke a pipe. She did this on the evening of the 9th of April, 1744. Her daughter, who lay in the same bed with her, had fallen asleep, and did not miss her mother till she waked early in the morning. Upon dressing herself, and going down stairs, she found her mother's body lying on the right side, with her head against the grate, and extended over the hearth, with her legs on the deal floor, and appearing like a block of wood burning with a glowing fire without flame. Upon quenching the fire with two bowls of water, the neighbours, whom the cries of the daughter had brought in, were almost stifled with the smell. The trunk of the unfortunate woman was almost burned to ashes, and appeared like a heap of charcoal covered with white ashes. The head, arms, legs, and thighs, were also much burned. There was no fire whatever in the grate, and the candle was burnt out in the socket of the candlestick, which stood by her. The clothes of a child, on one side of her, and a paper screen on the other, were untouched; and the deal floor was neither singed nor discoloured, It was said that the woman had drunk plentifully of gin over-night, in welcoming a daughter who had recently returned from Gibraltar.

By Hector M'neill.

Oh that folk would well consider

What it is to lose a name, What this world is altogether,

If bereft of honest fame 1

Poverty ne'er brings dishonour,.

Hardships ne'er breed sorrow's smart, If bright Conscience takes upon her

To shed sunshine round the heart:

But, with all that wealth can borrow,
Guilty Shame will aye look down;

What must then, Shame, Want, and Sorrow
Wandering sad from town to town!

Busy, curious, thirsty fly!
Drink with me, and drink as I!
Freely welcome to my cup,
Coulust thou sip and sip it up:
Make the most of life you may;
Life is short and wears away.

Both alike are mine and thine
Hastening quick to their decline!
Thine's a summer, mine no more,
Though repeated to threescore!
Threescore summers, when they're gone,
Will appear as short as one!

PRESENT STATE OF THE WORSHIP OF JAGGANATHA, or Juggernaut.) The temple of Jagganatha at Poree is surrounded by a number of other idolatrous temples and shrines, forming altogether a large and very singular mass of buildings. By the kindness of the Royal Asiatic Society, we have been enabled, in a former Number, to give to our readers accurate representations of these abodes of superstition,

They stand within a square enclosure, each side of which measures about 600 feet, and the whole is surrounded by a stone wall about twenty feet high. Within the great enclosure is a smaller one, also surrounded by a wall; the ground is raised about twenty feet, and upon that terrace stand the temples of Jagganatha which are represented in our first plate. The space between the two enclosures is occupied by about fifty other temples dedicated to the various idols to the Hindoo superstition. The great tower is the residence of Sri Jeo and his brother and sister. Its execution is rude and inelegant, and the form and proportions by no means pleasing to the eye. It is overlaid with a coating of plaster, of which only patches remain, and the effect of the whole is made worse by parts of the fabric, and the sculptures upon them, being daubed with red paint. The height of the tower is about 180 feet from the terrace, the ground plan is a square, measuring thirty feet on a side.

The next building to the tower is the great antichamber of the temple into which it opens. It is here that the image is exposed to view at the feast called the bathing festival.

Next stands a low building or portico, intended as an awning to shelter the entrance from the rays of the sun—the other building with a pyramidical roof is the place to which the food, prepared for the pilgrims, is daily brought, previous to its distribution. The walls of the temple which are visible beyond the enclosure, are covered with statues of the grossest obscenity, thus openly exhibiting the degrading alliance which has always been found to exist between idolatry and the lowest and most disgusting vices. There are a vast number of priests and servants, including a number of wretched women, devoted to the

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There are two principal feasts which attract multitudes of pilgrims to these temples, from all parts of India. The first is called the bathing feast, the other and greatest of all, the chariot feast. At the former Sri Jeo and his brother after undergoing certain washings, are supposed to take the form of the elephantheaded god; to represent which the images are dressed up with an appropriate mask. Thus arrayed, they are exposed to view on the terrace overlooking the wall, surrounded by crowds of priests, who fan them to drive away the flies, whilst the multitude below gaze in stupid admiration. The scene is thus described by Capt. Mundy in his very entertaining Pen and Pencil Sketches of India.

"On hearing that the idols had been brought out of the temple, and that they were now exhibited to the admiring gaze of the multitude who had travelled so far to pay their respects, I mounted an elephant, and with two or three others of our party repaired to the open market place, opposite to the platform of the temple. Winding our way carefully through the assembled crowds, we took post in a convenient spot; our exalted situation enabling us to see over the heads of the pedestrian gazers. Their godships were formed up in line, on an elevated terrace within the enclosure, and protected from the night dews by an extensive and gaudy canopy of many coloured cloths. The evening was dark, and at intervals blue lights were thrown up to enable the spectators to view the ceremony; but the idols being almost constantly hidden by a forest of fans of various forms, diligently agitated by the attendant Brahmins, to prevent the flies and musquitos from invading their sacred noses, we sent a polite note to the chief priest, requesting that he ■would cause the officials to open out for an instant to the right and left, in order to afford us the satisfaction of contemplating the expressive countenances of the worshipful trio. Our embassy succeeded, the

crowd fell back from before them; two brilliant lights were illumined; and we saw distinctly three frightful wooden faces, of the respective colours of black, brown, and yellow; the lower portions of the figures being closely swathed in cloth wrappers."

The great festival of the Chariot is held for the performance of an annual excursion with which the idols are treated, to a temple about a mile and a half from Pooree. The following account of it is given by Mr. Sterling, whose long residence in the district in which temples are built, and intimate acquaintance with every part of the subject, give a value to his evidence far superior to that of any occasional visitor.

"On the day appointed, after various prayers and ceremonies have been gone through within the temple, the images are brought from their throne to the outside of the Lion gate—not with decency and reverence, seated on a litter or vehicle adapted to such an occasion—but a common cord being fastened round their necks, certain priests to whom the duty belongs, drag them down the steps and through the mud, whilst others keep the figures erect, and help their movements by shoving them from behind, in the most indifferent and unceremonious manner, as if they thought the whole business a good joke. In this way the monstrous idols go rocking and pitching along through the crowd, until they reach the cars, which they are made to ascend by a similar process, up an inclined platform, reaching from the stage of the machine to the ground. On the other hand, a powerful feeling of superstitious enthusiasm pervades the admiring multitude. When the beloved images first make their appearance through the gate, they welcome them with the loudest shouts of joy, and stunning cries of "victory to Jagganatha," and when the monster Jagganatha himself, the most hideous of all the figures, is dragged forth, the last in order, the air is rent with plaudits and acclamations. These celebrated idols are nothing more than wooden busts about six feet in height, fashioned into a rude resemblance of the human head resting on a sort of pedestal as represented in our engraving. They are painted, white, yellow, and black, respectively, with frightfully grim and distorted countenances, and are decorated with a head-dress of different coloured cloths, shaped something like a helmet. The two brothers have arms projecting horizontally forward from the ears; but the sister is entirely devoid of that member of the human form. Their raths, or cars, (one of which is represented in the engraving) have an imposing air from their size and loftiness, being about forty feet high, with solid wheels of six feet diameter, but every part of the ornament is of the most mean and paltry description, save only the covering of striped and spangled broad cloth, furnished from the.export warehouse of the British Government, the splendour and gorgeous effect of which make up in a great measure for other deficiencies. After the images have been safely lodged in their vehicles, a box is brought forth containing the golden or gilded feet, hands, and ears of the great idol, which are fixed on the proper parts with due ceremony, and a scarlet scarf is carefully arranged round the lower part of the body or pedestal. Thus equipped and decorated, it is worshipped in much pomp and state by the Rajah of Khoorda, who performs before it the ceremony of sweeping with a richly ornamented broom. As soon as the proper signal has been given to the multitudes assembled, they seize on the cables which are fastened to the car, when all advance forwards a few yards, hauling along generally two of the raths at a time. The joy and shouts of the crowd, on their first movement, the creaking sound of the wheels as these ponderous

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