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too much engaged with her own pet to attend to them, merely says, “ Miss Charlotte, if you fight you must be taken down from table; mind the words you say to mamma in your hymn--" Let dogs delight to bark and bite,” &c.

Another group conveyed the same kind of reproof to mammas. Mamma is there represented as dressed in the height of the fashion, seated on an ottoman, in an elegant drawing-room, and receiving a morning visitor. The visitor is a young man of fashion equipped in all the dandyism of the day. The children are brought into the room by nurse, to see mamma and the stranger. The youngest child, either unaccustomed to pay morning visits to mamma, or fonder of her nurse than of ber mother, has turned round and hid its face in nurse's apron. The eldest girl stands as if intimidated and afraid of approach. ing. The lady-mother exclaims, “ Dear me, why you look as if afraid to approach we! They are quite wedded to the nursery. Take them away nurse." On wlrich the sensible visitor remarks-" I dare say ma'am, your various engageincnts fully occupy your time."

Another contained a hint to grandmamma's, not to dote too much on their own likeness. Here grandmainma in suitable costume, &c. is represented with a lovely baby in her arms; there is another dear little child in the room who is annoyed because a great cat has taken possession of his chair, and he intreats grandmamma in vain to redress his grievance. · Grandmamma, however, is too much absorbed in the adıniration of hier own likeness in the baby, to attend to her other grandsonwho cries out “Gran'mamma, pussey in my chair!-pussey in my chair!"-But the old lady holding up baby in her arms, exclaims in an ecstacy, “My picture! My picture !"

I only remember another, which was the prettiest group of the whole. It was the arrival of a parcel from Aunt Lovechild, containing a beautiful doll for her niece, and a box of ivory letters for the little boys. Mamma is seated by a table with the parcel open before her, and reading a letter which had accompanied it. A neat little girl is standing opposite to her, looking with delight on the doll, but not offering to touch it till mamma is pleased to give it her. Two beatitiful little boys' in petticoats are standing on tiptoe on each side the table trying

to get a peep at the doll. They both say at once, “ Mamma, Henry want to see."-"Mamma, Willy want to see !-want to see!-want to see!”—While mamma sweetly and calmly an. swers, “Do not touch any thing, my dears, till I have read the letter." The contents of Aunt Lovechild's letter was ex. cellent, but of course you do not expect me to remember it.

“On coming out from my visit to this dear invalid," continued mamma, “I was forcibly reminded of the observations made by a woman of rank and talent on the continent, when speaking of some ladies' needle-work she had seen, which was sold for the benefit of the funds of a missionary society abroad. After enumerating the different articles she had examined, • There is,' says she, “to my view, a peculiar charm in these little details that appear almost vulgar, yet to which are attached the interests of eternal life. There is a delight and an infinite beauty of contrast in the thought, that an occupation in itself stripped of all grandeur, holds notwithstanding an indissoluble connection with the most sublime of all causesthe triumph of truth-the regeneration of souls—that work which rejoices the angels in heaven, and in which all the wise and good on earth are fellow-labourers." Though the labours of my young friend do not soar so high as this, yet they go the length of producing a moral impression on the objects for which they are designed; they combine instruction with amusement; and while fitted at first sight only to "please like a rattle, or tickle like a straw,” they are calculated to convey both reproof and encouragement. The execution of them enlivened the solitude of a sick chamber; they increased the funds of an infant school; and I hope they served for an advertisement of one of the most striking little tracts which I have

lately read.

As mamma concluded this account of dear Fanny Grainger's toys, we arrived at the door of our hotel, and having promised to take a walk in the environs of this city of palaces in the evening, we prevailed on our friend Miss Hamilton and her wiece, to come in with us, and partake of our soup and chicken.

It was a delightful evening, and notwithstanding the fatigues of the morning, we were ready for another excursion after

We walked towards the Calton Hill, the most beautiful promenade in the world, though not so much frequented by the inhabitants as you would expect. The views from it are splendid and interesting, being mixed up with so many historical recollections. There is the Abbey or Palace of Holyrood in the valley, with its grey towers, and ruined chapel, which, touchingly reminded us of a dynasty that has passed away; of scenes of feudal rudeness, and barbaric manners, of strife and wrath, mingled with the song and the mask-revelry and superstition—a persecuted princess, and a murdered king. There is Craigmillar Castle, where Mary, in the days of her liberty, delighted to reside ; where she tuned her lute to the vaudevilles of her beloved France, and where, in the moments of elegant leisure, she composed those chansons which her presumptuous favorite set to music. In the distance is the Bass, a rude rock rising from the sea, which recalled the suf. ferings of those men later times, driven by persecution from their homes, and severed from their flocks, endured as seeing Him who is invisiblemen of whom the world was not worthy. The Forth lay spread out before us under the splendid light of a setting sun. Beyond it was pointed out the hill of Falkland, where, in the royal palace, Rothsay, eldest son of Robert the III. was starved to death, by order of the Duke of Albany. The Forth is sprinkled with a few inches or islets. On Inch Colm are the ruins of a monastery, the votive offering of one of Scotland's kings, who found shelter there in a storm. On the Calton Hill itself are many buildings, in different styles of architecture, each very beautiful, but strangely mingled together: a monument to the memory of Nelson, resembling a light-house-two or three prisons, or penitentiaries, Saxon or Gothic, in their structure-an observatory, of some Grecian order; and a few columns, unfinished, of a copy of the Parthenon. We saw the church-yard, where Hume, the historian lies buried ; his monument awakened painful thoughts. “Ah!" said mamma, on viewing it, “what a poor thing is unsanctified talent! I never think of Hume, your historian, without thinking of Gibbon, our historian, and contrasting the levity of the one, in his conversation on the Dialogues of Lucian, and the answer he proposed to give to Charon, who he fancied waited to ferry him over the Styx, with the burst of nature which escaped from the lips of the dying Gibbon. I know nothing in the whole history of infidel feeling that has more affected me than luis touching exclanration to his valet—«Pourquoi est ce que vous me quittez ?' This is human weakness, calling for human sympathy. The childishness and profanity of the other, shews how much the rational being may sink beneath the irrational, when destitute of the fear of God!”

tea.

“ Let us be thankful, my dear friend," teplied Miss Hamilton, " that to as it is given to believe in the Saviour of sinnetsthat we know the love wherewith our Heavenly Father hath loved a guilty world, by the price at which He has redeemed it. When we look around us, and think that He who made this beautiful world—the earth and all that inhabits it, once had not where to lay bris head can we doubt of his love! This sweet hour of twilight often powerfully reminds me of that mysterious circumstance. As a poet of four own country has said-All creatures know this hour:

“The rooks, dark phalanx, homeward fies,
The bee her cell hath found, or closed her wing
On scabious wild. Yes, every breathing thing,
Cradled in down, or silken web, or bed
Of woven leaf, or shelter'd covert lies :
All save the One, who each warm covering spread-

He only had not where to lay his head !!" In conversation such as this we walked slowly towards our hotel, pausing occasionally to take another view of Arthur's Seat, or the Forth, or the distant sails upon its bosom, or the Beacon light on Inchkeith, as it gradually appeared and disappeared, like a star of the first magnitude traversed by the clouds of night.

I intended to bave filled my sheet of demy to the very corners to-day, but my uncle and Henry joined us on Tuesday,

we have been engaged every day since they came, I must postpone what I had to tell you of Roslin, Hopetown House, Dalkeith Palace, &c. till we me Meanwhile believe me, my dear Harriet, your affectionate cousin, MARIANNE.

and as

M. G.

AN ESSAY ON LAMPS. Walking one evening lately in the streets, I amused myself with considering the great number of artificial lights, to be seen in all directions, differing from each other in size and lustre, according to the various purposes they were intended for. Here might be seen the dim light, whose feeble rays only just served to make “ darkness visible" in the obscure nook in which it was placed. In the window of a work-shop, a lamp with a bright but small flame, threw a beautiful light on the disjointed parts of a watch, which an ingenious looking person seemed to be repairing: hut I observed the rays extended only a little way.

At certain intervals in the streets were lights, not indeed very beautiful, but yet sufficiently strong to enable passengers to avoid danger, and to prevent them from running against each other. In the shop of an opulent tradesman hung a lamp, which, continually assisted by a fresh current of air, burnt strong and clear, and filled the whole shop with a fine white light. From the ceiling of a public room, was suspended a lamp, constructed on the same principle, but whose magnificent light was set off with glass and polished metal, which reflected the rays on every side. Many other lights might be enumerated; from the farthing candle which cheers the poor cottager in his little dwelling, to the beautiful blaze of gas, which so often meets the eye

in large towns.

On running over all these in my mind, I could not but reflect, that while - shining in their proper places,” different as they are in many respects, they are all useful, and added much to the comforts of civilized life. Pursuing this train of thought, I considered that the mind of man is a lamp; and that the lamps of the intellectual world differ as much in capacity and lustre, as the artificial lights I have been speaking of. I even imagined there was a sort of correspondence between them: and that I could select from among my acquaintances men whose talents might be represented by one or other of the lamps just described.

In the stable at the inn, I had met with an old man, employed by the hostler to assist in taking care of the horses. His mind was of a low order, and seemed bounded by the yard in

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