island, the same upon which Capt. Phipps made his observations in 1773. We immediately proceeded to disembark the tents and instruments, and sent parties on shore to erect them, and also two huts; for the greater convenience of the party I proposed to leave behind, to assist Capt. Sabine during my absence."

These arrangements being completed, the Griper attempted to reach a high northern latitude, but was unsuccessful, and she returned to her former anchorage on the 11th, and found "our party well and in good spirits."

In running up Davis' Strait, towards Baffin's Bay, in 1819, Captain Parry ascertained that the west coast of Greenland was, at that time, unapproachable, in consequence of an icy barrier extending along it. Captain Clavering was directed by his instructions, to endeavour to make the eastern coast of Greenland, and to proceed to the northward along it. Accordingly, the Griper left Spitzbergen on the 24th of June-on the 29th "passed much heavy ice, and gained the shore on the 8th July. We found a channel, of several miles in breadth, within the barrier. There was much loose ice, but nothing to prevent navigation. I went ashore to examine the land. Never was a more desolate spot seen; in many places not a vestige of vegetation, the land high, from 2000 to 3000 feet near the coast; in the interior, much higher. Spitzbergen was, on the whole, a paradise to this place." On the 16th Captain C. left the ship, with two boats provisioned for three weeks. After coasting along for several days, they landed, and had an interview with the natives. "They allowed us to approach the base of the rocks, which were about fifteen feet high. We deposited a looking glass, and pair of worsted mittens, and retired a few steps, upon which they immediately came down, took them up, and withdrew immediately to the top of the rock. After allowing them a few minutes to examine them, we again approached, when they permitted us to come close to them and shake hands, a ceremony they by no means seemed to comprehend, trembling violently the whole time, in spite of our best endeavours to inspire them with confidence. We now led them to their tent, which we examined more minutely, and which we gave them to understand we greatly admired.

"August 29th, Aftering a fatiguing pull of eighteen miles, our progress being much impeded by bay ice, and after an absence of thirteen days, we were happy to rejoin our friends, whom we found all well. The fine weather had been favourable for Captain Sabine's observations which were about completed.

"August 30th, The observations were this day concluded, and we lost no time in re-embarking the tents and instruments.

September 4th, The re-appearance of the stars warned us how rapidly the days shortened at this sea

son.

A breeze springing up from the north, we pursued our course slowly to the southward, working our way amongst a quantity of loose ice. On the 8th of September, the Griper was between two floes of ice, when they suddenly closed, and she was pressed by the tongues projected underneath from each, and lifted abaft, considerably out of the water; her weight immediately broke the tongues with an immense crash." On the 13th, a heavy gale blew from the N.N.W. On the 23d they made the coast of Norway. On the 24th they observed a fishing boat standing off, and received a pilot from her, and on the 6th they anchored in Drontheim harbour.

We have been unable in our extracts to name the different headlands, bays and islands explored on this expedition, but their number indicates that every hour was employed in forwarding the objects of the voyage, and in fulfilling the Admiralty instructions. The Griper weighed anchor on the 13th of November, and arrived in safety at Deptford on the 19th of the following month.

In every situation during this voyage, Captain Clavering manifested the most perfect knowledge of, and the greatest activity and talent, in each department of the service, in consequence of which, and his former high character, he was appointed, after his return, to the Redwing, formerly commanded by Captain Fitzclarence, and left England in her for the African station. In the summer of 1827, he sailed from Sierra Leone, and was heard of no more; but some spars with the name of his vessel, which were found on the coast, too truly indicated, that the element on which the gallant and intrepid Clavering gained so much honour, was also destined to be his tomb!

OUR FORENOON VISITS.

To the Editor of THE DAY.

SIR, My aunt, Wilhelmina, is an unmarried lady of fifty-four, possessed of a natural buoyancy of spirits, undisturbed by any serious heart-breaking personal calamity -she is lively and good-humoured, and forms a very pleasant companion for a leisure hour. With the garrulity of her sex, she knows propriety, and never allows her conversational propensities to interfere with the rules of good-breeding. She belongs to a good family, and this circumstance, combined with her agreeable manners, renders her a great favourite among the better classes at the west end of the town. Her person, even yet, is, by no means, unattractive, and warrants a just conclusion that, in her youth, she must have bad many admirers. When I see her, in her happiest moments, she tells me that she was a flirt: otherwise, I could never fathom how a woman of her acknowledged qualifications, and interesting apearance could possibly have been permitted to enjoy a life of single blessedness so long. She loves to recount how many gay young fellows have been jilted by her, and in the rehearsal is unusually happy. Me being alone is therefore no misfortune to her; and she is more than compensated for the want of a husband in the attentions bestowed upon her by a large circle of friends.

Like most maiden laidies my aunt is partial in her affections towards her relations. Some how or other, above all her nephews, I have crept into her good graces, and, in consequence, she is at great pains to improve me. She is exceedingly desirous of my success in the world, and, when an occasion offers of an introduction to any of her first friends, who may have it in their power to benefit me afterwards, she is sure to embrace it. The old lady is evidently much and generally respected; for I have universally found it does not fare the worse with me, in soliciting a favour from these people that I have been made acquainted with them through her instrumentality. The mode of introduction is, in my opinion, frequently rather abrupt; but my aunt's free off-hand manner is well-known, and is by no means offensive, as it apologises for itself.

An annuity slender, but withal sufficient, under good management, to make her comfortable, is her sole means of subsistence. She is not, therefore, necessitated to do any thing, to earn a livelihood, and her forenoons are regularly devoted, as in the olden time, to shopping and visiting. She has often insisted that I would spend a day with her in making calls, and I as often declined the honour of escorting her.

T'other day, however, she told me, very angrily, that she was of opinion I was ashamed to be seen with her on a forenoon. Here, I was fairly brought in-I protested nothing could give me greater pleasure, (shrugging my shoulders the while) than to accompany her, that she thought too unkindly of me, that I would esteem it an honour to be her beau at any hour or place. This was all she wanted:-to-morrow was agreed upon.

You are, probably, not aware of what is meant by "forenoon visits." First, you must understand that

our forenoon does not terminate till dinner. The lady visitor equips herself in her richest silk gown-bonnet with feathers-a parasol in one hand and a reticule, with a card-case, in the other; and sets out to pay her morning devoirs to her friends or relations. At least, this is the way that the affair is managed in the west end. Nothing can be done till one o'clock-it would be most unfashionable for any lady to be seen on the streets before that hour. Indeed they who have been at the assembly on the evening previous will hardly yet have left their bed-rooms and swallowed breakfast. At all events, the young ladies of the family never dress till that time to receive strangers.

If the lady waited on is not at home, which, you can easily conceive, will be often the case, the visitor drops into the dining-room, rests herself for a few minutes, and leaves her card. This card answers all the important purposes of the visit, equally well with the person's self; for, when once a visit is made, no lady, with any pretensions to fashionable life, would repeat it for the world, till the visit be returned by the other party.

If the person waited upon is found at home, the health of each, and of all the relatives of each, is most assiduously, and with intense apparent sincerity, enquired for a little common-place chit-chat follows, and the whole interview is, occasionally, closed with the friendly hospitality of cake and wine.

When the lady-visitant rides in her own carriage, and wishes to pay an especial compliment to a poor but genteel relation, (which sometimes does take place once in five years) the coachman is ordered to draw up in front of the house. The footman is dispatched up stairs with full powers to act as his lady's representative. He makes her compliments, expresses her infinite regrets that she is so fatigued with last night's route, that she cannot venture out of her carriage lest the flight of two stairs should fatigue her. His lady would consider it a never-to-be-forgotten favour, if her friend could find it convenient to step down stairs for a moment the honour is overpowering-the carriage does pretty well as a drawing-room for the time being; and both parties meet and retire, mutually satisfied with themselves and the manner in which each has arranged the matter. The one is as deeply sensible of the honour conferred, as the other is of that received. But this, as before hinted, is a very rare occurrence, and only acted in cases where the houses of the visited are situated in the east end of the town, or in a very retired street of the west.

Well to be sure, my aunt and I, as had been determined upon, went forth next noon, on this pleasing and soul-attracting piece of business. Both of us, of course, were dressed as became the occasion. Leaving St. Vincent Street, we passed up the hill, by Brandon Place, to Blythswood Square. The first call we made on our way up, was on the lady and family of a Glasgowin We were received, by the ladies, in the drawing-room, with the greatest cordiality. Indeed they were excessively glad to see us. The conversation we had was of the minute and interesting description mentioned above; and a thousand compliments passed betwixt the ladies upon how well each other looked.

On our admission into the second house we visited, we found our friend pre-engaged with two ladies of a very shewy and fashionable deportment. These two fashionable strangers meanwhile, whispered each other, and thereupon rose for departure, apologized for the shortness of their visit, but hoped to see it soon returned. There appeared to me to be an air of cold formality about the whole proceeding, and that the visit had more of ceremony in it than any thing else; but I was assuredly mistaken in this; for my aunt afterwards informed me, that these were the Misses

celebrated all over this neighbourhood for their genteel demeanour and good breeding. After they were gone, the lady nodded to my aunt and said,

it would be a deadly infringement on the laws of politeness, to have presented any thing to these young and amiable creatures-"'tis so unfashionable-but you know I can use a little freedom with you, and it is now mid-day, and high time for some refreshment." This lady appears to be rather a sensible woman, thought I, but the conversation which she had with my aunt had nothing in it particularly brilliant. Old Wilhelmina, however, enjoyed the visit remarkably well, in testimony of which, her hazel eyes sparkled with satisfaction and delight.

In the house we next visited, we were so unfortunate as to find nobody at home. We simply left our cards. I remarked, however, that, after having pulled the bell, we were necessitated to wait a considerable space of time before the door was opened. My aunt, who knew these manoeuvres, seemed to expect this answer, and remarked, "for all that, I saw her at the window, but she does not wish to see us to-day." I felt chagrined at this, but she told me "it was quite common, and not to think of it."

Our fourth and last call, was on an old widow lady, who had been a particular friend of my late revered father. I had not seen her for a long time previously, but, when we entered the room she gave me a hearty welcome, and said she loved me for my father's sake, and I could perceive the tear of joy mingled with grief -or rather the tear of busy memory trembling in her eye-my aunt was equally well received. The old lady was extremely kind to us, was sorry her two daughters were not at home, as they had gone out to walk in the Botanic Garden; she requested me to be no stranger, but to come and see her frequently, especially on an evening, and we left her, very much delighted with her warm-hearted and generous behaviour.

It was now nearly four o'clock, and we hurried home to dress for dinner. I intended to have given you an outline of the routine of our dinner party, but, as the dinner hour is a most important era in the affairs of the day, and occupies so large a part of it, and as your paper is professedly "The Day," I could hardly do it justice by inserting it at the end of this communication. JUVENIS.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE WATERY GRAVE.

The winds and the waves of the dark-heaving ocean
War'd wild on the restless expanse of its breast,
When stood on a rock, that hung o'er its commotion,
A maid by the visions of memory prest.
Pale, pale was her cheek, as the snowdrop's white blossom,
That blows mid the pelting and pitiless hail:
Every feature was sad-for the woe of her bosom
Was deep'ning in gloom with the wrath of the gale.
The thought of the watery grave of her lover,

Torn from her embrace ere their bridal day set,
Still, still the wild billows beneath her watched over,
And bade them give back his loved form to her yet.
Then invoked his true spirit, should it still hover oer,
That pale corpse of death, in some cave of the deep,
To come, like a sigh of the breeze to the shore,

And linger with her, left in sorrow to weep.

The waves brought no burden, save their white crests of foam,
Or some rock-severed weeds in decay;
The wing of the wind bore no utterance home,
But its own, as it howled through the spray.
Her last feeble vision then faded in air,

And the past rushed around her again,
Her eye was illumin'd with a flash of despair,
That fired but to darken her brain.
Oh, the doom clouds of horror envelope her fast,
And over her spirit their black shadows throw:
I come, my betrothed, to thy dwelling at last,
She exclaimed, and sprung to the waters below.
The wave broke, as it folded within its embrace,
That child of despair it was ne'er to restore,
Then mingled with ocean, and never a trace
Of its burden was cast on the shore.
But the lone sea bird shrieked her funeral knell,
By rock and cave echoed in murmurs along,
And the moan of the storm as o'er her it fell,
In the flood sleep of death was her requiem song.-OMEGA.

SCOTTISH TRIAL FOR THEFT IN 1618.

SOME Extracts from the Volume of Criminal Trials lately published have been handed us by an obliging correspondent. A. D. 1618. Theft. Gilbert Ellote, called Gib the Galzart. Dilaitit of the theftious steilling of ane purse fra Johnne Airmestrång, callit of the Holme, under silence of the clud of nycht, within the dwelling hous of Alexander Young, in Selkirk in the moneth of May last, be taking the said purse, with ffourtie punds, being therein furth of the said John Armestrang's breikis in maist thiftuous maner; and drinking of ten marks of the money that was thairin; and abstracting the rest of the ffourtie pund, unto the time the saymn was challenget upon him, and restoirit bak agane thaireftir to the said Johne Airmestrang, awner thairof.

The pannell declairit, that he na wayis staw the purse, in maner specifit in the dellay; but allenarlie that he being in Alexander Young's hous in Selkirk ryseing in the morning, ffand the purse upon the flure of the chalmer quelk he retenit, and spendit of the money that was therein ten markis allanerlie, in recompence to the saiffer, and restorit the said purse with the rest of the money being chairin to the said Johnne Airmestrange, sa sone as he vnderstuid the samyn pertenet to him; affirmeing, that the said John Airmestrang waid nowayes insist aganis him for thift.

The Advoucat answeris, that his declaratioun maid can nocht be respectit; but he sould be put to ane assyse in respect of his depositions maid be him in presens of the justice, confessing the steiling of the purse, and money therein-till in manner specified in the deletay.

The Justice ordains him to pass to ane Assyse, nochtwithstanding of his former allegeance and declarations maid by him thairintile.

Verdict. The assize, by the mouth of Johnne Scott, of Sundelishaip, chanceller for the maist part, ffand pronouncet and declaret the said Gilbert to be flyet, culpable and convict of the away taking furch of Alexander Younge's hous in Selkirk, of the said Johnne Airmestrange, his purse with ffourty pundis, being thereintil; quhilk purse was deluyret back agane to the said Johnne and baill soume above specifit except ten markis thair of allanerlie; and charges him of the steilling of the samyn.

Sentence. To be scurget throw the burgh of Edinburgh, and also to be banicht furth of this realme, and never to be fund agane within the same, without his maister's licence, vnder pain of deid, but favour.

The said Gilbert actet himself to depairt furch of this realme, within xx dayis eafter the dait heirof; and never to be ffund agane within the samyn without his hieres license, under the pane of deid.

WITCHCRAFT.

THE following document, from Mr. Manning of Halstead, is preserved in the British Museum:

SIR, The narrative which I gave you, in relation to witchcraft, and which you are pleased to lay your commands upon me to repeat, is as follows:-There was one Mr. Callet, a smith by trade, of Havingham, in the County of Suffolk, formerly servant in Sir John Duke's family in Benhall in Suffolk. As it was customary with him assisting the maid to churn, and being unable, as the phrase is, to make the butter come, threw a hot iron into the churn, under the notion of witchcraft in the case, upon which a poor labourer then employed in carrying manure in the yard, cried out in a terrible manner, 66 they have killed me, they have killed me," still keeping his hand upon his back, intimating where the pain was, and died upon the spot. Mr. Callet, with the rest of the servants, took off the poor man's clothes, and found, to their great surprise, the mark of the iron that was heated and thrown into the churn, strongly impressed upon his back. This account I had from Mr. Callet's own mouth, who being a man of unblemished character, I verily believe. I am, Sir, &c.

THE SHIP'S COOK A GREAT OFFICER.-According to an established form in the Navy, when a ship is paid off, no officer must quit the port, or consider himself discharged, until the pennant is struck, which can be done only by the cook, as the last officer at sunset, and should he be absent, no other person can perform the affair, however, desirous the officers may be of taking their departure, and although there may not be a single seaman or marine on board.

STONE BAROMETER.-A Findland newspaper mentions a stone in the northern part of Finland, which serves the inhabitants instead of a barometer. This stone, which they call Ilmakiur, turns black, or blackish grey, when it is going to rain, but on the approach of fine weather it is covered with white spots. Probably it is a fossil mixed with clay, and consisting of rock-salt, ammoniac, or salt petre, which according to the greater or less degree of dampness of the atmosphere, attracts it, or otherwise. In the latter case the salt appears, which forms the white spots.

WONDERFUL LAKE.-In Carolina, there is a very extraordinary lake called the Zirchnitzer Sea. It is dried up during summer, and, after affording a vast quantity of fish that are caught in the holes through which the waters disappear, produces a fine crop of grass or hay, and is sometimes sown with millet; thus continuing of advantage to the inhabitants as arable or pasture land, till, in September, the waters rush back again through the holes with great impetuosity, and the lake is restored to its original size. This curious phenomenon is explained in the following manner. The country is hilly, and the lake is surrounded with rising grounds. It has no visible exit, yet seven rivulets empty themselves into it. By subterraneous channels it communicates with two lakes concealed under ground, the one situated below, the other above, its own level. Into the first it empties itself by means of the holes in its bottom; from the second it receives a supply equal to its waste, which prevents it from sinking under ground during the winter. From the lowest lake a considerable river runs. In the summer, the uppermost lake, not being fed as usual by rain, becomes smaller, and ceases to supply the Zirchnitzer Sea with water. The waste of this lake, therefore, being greater than the supply, it is drained in consequence, and disappears. When the uppermost lake is restored to its usual size, it affords the proper quantity of water; hence the lowest lake swells, and at last forces part of its contents through the holes into the open air, and thus restores the Zirchnitzer Sea to its original size. ANIMAL FLOWER.-The inhabitants of St. Lucie have lately discovered a most singular plant. In a cavern of that isle, near the sea, is a large bason, from twelve to fifteen feet deep, the water of which is very brackish, and the bottom composed of rocks. From these, at all times, proceed certain substances, which present, at first sight, beautiful flowers, of a bright shining colour, and pretty nearly resembling our marigolds, only that their tint is more lively. These seeming flowers, on the approach of a hand or instrument, retire, like a snail, out of sight. On examining their substance closely, there appear, in the middle of the disk, four brown filaments, resembling spiders' legs, which move round a kind of petals with a pretty brisk and spontaneous motion. These legs have pincers to seize their prey; and, upon seizing it, the yellow petals immediately close, so that it cannot escape. Under this exterior of a flower is a brown stalk, of the bigness of a raven's quill, and which appears to be the body of some animal. It is probable that this strange creature lives upon the spawn of fish, and the marine insects thrown by the sea into the bason.

JOHN, DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.-What do you do with those of your army, guilty of marauding? said the celebrated Prince Eugene, one day, to the Duke in Flanders. "I have none to punish," said the Duke, "they have ever been treated by me, with such summary and such speedy justice, that they know they have not the least chance of impunity."

FILTHY LUCRE-NATURE'S IDOL!
Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!

Take lives, take wives, take aught against men's purses:
They hate a murderer much less than a claimant,
Or that sweet ore which every body nurses.
Kill a man's family, and he may brook it,
But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.

BYRON.

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS. WE thank "B. V." for his paper, and we rejoice that it is written in prose, as his subject "on Love" naturally led him to Woo the Muse.

We can only insert the first part of the "Mother and Child.” This, we hope, to present to our readers on Saturday. "A Sister's Love," in an early number.

"Stanzas, by the late D. F. M'Leod, Esq." have been received.

PUBLISHED, every Morning, Sunday excepted, by JOHN FINLAY, at No. 9, Miller Street; and Sold by JOHN WYLIE, 97, Argyle Street; DAVID ROBERTSON, and W. R. M'PHUN, Glasgow ; THOMAS STEVENSON, and the other Booksellers, Edinburgh: DAVID DICK, and A. GARDNER, Booksellers, Paisley: A. LAING, Greenock; and J. GLASS, Bookseller, Rothsay.

PRINTED BY JOHN GRAHAM, MELVILLE PLACE.

THE THAMES TUNNEL.

THE reign of George the Fourth has been more distinguished by the successful pursuit of the discoveries of former eras, than by original invention.

The principle of improvement has been in more active operation than the power of originality. Science, indeed, has been steadily advancing, but with fewer of these brilliant emanations which occasionally brighten her career, while in the important matter of actual practice no age has been more distinguished.

A north-west passage was a subject of speculation, even in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. It was left to the present age to ascertain its existence, and to leave only a few miles of it unexplored. The plan which Cesar adopted, of having his smaller vessels drawn ashore, as well for safety as for repair, is now applied, with perfect facility, to the huge bulk of a British eighty-four gun ship, while we have seen the invention of the Marquis of Worcester, applied and adopted by Savary, Newcomen and Watt, and rendered, in our time, of the utmost consequence, as a means of national prosperity, and of commercial eminence.

The present Thames Tunnel is the third attempt of the kind.

As far back as 1823, its architect communicated to his friends, his desire that such an undertaking should be commenced. His high character, and distinguished inventions, gave his friends confidence in his proposal; and, early in the year 1824, a number of gentlemen were convened, to consider and examine his plans. These having been approved of, publicity was given to the design, and an amount, which warranted the commencement of the undertaking, was speedily subscribed. The company having been formed, directors chosen, and the requisite arrangements made, the work was begun. In all works under ground, the first operation is to finish the shaft, or descent. This, in general, is very tedious, from a variety of causes; but, by the ingenuity of Mr. Brunnell, delay, on this account, was completely overcome.

A cylindrical brick tower, forty feet high, of very singular construction, was built. The foundation was laid on a wooden horizontal curb, shod with strong iron, and near the top of the tower, at the height of forty feet, there was placed another wooden curb. The two were connected and fastened by iron rods, passing through the brickwork. The ground within was then removed, and this immense structure or tower was found to sink regularly, for thirty-three feet, and the interior being further deepened, it thus sunk entire to the depth required. This was certainly the most successful attempt, of the kind, ever tried. The shaft being finished, it was surmounted by a steamengine, which had an apparatus for drawing up and letting down every thing necessary for carrying on the work.

The scaffolding, which was to support the workmen in their operations, was the next object of attention, and, as it not only formed a standing place, but spread over head, it was hence called the shield. It consisted of twelve frames of strong cast-iron, each, independent of its neighbour, and, altogether, weighing upwards of ninety tons. Every frame was divided into three floors or stories, in each of which, a man worked, so

that it generally contained thirty-six men; and, being placed in its proper situation, it occupied the whole space of the excavation, from top to bottom. The frames were moved forward, either at once, or separately, by means of powerful screws pressing on the brickwork, immediately behind. The Tunnel consists of a square mass of brickwork, 37 feet by 22, containing two archways or passages, each 16 feet, 4 inches; each carriage road is 13 feet, 6 inches broad, and 15 feet, 6 inches high; and all carriages, from the right bank, were intended to enter by the one arch, and those from the left, on the other; but, as circumstances might make it necessary for a vehicle, after it had entered, to change its route, a succession of arches were made through the central wall, and some of them so wide, that carriages might leave the outer line, and enter on the other. An inverted arch, 2 feet, 3 inches thick, is turned under each arch-way, and supports the external, and half of the middle wall.

In this extensive undertaking, the consumption of bricks amounted to about sixty thousand a-week, with three hundred and fifty casks of cement, and three hundred men were regularly employed about the works. Its progress was slow, never exceeding 2 feet per day, but on an average greatly below it. Matters had hitherto gone forward prosperously, and, on the 2d of March, 1827, the Tunnel was advanced 470 feet of the 1300 required, and, indeed, this very success induced an unwarrantable boldness, which was very detrimental. The workmen had, for some time, been alarmed by leakage to a considerable extent, which was met by internal instead of external means of prevention, when, at a time, they were all absent, for the purpose of shifting, on the 18th May, 1827, the water broke in with tremendous violence. Doubts of the soundness of the strata at this point had been expressed, and borings effected, but no additional precautions were thought necessary. The Tunnel was at this period 580 feet long, when further progress was for a time impossible. On the 28th of July, the works were again opened, when, by a second inundation, attended with the loss of six lives, it was again closed in July, 1828. It has since been re-opened, and forms one of the Lions of the Metropolis. Such was the unfortunate issue of this great undertaking, yet we anticipate a period, not very distant, when there will be found spirit enough, either in government or individuals, to complete it. The former ought to look to the national honour; for no work, ever undertaken in Britain, has excited such intense interest in foreign countries. The latter might view it as a subject of fair speculation. The original estimate was £160,000, but, like all estimates, this was found too little-still, even at a larger sum, the shareholders thought there was a prospect of a fair remuneration. The purchasers now will probably be able to buy the shares at a low rate, and could complete the work at an expense of probably £150,00.

It has been calculated, that a bridge across the river in the same situation, would cost a million sterling. The prospect of remuneration may be estimated, from the circumstance, that Waterloo Bridge, which, to a stranger's eye, never appears to be much frequented, has, it is said, an annual revenue of £14,000, and Vauxhall, still less frequented, yields £8500. The situation of the Tunnel, the large population and ex

tensive manufactories in its neigbourhood, its shade in summer, its shelter in winter, all combine to make it a popular route, and give good reason for presuming it would be encouraged. If it be again resumed, however, the works ought to be opened at the opposite side of the river, pushed on as long as there are no symptoms of danger; but, when these appear, recourse should be had to the slow but safe expedient of a coffer dam. The completion of such an undertaking would do honour to humanity. The works of the Architect are the most obvious records of a nation's greatness, and, when the obliterating hand of time has obscured the names of contemporary Heroes, Historians and Politicians, his works remain the silent but impressive witnesses of what his nation hath been. Britain has many such records, and the novelty, beauty and utility of such a work, as the Tunnel, would afford another proud instance of the enterprise, ingenuity and science of the age.

THE ADVERTISING BACHELOR,-No. III.

WERE it not that I admire the poesy of "The Day," which, when it speaks of love, thrills my inmost core, I should doubt the expediency of continuing my connection with it, after the admission of an article so heartless as that of Miss Matchless, in your Monday's number. A heart, distracted as mine has been, with the vagaries of a hallowed but unconquerable passion, must be soothed into sympathy, not by the derision of a complacent and self-sufficient female, but by the retiring graces and inbred modesty of an unadvancing, vet decided affection. Is your correspondent serious, when she proposes, that I should appear in St. Vincent Street, on Thursday next, at half-past two o'clock, wearing a daisy in my hat, and playing a bag-pipe? Shocking! The sound of that horrid Scottish invention freezes my blood whenever I hear it, and sure I am, when Apollo agreed to patronize music, he would have paused had he heard the sound of your national instrument. I beg to inform Miss Matchless, that she ought to appear in green; for the bachelor must, for the present at least, decline the proposed interview, and she may select, for her practice, the national song, "Nobody coming to marry me, nobody coming to woo," notwithstanding her being so very superstitious, and although the month of May be so near in its approach. Let her listen to the story of Mary Seymour, and be softened.

MARY SEYMOUR.

I resided in Wales during the summer of 18-, and I had many opportunities of mingling with its inhabitants, whose primitive manners, and unpretending hospitality, were to me, a delightful contrast to the assumptions which greater wealth, and a more frequent mingling with the world, are supposed to confer. The intercourse I enjoyed principally, consisted in evening visits, and were terminated by retiring to our own residences after visiting some of the remarkable scenery which, on all sides, abounded. The Ran-y-wylt, or waterfall of the robber, was the most remarkable of these natural curiosities. A river, half the breadth of the Clyde, after gliding gently from the uplands, was here confined to a channel through a rock of a few yards only, and the enchained waters, indignant at the obstruction, rushed, with impetuous violence, through the diminutive opening, and formed a beautiful waterfall, which poured itself forth into the channel of the river in the valley, some hundred feet below. I had visited the cascade frequently, and was, one day, contemplating it with unusual interest, when a hand pressed my shoulder, and a tall, good-looking and venerable man, whom I immediately recognized to be the 'clergyman of our village, presented himself. He expatiated on the beauty of the surrounding scenery, and introduced several reflections of a moral tendency, which seemed to me to arise naturally, from the conversation. We returned together towards home, and, as he said, a stranger was with him, a holy name,"

he requested me to sup with him at the vicarage. The old gentleman informed me he had, in early life, been an enthusiast in music, and very fond of drawing, but that he had lost all relish for actual performance in either, since she had departed!" and, as he looked up to heaven, the tear trickled down his cheek, warm as the remembrance from which it sprung, and pure as the affection of which it was the memorial! "Yet," added he, "I repine not. Mary still lives, the very image of her mother, and she continues to follow these favourite amusements of my earlier years." It was expedient I should inform him of my name and pursuits, and this brought to light one of those curious coinci dences that generally have a powerful effect in cementing the acquaintanceships of mankind. My father and he had been school-fellows, and one or two of the incidents of their early youth were related by the good old man with much interest and minuteness.

Whilst I listened with attention to these early traits of character, the room was, for the first time, graced by the presence of the brightest creature I had ever beheld. Hers was perfect loveliness. She resembled her father in some of her features, but these were softened down and moulded into the most perfect form, whilst she moved and walked so gracefully, that I could suppose that nature had breathed upon the Venus de Medicis, and animated her by a revivifying influence! Need I say that I loved, or that I, ere long, delared my passion? And oh! if there be ever an hour that the female heart throws away every guile, it is when man, at the feet of his beloved, asks her for ever and ever, to be his! The circumstance of my father and Mary's, being intimate, in their early years, smoothed away all difficulties with my aunt, while the mutual affection which existed between Mary and me, her father assured me, should be rather cherished than discouraged by him.

Even with us, however, the course of true love did not run smooth. Mary, before I visited Wales, had become an object of admiration to several of the wealthy farmer's sons in the vicinity, and, as soon as it was known that my attentions were accepted by her, various systems of annoyance were put in practice by these ungallant gentlemen, especially when I walked with her in the evening. We determined, therefore, to meet together at the waterfall, a place I greatly admired, and which Mary had frequently delineated, and I erected a rustic seat on the top of the rock, which commanded a view not only of the abyss below, but also of the extended valley in the distance. It was on one of these occasions when we met at this place, that I presented Mary with a diamond ring, and received from her "twin cherry lips" the assurance, that, in one month more, she would be mine. One morning a heavy shower had fallen, and I did not think of visiting the rendezvous, but called at the vicarage expecting to find my Mary there. She had gone forth at the usual hour. I hastened to the spot. The little rustic seat was gone, and the rock so slippery, that it was, with difficulty, I could stand on it. I felt certain, however, that Mary must have pursued another route, and, instead of returning to the vicarage, I hastened to one of her favourite walks. My pursuit, however, was unsuccessful, and, as I returned, the vicar met me. He was very much agitated. Mary had not been observed when she went out. One boy thought he saw her directing her steps towards the waterfall, but another woman as positively affirmed, she had seen her at a distance in an opposite direction. The whole population was in motion, and none were more zealous than her former admirers to obtain information. Old and young were, alike, solemnized -it was feared Mary Seymour was no more!

Darkly and heavily did the evening set in upon the vicarage. The father's sorrow was that so beautifully described by the first of poets

"The grief that does not speak, Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break."