opportunity to ask a favour; accordingly, he thus accosted him:

Thomas-Sir, I have an important piece of business to bring before you, which requires some advice, for which I shall always feel grateful if you will oblige me.

Gentleman.-Any thing that I can do for you, Thomas, I will do it with pleasure.

Thomas-Well then, sir, I love a young lady, and she loves me. I do not like to steal her on account of disgracing her family, or I should have done it long ago. Your advice in these peculiar circumstances, I shall deem as a great favour.

Gentleman-The next time, Thomas, the lady rides out, help her to mount the horse, and immediately she is seated, get up behind her and ride away; she will then be running away with you, and not you with her.

Thomas thanked him, and a favour able opportunity occurring soon after, he prepared every thing necessary. The gentleman was going to ride out with his daughter, when the footman accomplished his object. He helped his intended bride to mount her steed, and immediately she was seated, sprang up behind her, and gallopped off, to the great astonishment of the gentleman, who exclaimed, Ah Tom, you have duped me at last; and turning to one of his servants bade him ride after and bring them back. Thomas's happiness was complete, he was possessed of her hand; and although he had no money, the gentleman said he was clever, and he forgave him.

f

SINGULAR WHIM.

Some years since. a Mr. Powyss, of Moreham, near Preston Lancashire, advertised a reward, of an annuity of 50%. a year for life, to any man who would undertake to live seven years un der ground, without seeing any human being; and to let his toe and finger nails grow, with his hair and beard, during the whole time. Apartments were prepared under ground, with a cold bath, &c. and as many books, &c. as the occupier pleased, and provisions were provided for and given to him by means of a trap door, from Mr. Powiss's own table; whenever the recluse wanted any thing, he was to ring a bell, and it was furnished him. Singular as

Lord Carteret retained by memory the whole of the New Testament, from the first word in Matthew, to the last in Revelations. It was an astonishing thing to hear him repeat whole chapters at a time, in the same accurate method as if he were reading it.

Dr. Berkely, Bishop of Cloyne, retained the famous Pasquilino in his palace, to teach his children music. The bishop suggested to him the propriety and success which would attend a concert at Cork, were he to give one, which he at length determined to do; and the bishop two or three days after, told him he had succeeded in disposing of a great number of tickets among his opulent friends; to which the musician bowed, saying, May God pickle your lordship, I pray him! The company laughed immoderately, and the poor Italian, all in confusion, replied, Vell! in the grammar that my lord give me to teach me English, it is printed, pickle, to preserve, to keep from decay.'

When Ramsay one day complimented sir Isaac Newton on his great discoveries in philosophy, he replied,

Alas! I am only like a child, picking up pebbles on the shore of the great ocean of truth.

Printed and Published by COWIE & STRANGE, 64, Paternoster Row, and 24, Fetter Lane.

[PRICE ld.

AT the head of the narrow channel, or branch of the sea which separates Portsea isle from the main land, is the strong fortress called Porchester Castle. The precise origin of this structure is unknown; but this spot was certainly occupied by a fortress that was successively possessed by the Britons, the Romans, the Saxons, and the Normans; and the modes of building, practised by the three latter, are yet discoverable in the walls and towers of the present castle. By the Britons it was denominated Caer Peris; which appellation was altered by the Romans to that of Portus Magnus, from the Roman name of the harbour; its modern name of Port Chester is evidently Saxon.

Porchester Castle is situated on a neck of land, jutting out considerably towards

the middle of the harbour. It is a noble pile, of a quadrangular form, surrounding an area of between four and five acres, and is still in sufficient preservation to have been used as a place of confinement for French and other prisoners captured during the late war; from 3000 to 5000 having been secured here at one time. The walls are from eight to twelve feet thick, and about eighteen high, having in many places a passage round them covered with a parapet; it has eighteen towers of various shapes and magnitudes, including those of the keep; and is defended on the north west and south sides by a ditch varying in breadth, and fifteen feet deep and fourteen wide under a square tower: on the inside, over the gate, are two projecting figures, somewhat re

sembling Egyptian sphynxes. In the east wall, nearly opposite this gate, is another of like dimensions: there are, likewise, two sally-ports.

The keep encompasses a parallelogram of 65 by 115 feet. It has four towers, three of them standing on the outside wall. One of these, which is much larger than the rest, forms the north west angle of the square; the fourth tower stands at the south east corner of this building. Here are many rooms, several very large, and some arched with stone; among them is one which appears to have been a chapel : the entrance is through a gate on the south side, only eight feet wide. Several of these towers, as well as part of the walls, are now in ruins. It is still, however, used as a depot for government

stores.

The above correct view of this ancient edifice is taken from a painting by Mr. Thomas Paxton, of Fetter lane.

On Bathing.

No. 5.

WARM BATHS.

Warm Baths are such as have a temperature above the 76th, and not exceeding the 96th or 98th degree of Fahrenheit's thermometer. There are va rious springs in Britain, which we shall hereafter notice, to which nature has given this temperature, the most beneficial to the human body. But whether the tepid bath of this description be natural or artificial, it is equally condu. cive to the restoration of energy, though its effects have, till lately, been little understood. Physicians, as well as patients, have hitherto been too generally accustomed to consider a warm bath as weakening the body, and useful only for the removal of cutaneous diseases. Experience, however, has amply proved that there can be no safer and more efficacious auxiliary in a variety of chronic or inveterate complaints than the warm bath, if properly used, and continued for a sufficient length of time. Dr. Marcard has satisfactorily demonstrated, that the warm bath, in many cases of debility, attended with spasms, pain, anxiety, &c. is generally of considerable service, and that it may be ranked amongst the means of prolonging life, if not of restoring health. Instead of per

manently heating the human body, as has erroneously been asserted, the warm bath has a cooling effect, inasmuch as it often abates the quickness of the pulse, and reduces the pulsations in a remarkable degree, according to the length of time the patient continues in the water. After the body has been over-heated by fatigue from travelling or other violent exercises, and likewise after great exertion or perturbation of mind, a tepid bath is excellently calculated to invigorate the whole system, while it allays those tempestuous and irregular motions, which otherwise prey upon, and at length reduce the constitution to a sick bed.

The warm bath is of great utility to such individuals as are troubled with a parched and rough skin; it has likewise been found to afford relief in many paralytic, hypochondriacal, and even insane cases, as well as to assist the cure of various eruptions, when strict attention had been paid to the diet and regimen. In palsy, modern observers assert that warm bathing is occasionally an effectual remedy, though the late Dr. Mead expressly maintained, that it is prejudicial to all paralytics. Dr. Charleton, of Bath, was the first who refuted this assertion; because he had seen in the hospital of that city, numerous and manifest proofs of its efficacy in paralytic cases. This judicious physician remarks, that he was induced to turn his attention to this subject by the prevalence and increase of nervous diseases, but particularly on account of the palsy, which formerly used to be an attendant upon the aged alone, but has now be come the too frequent and miserable companion of youth. He still observes, that of 996 paralytics, most of whom had resisted the powers of medicine, 813 were benefitted by the proper application of the warm bath.

(To be continued.)

VAUXHALL IN 1742.

The following description of Vauxhall in 1742, is extracted from a 'Survey of London, by a Citizen,' published in that year.-E. P.

'We came next to Vaux Hall, a place noted for its garden, a great resort for young people of pleasure in the summer season, and made very famous lately by a new kind of entertainment introduced there, after the Italian manner, which is an evening diversion in the open air.'

(For the Casket.) THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER. No. XIII.

'Crying, Sweep! Sweep! Sweep!'

Saw you that diminutive little fellow pass your window, with a large bag at his back, and a worn out brush in his hand; whose clothes were tattered, and covered with a black looking dust; whose face and hands appeared so begrimed with dirt, that you might have supposed the use of water to be forbidden him; and whose appearance altogether seemed to betoken as much misery as is compatible with existence, in civilized society?-It was a young chimney sweeper, who has just commenced his profession, and who is seeking employment in the public streets : he is but little more than eight years of age, and the sores he received during his first essays at climbing, have but lately been healed, Shivering in the morning breeze he has just knocked at a door, and been ushered into an apart ment, the chimney of which he is to cleanse he has already pulled off his shoes, and placed on the crown of his head the large night cap which accompanies him in his dark ascents: the forks are driven into each side of the fire place, and he stands with one corner of the large black cloth in his hand, pondering upon the expected horrors of the coming scene:-but a knock at the door announces the arrival of his master, and he quickly mounts upon the stove; and dropping the dark looking curtain is shrouded from observation.

When a mere child, the operations of the young sweep' appeared to me full of the most intense interest; the first time I saw him terror was among the most predominant of my sensations; but this gradually wore off, and I at length used to contrive to rise early enough, on the mornings of his monthly operations on the kitchen chimney, to be a spectator of his (to me) mysterious proceedings; when he pulled out of the bag the cap which was to protect his eyes from the soot, there was a something in his looks and in the exhibition of his white teeth, which brought to my youthful fancy ideas of half conceived

spirits of fairy tales, in the performance of their unhallowed rites; but when at last he drew it over his face, and, as it were, vanished from the apartment, my very heart used to throb with increased violence, and my thoughts be suspended in awful wonder. I can, at this day, almost feel the shudder, which I experienced when the master sweep' used to draw back the covering which was placed over the stove, and not the least sign was displayed of the existence of the little climber; how I used to watch for the falling of the soot in his descent, and how did my heart seem eased when I again beheld him, and heard his feeble voice replying to the gruff inquiries of his master as to whether he had cleaned the pot out!'

Reader! this may seem to you trifling and childish; but childish and trifling as it is, I would not lose the recollection of such thoughts and feelings, for any of the more expansive ideas which have since crossed my mind: the remembrances of childhood convey lessons to the heart-lessons, which the proudest philosopher might study to advantage.

But to return. The master chimney sweeper' is a very small man, dressed in a short velveteen jacket and corderoy breeches, with strings tied at the knees, reaching half way to his ancles, and a pair of high shoes tightly fastened on his feet; he carries in his hand a black-haired brush, which he displays as the insignia of his calling; he cries 'sweep' in a tone of voice which must be heard at every part of the neighbourhood where he is, and fails not to inquire, at every open door, if the chimney wants sweeping.' He sends round by his boys,' tickets pasted on thin paper, and ornamented with barbarous wood cuts, in which he describes himself as chimney-sweeper and nightman,' and offers his services on the most moderate terms;' he takes care to look after empty houses, and is glad to sweep the chimnies for the soot; he is a singular mixture of impudence and civility

civil where he hopes to profit, and the contrary where he fears no loss. His acquaintance lies among dustmen and cinder-sifters, and he wastes every spare hour among them in noisy mirth, in the tap room of some low publichouse.

But a far different being is the boy, whose unfortunate lot it is to be the instrument of his gains. No mirth, not even that of youthful sportiveness, is to be traced on his emaciated countenance; instead of being indulged in intemperance, his growth is stinted by scanty nourishment; companions he has none, but his own unfortunate fellows; and the scene of his rest is the soot cel. lar: here he passes the few hours al1 tted him for repose, and, before the break of day, has to rise, and collect the few implements he is to use, and to sally forth on his most cheerless duty; with the fear of broken limbs ever before his eyes, he obeys his master's directions, and seems not to a superficial observer discontented with his situation but to an attentive scrutineer of nature's workings, the downcast melancholy of his soul is visible through the forced gaiety, which on some few occasions may hover on his lips. Time smooths the roughest paths, and when he has passed some years in the rugged road marked out for him, he becomes in some degree inured to its hardships you may then see him laughing as he perambulates the streets, and when his work is done he indulges in a game at buttons with his sable acquaintances; but even then, he at the best presents but a gloomy spectacle ;— a fellow.creature with his intellects expanded, and all his best feelings blunted -one who vegetates on earth, and thinks not, nor is capable of thinking, of benefitting or improving his generation.

:

Let none imagine that this state of things arises from necessity, or tell us that without sweepers chimnies would become foul and take fire. The exertions of humane individuals have introduced a substitute for the climbing boy, which, if it does not answer the purpose quite as well, has other recommendations which should induce its more frequent use; it is calculated to put an end to the practice of condemning feeble infants to the endurance of horrors, which none but the chimney sweeper' knows :-those who pity his condition should use the scandiscope.' R. J.

FUNERAL

OF THE LATE MR. CANNING.

Long before one o'clock yesterday (Thursday) the hour at which the funeral of Mr. Canning was to take place -Downing-street was crowded with anxious spectators.

It was apparent that the mourning coaches, and carriages which were to compose the procession, could not enter and turn round Downing-street with convenience, or perhaps with safety to the spectators, if the street were to continue crowded in this way. Mr. Lee, the active high-constable of Westminster, thought it most prudent, therefore, to clear the street to its extremity at Whitehall. This measure he effected in a very short time by the aid of the Bow-street officers who were in attend-.

ance.

A few minutes before one o'clock the hearse and nine mourning coaches entered Downing-street. Just at this moment an elderly lady, dressed in deep mourning, who had made her way through the crowd and evaded the vigilance of the Bow-street officers, came up to the door of the late Mr. Canning's residence, and requested permission to be allowed to stand near it. Her request, was granted. She declared that she had no other motive for attempting to perform an act of respect to Mr. Canning's remains than one of gratitude, for he had given her son a place. The moment the coffin was brought out, this poor woman reverently approached, and laid her hand upon it. Now,' said she, I am satisfied!' Perhaps in this place it would be seasonable to mention a circumstance of a very affecting nature, which exhibits the warmth of personal regard felt occasionally for Mr. Canning: On the night when his remains were removed from Chiswick to Downing-street, a gentleman of very venerable appearance came to the door and enquired for Mr. Packhouse. Mr. Packhouse, however, was gone to bed. The old gentleman said he understood that Mr. Canning's remains had been brought there that night-he was an old personal friend of his and he wished merely to touch the coffin before those remains were placed for ever out of view. The servant instantly admitted him. The old man entered the apart