the season of the year; and let the inner pot be filled and kept full of water.

The principal advantages to be derived from this method are, the regularity of the supply of moisture, without any chance of saturation; the power of examining the state of the cuttings at any time, without injuring them, by lifting out the inner pot; the superior drainage, so essential in propagating, by having such a thin layer of soil; the roots being placed so near the sides of both pots; and the facility with which the plants, when rooted, can be parted for potting off, by taking out the inner pot, and, with a common table-knife, cutting out every plant with its ball, without the awkward, but often necessary, process of turning the pot upside down to get out the cuttings.

TRAVELS IN CHILI AND PERU.

[IN the Foreign Quarterly Review, just published, is a very attractive paper upon a new work which has lately appeared in Germany, upon the above important countries of South America. The title runs-Travels in Chili and Peru, and on the River Amazons, in the years 1827-1832. By Von Edward Poeppig. It extends to two quartos, containing between 900 and 1,000 closely printed pages; accompanied by an atlas of plates. From the Reviewer's observations we gather that the work is "replete with new and interesting information communicated in an agreeable manner, and calculated to give a very favourable idea of the acquirements, perseverance, and impartiality of the author." The main object of the voyage was to collect specimens of natural history; and the descrip

tive portions of the work are, therefore, among its most striking features: e. g.]

Arrival at Antuco.

Late in the evening we reached the end of the dreary plain of Antuco, and suddenly found ourselves in a fertile spot overgrown with high grass. The moon had risen above the snowy plains of the Andes; the streams of lava shone brilliantly on the shady side of the volcano; and all was still, till the noise of a great multitude made us all at once aware that we were in the vicinity of Tucapel and indicated that some unusual event had taken place there. In fact we found the inhabitants in the utmost despair, as they were in momentary expectation of an attack from the marauding tribe of the Moluches, who were said to have advanced as far as the upper Biobio-women and children were lamenting, while the men were hastily loading their horses with their little property, to seek safety in flight, though with the certain prospect of finding their village reduced to ashes on their return. Only a few men, confident in the fleetness of their steeds, resolved to wait till the last moment, and not follow their families till the blood-thirsty horde had actually made their appearance. It seemed more advisable to imitate their example, than to go back all the way to Yumbel. Under cover of a neighbouring wood, we succeeded in getting off our mules and baggage, and I was fortunate enough to obtain a fresh horse. The Chilians encamped in the centre of the village-for none ventured to remain in their

The

dwellings, where they could not so soon be aware of the approaching danger. It was indeed a melancholy encampment-little was said, and the cheerful guitar was for once laid aside-the peasants sat in gloomy despondency round the small watchfire, the reflection of which showed, in their careworn features, the traces of the misery which this destructive war has for many years inflicted ou all the inhabitants of the frontiers. midnight stillness was suddenly broken by a dismal song, in a harsh voice, which was succeeded by an expressive silence. At a short distance from us there was an encampment of about twenty Pehuenches, who had hitherto remained unobserved. Near the fire, and supported against the old trunk of a weeping mayte, reclined a captive Indian, painted with white streaks, which had been traced upon his dark skin with horrid fidelity, in imitation of a human skeleton. The rest were seated in a circle in gloomy silence; with their horses ready saddled behind them, and their long lances fixed in the ground by: their side. The prisoner re-commenced his song, but none replied, for it was his farewell to life-his death-song-as he had been doomed to die the next morning by the hand of his guards. During a fit of intoxication:

--

he had killed a member of another family, and, being the last descendant of an extirpated race, and too poor to pay the fine in arms and cattle, his life was irrecoverably forfeited to the vengeance of the relations, according to the inexorable laws of this people. I left the camp of these Indians, whose vicinity could only excite unpleasant feelings; and ascended a hill which rose close to the unfortunate village. Here, on a level rock, I watched for some time, holding the reins of my horse in one hand and my gun in the other, as we might every instant expect the dreaded attack. About midnight, the wind bore along the distant sound of the trampling of horses, followed by loud yells, and, in a moment, the whole village was in motion. The Chilians and Indians fled into the dark woods, - but the war-cries soon announced them to be allied Pehuenches, who belonged to the troop that had left Yumbel on the preceding day, and who brought good tidings. The watch-fires in stantly blazed up, and all thronged round the messengers, who reported with wild gestures that they had unexpectedly come upon the approaching Moluches, whom they had defeated, and that they were now hastening to Chillan to spread the news of victory, and receive the customary presents. In confirmation of their statement, they rolled along at our feet some bloody heads, whose savage features fixed in death had a most terrific appearance. The horrid trophies were received with a loud yell of joy-the Chilians collected their concealed property, and a disgusting bacchanal ensued. Sick at heart from the repeated sight of these cruelties, I retired into the wood; the exhaustion both of mind and body rendered any convenient resting place superfluous, and I sought in the arms of sleep forgetfulness of the events of the past day.

Indian Warfare.

The Pehuenches are always at war with one or other of the neighbouring tribes. They consider it as the greatest proof of military skill to attack the enemy in some unguarded point, to penetrate into the open country, and to inflict upon the people all the horrors of an Indian war. They manage to arrive by night near the frontier place which they have doomed to destruction. As soon as morning dawns, they rush tumultuously, and with dreadful yells, into the defenceless village, and the inhabitants rarely have time to fly. The scene of barbarity and destruction which then begins baffles description. Whatever appears to be of any value is seized, the rest destroyed, the herds driven away, the men and youths murdered without pity; the old women, though not killed, are barbarously treated; the younger women and girls carried away with little hope of ever seeing their

country again. Lastly, they set fire to the wretched huts, and the fiend-like assailantshastily retreat amidst the flames, and over the bloody carcasses of their murdered victims. Less than two hours are sufficient to com mence and finish this scene: they vanish as suddenly as they came, and the lamentations of the few inhabitants who have escaped alone bear witness to their destructive visit.

It is very seldom that these Indians take any prisoners, and every one fights to the last moment, rather than, expose himself to the more or less dreadful fate which may befall him, according to the humour of the victors. During my residence at Antuco, a military party, which returned from the Southern Andes, had succeeded in capturing a chief of the detested tribe of the Moluches. The unfortunate prisoner was destined to be a victim to their vengeance, and the intervention of the Chilian commandant, and the offer of considerable presents, had no influence over the incensed Indians, who impatiently waited for the next morning. The prisoner looked forward to his inevitable fate with that stupid indifference which has nothing in common with the courage of the hero. The man who, more than half degenerated, has never experienced the happiness of a softer feeling, resigns without emotion the cheerless boon of existence. The noise of the festival in honour of the triumph resounded throughout the night, and at daybreak a large circle of the men and all the women assembled before the fort. The prisoner stood in the centre of a smaller circle, composed of twenty warriors, each armed with his long lance. Three shallow pits had been dug at his feet, and a short stick was put into his hand. In a loud voice he related his deeds, and named the enemies who had fallen by his hand; and as he pronounced each name he broke off a piece of the stick, which he threw into one of the pits and contemptuously trampled under foot. The shouts of the indignant hearers became louder and louder, and the women, transformed into furies, answered with yells and screams to every new name. One lance after the other was lowered and pointed closer and closer at the breast of the scornful enemy. The last piece of the stick was dropped; the last and the greatest of all the names was pronounced; and at the same instant resounded from a hundred throats the fearful war-cry of the Chibotoo. Twenty lances pierced the prisoner, who was lifted high into the air, and then fell dead upon the ground.

Volcano of Antuco.

The valley of Antuco, which comprehends the highest point of the Southern Andes, extends from east to west, is about seven leagues long, not very broad in any part, and' divided into two very nearly equal portions by

the river Laya. At its lower extremity it is separated by a chain of hills from the plain of Yumbel and Los Angelos; towards the east it rises abruptly, contracts, and is in this direction almost entirely inclosed by the broad base of the volcano, there being barely space between it and the opposite ridge for a rapid stream and a narrow defile which leads into the country of the Indians. Many parts of the soil are not worth cultivating, as it is covered with volcanic rock, and resembles the dry bed of a river; but the sides of the mountains, and the plains at their foot, answer their high reputation for extraordinary fertility. In some places they exhibit terraces one above another, and present natural ineadows in the midst of beautiful mountain-woods, where the most luxuriant vegetation proves the rich ness of the soil; streams everywhere rush down from the mountains, and above their verdant summits tower the lofty peaks covered with everlasting snow. In the immediate vicinity of the village, the mountains are so high that it takes several hours to ascend the bold, rocky summit of the Pico de Pilque. Still further up the valley, their colossal height increases, till the indented glacier of the Silla Veluda and the black cone of the volcano close the wonderful picture. The village itself has a most picturesque appear ance, for it leans against a lofty ridge, which is crested with a magnificent forest of beech trees. There is an indescribable pleasure in botanizing on a bright morning in summer on these trackless heights: the endless variety of beautiful Alpine plants fills the botanist with enthusiasm; the majestic prospect of the snow-crowned Andes refreshes the eye of the wearied traveller, who reposes beneath the shade of trees of extraordinary size; and the atmosphere has a purity which seems to render him more capable of enjoying the pleasures of life and despising its dangers.

But the most splendid and ever-novel object in the landscape is the volcano, which is a few leagues from the village, and, not being concealed by any of the smaller hills by which it is surrounded, is perpetually in sight. We are never weary of observing the various phenomena which it presents, sometimes occasioned by the manifold refraction of light, at others by the mighty convulsions which agitate its interior. Sometimes a thick volume of smoke issues from its crater, like an enormous black column, which by an inconceivable force is impelled with greater rapidity than a cannon-ball into the blue sky; at others, a small, white cloud gently curls upwards out of the crater, with scarcely any perceptible motion, which indicates the tranquillity that prevails within. At any time of the day, the appearance of this mountain is new and varied, but it is most interesting when the sun is rising behind it, and illumines its well-defined outline, or when enve

loped in the radiance of the evening sun, long after it has left Antuco in shade. Even amid the storms which are often spread round its base, while the sky in the lower valley is serene and untroubled, it still remains graud and beautiful.

At night, when shrouded with thick clouds, it is rendered visible by the brilliant fire which constantly issues from its mouth, and which seems to penetrate the lower strata of the atmosphere. The heat of summer, indeed, dissolves the snowy mantle with which winter has invested it, but a passing storm, which never extends to the lower grounds, covers it, even in the warm month of January, with a sheet of silver. We are never tired of watching the moment when the departing daylight renders the glowing streams of lava visible. A solitary speck of fiery red begins to sparkle; it is followed by others, and suddenly the light, like a running fire, communicates to the long streams, which, in some places singly, and in others variously intersected, carry down from the crater to the base, new masses of lava, which continue their brilliant career till they are eclipsed by the more powerful light of the morning sun. In the months of November and December, when the air is quite free from the dry fog, we sometimes enjoy a very rare but truly magical spectacle. When a passing storm has covered the volcano with fresh, pure snow, and the moon happens to be at the full, we observe: at the sides of the cone, a four-fold light, in the most wonderful play of colours. While the moon is still low in the horizon, and, hid behind the mountain, strongly marks the outlines of its snow-capped summit, and the extreme point is still tinged with the last beams of the setting sun, a calm splendour rises majestically from its interior, and streams of lava glow on the western side, which is enveloped in shade: if at this instant light clouds cross over the summit, the scene is such as no one would attempt to describe in words, and of which the greatest painter might despair of giving even a faint resem blance; for whatever grand effect the light of the moon, of the reflection of the snow, of the volcanic fire, and of the evening sun, can produce singly, are here united in one mag+ nificent and unequalled whole.

VON RAUMER'S ENGLAND IN 1835. (Concluded from page 254.) [WITH another extract or two, we take leave of this very interesting, and by this time, popular work.]

English Routs.

My desire of making acquaintances in company is natural, and I was accordingly introduced to a few persons; but such a wish only proved that I knew nothing of

English routs, and that I asked something quite impossible and absurd. When I had come to the conviction that these assemblies had as little the purpose of conversation as of eating and drinking, I had made one step towards knowledge; and I then imagined that the object was to look and be looked at; but I had not yet hit the mark; for yester day evening people placed themselves so that one could not even see. At a German supper, sometimes, one guest more comes than the table can conveniently hold, and the party sit somewhat crowded: in a Paris soirée, twenty or thirty more arrive than there are chairs for; but here, more people meet together than can find standing-room. Indeed, one was more crowded than in the street, only that the company did not move about so rapidly, but stood nearly still, whereas the populace have a peculiar pleasure in the act of pushing and elbowing. It took me a full half-hour to make my way from the farthest room to the entrance; it was utterly impossible to press through faster. As I went ont, guests were still arriving, and the number of the carriages in waiting was so great, that the ladies went out, and traversed the spacious court on foot, that they might reach them sooner.

Windsor Castle.

Lord H- — very obligingly showed us the whole of the castle, much more than is usually shown; and this brings me to the introduction of this letter. Windsor far exceeded my expectations, and made a greater impression on me than all the other castles I have ever seen, put together. It combines the bold originality of the middle ages with the highest pitch of splendour and comfort which our times can reach. It is not an empty, tedious, monotonous repetition of the same sort of rooms, over and over again; but every staircase, every gallery, every room, every hall, nay, every window, is different, surprising, peculiar; in one word, poetical. In the rich, busy, hurrying London, I have often longed for the quiet of decaying Venice -often looked for a tinge of poetic melancholy, or of fantastic originality. In vain; no trace was to be found even in society. Always the sharp outline of reality; the mathematics of life; the arts of calculating, of gaining, of governing. In Windsor, on the contrary, England's history, so rich in interest, with all its recollections, suddenly stands before my eyes. These gigantic towers, bastions, balconies, chapels, churches, and knightly halls, in fresh and boundless variety; at every step new views over rivers, valleys, woods, and fields; the fancies of a thousand years crowded together into one instant, and far supassing every thing that Opera decorators would dare to represent on paper and canvass.

I could understand Versailles, and see Louis the Fourteenth and his court, walking up and down in the straight, rectangular walks among the formal hedges, fountains, and half-fabulous animals: it was just a scene from Racine or Corneille. In Windsor, for the first time since I was in England, I fully understood that Shakspeare was an Englishman. Here he reigns as monarch, and his romantic world here finds a local habitation. As we were afterwards whirled along in the royal carriage through the green: meadows, and among the ancient oaks and beeches, where the wildest nature is interspersed with beautiful gardens and quiet lakes, and where richly ornamented boats lay ready moored to transport us to the distant, wooded and mysterious shore, I felt that I: was on the spot where the Henries reigned, and acted their great and gorgeous tragedies; where, in moonlight nights, Oberon and Titania sport with their fairy troops; where Rosalind wanders in the forest, or Jaques indulges in his melancholy musings, or Beatrice throws out her keen jests like bright arrows.

When the weather had stormed itself out, we drove home through the richly cultivated. country. It was a beautiful evening, and we could see farther than usual; but as soon as we got near London, we were surrounded with a thick fog: a grey curtain hid from us the garden of poetry, and the prose of life demanded a dinner at nine o'clock at night.

Buckingham Palace.

London, June 20th, 1835. Yesterday, in company with Mr. D and several other persons, I visited Buckingham House, the king's new palace, in St. James's Park. Many objections might be made to the arrangement and proportions of the exterior, though its extent, and the colonnade, give it a certain air of grandeur.

But what shall I say of the interior? I never saw anything that might be pronounced a more total failure, in every respect. It is said, indeed, that, spite of the immense sums which have been expended, the king is so ill-satisfied with the result, that he has no mind to take up his residence in it, when the unhappy edifice shall be finished. This reluctance appears to me very natural. For my own part, I would not live in it rent-free; I should vex myself all the day long with the fantastic mixture of every style of architecture and decoration-the absence of all pure taste-the total want of feeling of mea sure and proportion. Even the great entrancehall does not answer its object, because the principal staircase is on one side, and an immense, space scarcely lighted, seems to extend before you as you enter, to no purpose whatever. The grand apartments of the principal story are adorned with pillars; but what

kind of pillars? Partly red, like raw sausages; partly blue, like starch-bad imita tions of marbles which nobody ever saw, standing upon blocks which art rejects, to -support nobody knows what. Then, in the next apartment, (in defiance of keeping,) no pillars, but pilasters; then pilasters without base or capital; and then with a capital, and with the base preposterously cut away.

In the same apartment, fragments of Egypt, Greece, Etruria, Rome, and the Middle Ages, all confusedly mingled toge. ther; the doors, windows, and chimney. pieces, in such incorrect proportions, that even the most unpractised eye must be offended. The spaces unskilfully divided, cut up, insulated; the doors sometimes in the centre, sometimes in the corner-nay, in one room, there are three doors of different height and breadth; over the doors, in some apartments, bas-reliefs and sculptures, in which pygmies and Brobdignagians are huddled together-people from two to six feet high living in admirable harmony. The smaller figures have such miserable spider legs and arms, that oue would fancy they had been starved in a time of scarcity, and were come to the king's palace to fatten. The picture-gallery is highly spoken of. I allow it is large, and the Gothic branches, depending from the half-vaulted ceilings,

produce a certain effect. On the other hand,

this imitation of Henry the Seventh's Chapel is out of its place here where the doors and windows belong to other times and other nations. These doors and windows, again, are in no proper proportion to the whole; the immensely high wall cannot be hung with paintings; and the light, coming from above on two sides, is false, insufficient, and, moreover, broken by the architectural decorations.

This palace, therefore, stands as a very dear proof that wealth, without knowledge of art and taste, cannot effect so much as moderate means aided by knowledge and sound judgment. Of what use, then, is it? The best thing that could happen, would be, if Aladdin, with his magic lamp, would come and transport it into an African desert. Then might travellers go in pilgrimage to it, and learned men at home might puzzle their brains over their descriptions and drawings; wondering in what a curious state of civilization and taste the unknown people, who built in such a style, must have lived! and how such deviations from all rule were to be explained! In the disputations that would arise, the people would be, if not justified, at least excused, and their liberal grants of money would be urged as extremely meritorious; but the king, and, above all, the architect, would be found guilty of a violation of all rules of art and of sense.

THE GREAT CLOCK AT HAMPTON COURT PALACE.

[THE following description of this palace wonder is from an industriously compiled Historical Treatise on Horology, by E. Henderson.* The reader will perceive that the author corrects the prevalent notion of this clock being the work of Tompion, as stated in most descriptions of Hampton Court Palace. We remember expressing a wish to learn its true history and construction, as we stood viewing its embellished face on a delightful evening of last summer; and here our wish is amply gratified.]

According to Dr. Derham, the oldest English made clock extant is the one placed in the principal turret of the Palace Royal, Hampton Court, near London, it was constructed in the year 1540 by a maker of the initials of N. Ŏ. The editor of the article

It is to be wished that we could say as accurately printed; for it is disfigured with many errors