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NATIONAL PROVERBS.

[BY SAMUEL LOVER, ESQ. R. H. A.]

IT has often struck me that the old sayings of our forefathers would furnish matter not only of amusement, but of utility, were we to apply our minds to the consideration of them, with that laudable object. How frequently a proverb is used merely in the flippancy which habit has engendered, without a thought being given to the meaning it so pungently conveys. The frequency of its usage blunts its point-we disregard what has become so common, in the true spirit of the saying, that "too much familarity breeds contempt." But why should we despise proverbs? Should we not rather consider them as legacies bequeathed to us by our ancestors, from their hoarded experience, and if properly applied, perhaps more valuable than legacies of gold? No one would despise the golden legacy, because that would belong to him in particular, but as the world in general are heirs in common to the mental treasure, we attach little value to what is so largely divided-this feeling, perhaps, might be traced to a selfish motive, if the argument were pursued, but as I wish to amuse and instruct, and not to sermonize, I shall not loiter into a metaphysical discussion on the occasion, but proceed in the direct course of my observations.

Old sayings, I have called the legacies bequeathed to us by our ancestors, from their hoarded experience. Might we not also consider them as treasures buried under the ruins of antiquity? How many days and nights of toil have infatuated labourers given to digging in some old castle or ancient rath, for a "crock o' gold," when their time might have been better spent in obtaining the golden advice often to be found in some of these old sayings we have likened to such treasures.

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It is with such a feeling that I take up my literary pick-axe. I have said, that from their being often heard, and being common property proverbs have fallen into disregard, and are oftener used to "adorn a tale" than to "point a moral;" therefore it iny intention to put forward, occasionally, a literary sketch, to place in palpable shape before the public the pith of some good old sayings. So far for the preface; and now to commence the ILLUSTRATIONS OF NATIONAL PROVERBS.-No. I. Peter Molloy was not more than one-and-twenty, when, from good conduct, he had acquired a considerable degree of his master's confidence. From the age of fifteen he had been in the same situation, which enabled him to support his mother, who had been left a widow, with three infant children, whose existence depended entirely on her own solitary exertions. She had performed the duties of a mother well, and reared her off

Ben: Clayton jun. spring in principles of honesty and sobriety, and they, as they grew up, repaid her in affection and industry that contributed largely to her comfort. But it was the will of heaven that she should lose two of her children by death, and the hand of sickness fell heavily on her soon after, and she became so broken from grief and disease, that at last she was quite dependant on Peter for support. This he gave his mother with a willingness that did him honour. But Peter's head was not quite so good as his heart, and he shared largely in the thoughtlessness that, unfortunately, but too often distinguishes his countrymen. My story commences just at the period up to which Peter had given perfect satisfaction to his master, and well would it have been for Peter, if he had not been minding the pretty face of a servant girl that stood one morning at a door in the city, receiving bread from a baker, instead of attending to his business.— She saw the passing admiration she excited, and took care to let Peter perceive it was not disagreeable. From so slight a beginning as this, an intimacy was established between them, and frequent meetings were contrived, in which the pleasure of Peter and Biddy (for such was the girl's name) was more cousulted than the interests of his master or her mistress. Peter became less attentive to his duties; his master complained and he made excuses--but secretly thought "it was mighty hard, so it was, that he couldn't have a little bit o' divarshin without a dark look and a hard word from the masther-sure he was seldom neglecting his business." Peter should have remembered that he ought never to have neglected it.

One night, at the iron palisades of a house in York-street, a voice was heard calling in a half mumbling half supplicating tone, "Ah! Mrs. Cook, dear, give a bit o' something to the poor woman-God bless you, Mrs. Cook, and extend your charity to the cowld and hungry." "Who's that?" said a voice in an under tone, from the area-and Biddy (for it was she) advanced from the kitchen door. "Whisht, whisht," said a man from above, who had feigned a beggar-woman's tone and manner, that, if he was heard, the master or mistress of the house might not discover his sex from his voice, and thus find out that a male friend was paying Biddy a nocturnal visit. The conversation dropped into a whisper, and ran thus-"Well, Biddy darlin, may I go down?" "Aye, Tom dear-the misthiss is gone to bed."And Tom soon crossed the palisades, and dropt into the area, where a kiss from Biddy awaited him; and he was now introduced into the kitchen by this thoughtless girl, who thus broke the faith reposed in her by her employers, in admitting, by stealth, a stranger into their house.

This man was a follower of Biddy's, who had been courting her for some time, and was a rival of Peter's. She had met

My coadjutor will supply you with one for another shilling." "Divil a rap more I have," said Peter.

"Well," said Biddy, who didn't like the work to be interrupted, "here it is," and she handed out the money.

"You're a rale lady," said the clerk, and he put into Peter's hand the big iron key.

"What am I to do with this?" said Peter.

"Put the loop o' the kay an her finger, and it's as good a ring as ever done the job."

"Oh! I'm afeard it won't be an honest marriage," said Biddy.

"Tut, you fool," said the couple-beggar, "put out your fist, and none of your nonsense!--how nice you are!-may be its a goold ring you want. I tell you what, you jade, that blessed key has locked up more people in Hyman's condemned cell than any other jail key in his Majesty's dominion.-Kiss her now, you dog, and your job's done."

Peter gave her a smack as loud as a pistol-shot; and the piper and fiddler struck up the tunes of "Stoney-batter," and "Go to the Devil and shake yourself."-" Now be off," said the drunken old brute-"be off, I say, for there are others waiting who are ordered for immediate execution," and he tossed off a glass of whiskey to the health of the happy pair.

Next morning, Peter Molloy was rather surprised when he awoke to find he had a head-ache and a wife. However, what was done could not be undone; and though Peter was rather startled, he was not, to say, sorry, for he was attached to the girl, and had thought for some time he should never be happy till he was married. Peter went out to his employment, but his master met him at the door of his warehouse, and told him he had no further employment for him. Peter ventured to ask him why, and his master told him that for some time his conduct had been unsatisfactory, he had been neglecting his business, and he feared he was not going on well; he had heard also that the day before he was seen at the fair, in company with a young woman, who did not seem a bit better than she should be. This was a "staggerer" to poor Peter-his heart jumped to his throat at the words, and he could not utter a syllable more; he returned home-no-not home, for he had not dared to go on the preceding night to his mother's, but he returned to Biddy, and we leave the reader to suppose with what appetite he sat down to his breakfast. "What's the matther, Peter," said Biddy, "Oh! nothin'," said Peter, and breakfast passed over rather silently. Biddy," said Peter, when their meal was finished, “"my masther has put me out iv employment this mornin' and I've no money, and I'm afeard to tell my mother I'm marrid yet; so darlin', I think you had betther thry and excuse yourself to your misthress for being out last night, and go back to your place antil times inend wid uz."

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Oh! thin, is that the way you're goin' to put away your wife! Oh! musha, did I think I'd be used this way," and Biddy made a capital imitation of crying.-"Why, sure, how can I help it, Biddy dear-you see matthers has gone crass wid me." But in the end, Peter discovered that Biddy was out of place as well as himself, and he then began to wish in his heart he had not been in so violent a hurry; besides he had not quite got rid of the sting he felt at the imputation his master cast upon Biddy's appearance. It was with a heavy heart that Peter, at last, when he summoned sufficient resolution, told his mother of his circumstances, and the sorrowing woman shook her head and said, "Ah! Peter, my poor foolish boy, why didn't you mind your mother's advice. You often heard me say, Peter dear,

"Marry in haste and repent at leisure."

THE MISERS OF ANTWERP. THE story and fate of the two misers of Antwerp are now nearly forgotten; a tradition rather than a true history. Even the celebrated picture which represents these men tells no more of their story than a sign-post does respecting the country it designs; but like this, it is a good starting-post. From curiosity respecting this picture, I have been enabled to make out the following particulars of their lives and subsequent fate. If less appalling than the wholesale butcheries of modern times, it was once considered a tale of fearful interest.

It was in a narrow street turning out of the Rue de la Mer, that a house had remained untenanted for many years, from a reputation it had very generally acquired of being haunted. Illfame had done its worst upon the building, and had exorcised all good and cheerful spirits from the dwelling: its many stories of broken windows, with their high gable ends, alone attesting

it had once been of some importance. About the period of the commencement of our story, it again received inmates, but of a nature perfectly suited to its present gloomy appearance. Two old men were allowed to occupy an unfurnished apartment and its adjoining closet. Some compasionate neighbours bestowed a straw mattress and a little covering, pitying, perhaps, the illsorted union of old age and beggary; this, together with a small stove, a saucepan, a lamp, two chairs, soon despoiled of their backs to convert into fuel, a deal table, a large wooden trunk, and small iron chest, were all these new comers added for the comfort of their home.

The habits of these men, abiding in a house supposed to be haunted, strangers too in the good town of Antwerp, occasioned for a while much curious remark and observation; but even the active principle of curiosity will die of inanition, and their unvarying daily history at length silenced and baffled suspicion. In the course of time the very oddity that had occasioned remark seemed natural and appropriate. It was not known by what train of circumstances, and their corresponding action on the mind, these two brothers-for such was the legal as well as characteristic relationship between them-had adopted the gentlemanly vice of avarice; or if from early youth it had been their natural tendency, moulded into character by the thousand accidents that fashion men's minds. In the town of Antwerp they were never otherwise known than as men of penurious habits, about whom there hung some mystery, by many supposed to be the mystery of wealth.

However this might be, one brother alternately remained at home, whilst the other bent his way to the bridge that used to cross the Rue de la Mer when a canal ran through it-on this bridge to post himself indifferently in the summer, or more inclement seasons, to ask alms from every decent passenger, plying a thankless trade from break of day until the waters reflected dimly the decaying light.

The appearance of these two misers, though wretched in the extreme, half clothed and fed, the hungry look of their tribe upon them, the compressed and indrawn life, the clutching grasp of the long, lean, withered hand closing on every cent with all the strength left in the attenuated body,-had novertheless in it an air of decayed gentility, which, despite the offensive whine of mendicity, induced most passengers to drop a little solid charity into the eager palm of either beggar-I say their appearance, for in the gaunt famine-struck form, in features, voice, even in the pace of person, one could not be identified apart from the other, save after close and minute observation.

It might have been a curious spectacle to have watched these two wretched old men after the entrance of him who had been plying his productive trade upon the bridge; the quiet grim smile with which he counted his day's gain into the other's hand the mutual satisfaction with which it was added to the contents of the wooden trunk already so weighty with copper coin, that no single man could raise it. Then would they silently sit down to the supper which he at home had prepared. Stale fish, the refuse of some neighbour's dinner; or as a luxury on féte days, a boiled morsel of half dried pork, of which they previously devoured the fat and fragrant soup, formed the materials of this repast. With such dainty fare, their equanimity of temper was unlikely to be disturbed by the intrusion of visitors; nor were they ever known to ask a neighbour into their room. It was a curious fact, that even a hungry dog never whined to them for food; it would seem the wretched curs were disciples of Lavater, that they looked in the pinched faces of the brothers, and felt an appeal to their compassion would be vain. Their affeetion for each other, which appeared their strongest feeling after their love of hoarding money, was not unmingled with suspicion, for each never failed to count their valueless treasure after the other. After supper, however, came their hour of delight; then were the cold and pain and tauntings of the day forgotten; then did the bitter revilings of those without charity seem music to their very souls; a genial heat warmed the lagging blood in their shrunk veins; the triumph, not less delicious because untold, was theirs. A turbaned monarch of a land of slaves has less his soul's desire gratified, than our two humble, despised, and solitary men, when, after renewed examination of the wellsecured door and windows, first by one and then another pair of peering gray eyes, the coffer before mentioned was placed on the table. Then with their stools touching each other in exquisitely delicious approximation, the iron box was opened, and the misers began to count their gold; the feeble glimmer of an ill-fed lamp lighting a board spread with golden treasure.

Curiosity had wholly died away respecting these men, when

new food was given to the gossips of the neighbourhood by the sudden introduction of a beautiful high-spirited girl, the newly acknowledged daughter of the younger of the misers. Of all the possible addition to this confined family circle, none could seem so utterly inappropriate.

It appeared from the unwary prattle of the girl to the neighbours, that she had been placed at school from her earliest recollections by an old childless lady, whose companion her mother had been, who had died in giving her birth. Whatever, in other respects, the conduct of her father, it was known after the old lady's death, that at least he had so far acted honourably as to have made the young woman his wife. The property of her benefactress died with her; and thus the child of her adoption became, from a free, gay, petted girl, delighting in the sunshiny air, the inmate of a dwelling far more gloomy than a cloister, for there the mind may make its own creations of delight; whereas the moral gloom that invests the covetous and niggardly mind poisons every healthful spring of existence, nor fails to exercise its pestilential and restrictive power over the brightest natures subject to its influence.

At first the young girl wept and prayed, entreated with soft childish pleadings, and then stamped with passion, haughtily demanding as a right, sufficient food and clothing, and free egress, in lieu of wretched fare and rags, and unwholesome confinement; but when she found that neither passionate nor gentle sorrow moved either father or uncle to the slightest variation of expression in speech or feature, a sort of numbness fell upon her mind. It was not singular that a temper by nature unconciliatory should be driven to cunning for its defence, and to hate those who made such defence necessary; but it was, indeed, singular that the misers never sought to send her from them to earn subsistence for herself, a boon she ardently inplored. She thought it was cruelty that denied this to her, but it might be that these rigid and penurious men found a kind of satisfaction in gazing on the faultless face of their young relation, in watching the movements that perfect formation rather than early instruction rendered purely graceful; and they might derive an affectionate and pleasurable pride from the sensation that their blood flowed in the veins of so fair a creature. Fair, indeed, was the appropriate term to apply to her, for the bloom that almost died her cheek on her first arrival soon disappeared with hard fare and confinement; and though her spirit ultimately rose from its first depression, the bloom had departed

for ever.

Rebecca possessed no youthful feelings, compression had killed them, and the result was fatal to her character and happiness. The temptations she encountered to change her mode of life for one more luxurious were not unfrequent; it was not the vice of the life offered to her choice, nor its shame and loneliness, no. its corruption and induration of the heart, that deterred her from adopting it; for she felt so utterly degraded by her present state and occupation, that she thought it impossible to sink lower in the scale of humanity. But she was guarded by that passion which alike leads to crime and guards from evil, in its various power too often omnipotent, especially It would have been a happy accident had the man she loved proved worthy of her affection-he might have exerted a beneficial influence over her destiny. The chances were not, however, in this unhappy girl's favour.

with women.

Struck with her beauty, a young man, of open and prepossessing appearance, followed her home. An acquaintance commenced under such circumstances could scarcely prove fortunate

in its results.

We dare not pursue the history of their unholy loves, but will come at once to its result and the conclusion of our tale.

One stormy night, when the raging winds that howled through the air, the roaring thunder and beating rain, made such a confusion of noise as to render all other sound inaudible, Rebecca opened the casement of the closet within the room where the misers slept with their treasure, and silently admitted her lover through this entrance. It was the dead hour of night; the storm that aged without, alone might have appalled the hardiest; yet Rebecca's stern pale face, just discernible by the light of a lantern her lover held, exhibited no fear of the elemental war, her whole anxiety appeared lest Albert should be heard by the sleepers within. Of this there was little chance; and after closing the window, she stole softly to her lover's side.

"Are

you determined?" she asked inquiringly. “Resolved,” was his cold reply; and placing the dark lantern in her hand, he commanded her instantly to lead the way. The door that separated her closet from the misers' room was shut, and she

opened it slowly and with difficulty. "Shall I go alone?" said Albert, who fancied her hand trembled. "Incur danger alone!" said Rebecca, reproachfully—“no, no, no, I have courage-fear me not." They entered the chamber.

The deed of blood was accomplished ;- -we will not pause upon its horrid circumstances. One hour since and she at least was free of guilt, and now its leprosy was on her soul! But a softer feeling stole upon her mind, even in this first hour of remorse; for Albert, not for self, she had surpassed her sex in strength and courage, and, alas! in crime. But his love would sometimes soothe her unexpressed agony; and sometimes bright brief passages of passionate love would lend a charm even to her paricidal existence. A tear trembled on her eye-lids, and hung on her dark lashes, a tear that neither filial affection nor remorse could have won from her; and she turned the full expression of her softened eyes upon Albert-his refused to meet that glance; he pointed to the bed's head, that she might take the key of the coffer from under the pillow of her murdered relatives. She silently obeyed the motion of his hand, and as she did so, stained her hand with blood. She saw Albert's eves were fixed upon the stain, whilst she unlocked the coffer that gave him, along with herself, golden independence, and yet she felt chilled at their expression. "And now, Albert, let us fly this place for ever, and endeavour to forget the past." Her musical voice trembled, but more with love than with horror. "Fly with thee, woman!" was Albert's stern reply: "aye, I should feel well with the arms of a murderess about my neck. Could no tie bind you-not even the sacred naine of father' What, court destruction at your hands when you may please to tire of me? Woman! thou art beautiful, and I loved thee, but now thy beauty seems to me that of a demon-I loathe thee !" Rebecca heard breathlessly every word distinctly as it was uttered; the overwhelming thought that solely for him, at his bidding, she had aided a deed of blood, played false with her soul's eternal welfare; to be thus by him rewarded, choked the words that swelled her proud bosom for utterance; the beautiful small features became convulsed with feelings she could not express, yet far too powerful to bear suppression. Blood gushed to her mouth, to her nostrils, even her eyes seemed filled with blood, and she fell a corpse at the feet of the murderer.

A new emotion now took hold of this wretched man; he raised the girl in his arms, and tried to call the dead to life by the same weak weapons that had the power to kill. His pas sionate appeals were fruitless, and he remained stupified, like a drunken man, over his third victim, till he was thus discovered by an accidental visitor, who immediately delivered him over to justice :with him justice was condemnation."-Keepsake.

NATIVES OF VAN DIEMEN'S LAND. While the English remained here they were agreeably surprised by a visit from some of the natives, who, in their abject misery, rooted indolence, and stupidity, appeared to be on an equality with the wretched inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego. Their most comfortable dwellings were the trunks of large trees hollowed out by fire. appeared to be ignorant of the art of fishing; not a single canoe was seen on their whole coast. Their chief subsistence was derived from small birds and shell-fish, which they collected along the shore.

They

THE SOLITARY STUDENT.-It is a hard life we bookmen lead. Not for us is the bright face of noon day, or the smile of women, the gay unbending of the heart, the neighing steed and the shrill trump--the pride, pomp, and circumstance of life. Our enjoyments are few and calm, our labour constant; but then see what follows: the body avenges its own neglect. We grow old before our time-we wither up the sap of youth shrinks from our veins there is no bound in our step. We look about us with dimmed eyes, and our breath grows short and thick, and pains and coughs and shooting aches come upon us at night—it is a bitter life, a bitter life-a joyless life. I would I had never commenced it. And yet the harsh world "scowls" upon us our nerves are broken, and they wonder we are querulous our blood curdles, and they ask why we are not gayour brain grows dizzy and indistinct (as with me just now,) and, shrugging their shoulders, they whisper their neighbours that we are mad. I wish I had worked at the plough, and known sleep, and loved mirth-and-and not been what I am.

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