likewise at liberty to walk with crutches, or to have one leg tied up behind them.

Every beggar may have a purse and a pocket, but most receive alms in their hats only.

Should any beggar be so fortunate as to discover any new trick in the art of begging, he shall be obliged to communicate the same to the company, which ought to enjoy in common the benefit arising from the genius of any of its members. As a recompense, however, to the inventor, and to stimulate his genius to new discoveries, we decree, that he have an exclusive privilege to make the most of his device for three months, during which time we peremp torily forbid any other belonging to our fraternity from interfering with his practice, under pain of confiscating to his use all the profits that may be derived therefrom.

We command, that no beggar presume to keep, or lead about with him, any hunting, setting, or other dogs; blind men being allowed to be conducted by a little cur, with a string round its neck.

This prohibition is not meant to extend to such of our traternity as may chance to possess dogs of talent. These may be allowed to exhibit their performances as usual, by making their dogs dance or jump through hoops; but they must not presume to take their station at a church-door, where other beggars of the society may be assembled, on account of the advantages they will have over them.

We permit all such beggars as have no children of their own, to hire as many as four, to lead about with them into the churches or festivals; these should not be above five years old, and, if possible, should appear to be twins. If a female conducts them, she should never fail to have one always at her breast; and if a man, he must be sure to carry one on his arm, and lead the next by the other hand.

We command, that those beggars who have any children, instruct them up to the age of six years in the best mode of making collections in churches; that after having taught them to ask charity for their father and mother who lie on their beds at home most dangerously ill, they allow them to go alone, though it were better not entirely to lose sight of them. As soon, however, as these children shall have attained their seventh

year, we command that they be left to shift for themselves, as being already majors, and that their parents be content to restrict and compel them to return home at stipulated hours.

Beggars of the old stamp, who consider it a point of honour to walk in the footsteps of their ancestors, who have trained them to the profession of begging, will never allow their children to take any other trade than their own, nor to degrade themselves by entering into the service of any one; and if these children wish to be thought worthy of their parents, they will hold every other condition in abhorrence.

Although idleness is the principal divinity worshipped by us beggars, we nevertheless think proper to prescribe certain hours of rising. Every one should dress and turn out by seven o'clock in winter, and by five in the summer, or even sooner, if he feel so disposed; and should be in bed again by the same hour in the evening, except in extraordinary occasions, and according to the directions of the veterans of the society. -Life of Guzman D' Alfanache.)

NEW THEORY OF THE DELUGE. "Observations on the Disposition of, the Waters at the Creation, at the time of the Universal Deluge, and at present," signed Augustus Mayerbach,' and dated London, October 1st.

I consider, says the writer, the word firmament, as used in the 6th verse of the 1st chapter of Genesis, to mean the shell or incrustation which divides the waters which are on the surface of the earth, from the waters within its internal abyss.

In adopting this simple view of the original disposition of the waters of the terrestrial globe, the way is cleared for a more literal acceptation of the representation given in the Bible, and the very expressions made use of become no longer figurative, but accurately descriptive.

The waters, which were to remain upon the surface of the earth had, by the divine command, been separated at the Creation, from the waters which were to be confined in the abyss, by the intervention of a material impenetrable substance, in the nature of a shell, when, in the year of the world

1657, the Almighty ordained that universal deluge which destroyed all life from off the earth, except the living creatures shut up with Noah in the ark."

My own supposition is, that the firmament, or shell, which divided the waters from the waters, was, at the time of the deluge, broken only at two places, and at those places are the North and South Magnetic Poles.

That the shell having been broken at those two particular spots, the waters, which had been till then confined in the bowels of the earth escaped from the abyss, mixed themselves with the and seas, which overflowed their former boundaries, and gradually covered the whole earth.

oceans

By the eruption of the waters from the abysses from a limited space only, a gradual inundation would be accomplished, which corresponds with the account given by Moses. By a general breaking up of such shell, an immediate deluge if any, would have taken place; and this is against the authority of my Bible, which tells me that the flood went on increasing for forty days.

The disappearance of the waters was as gradual as their eruption. And, if the great body of them had to return into the bowels of the earth by the same two cavities through which they had issued from the abyss, the withdrawing of the water must, of necessity, have been equally gradual.

If the admitted doctrine of the tides be true, and they are caused by the attraction and influence of the moon and sun, such doctrine will receive, as it seems to me, confirmation from the proposed theory; as it will give a greater body of water for this attraction to act upon, and a depository for supplying the additional quantity of fluid of which the high tides apparently evidence the presence.

As this attraction ceases, a portion of the waters may retire again to the chasm from which they have issued.

So that, instead of the moon by its power of attraction merely altering the position of the water, in causing the tides, it may be considered as actually drawing forth by its influence a larger quantity of water to be diffused upon the surface of the earth from its interior recesses.

VOL. I.

The north magnetic pole is, according to Captain Parry's last voyage of discovery, above fifteen degrees distant from the north pole of the earth.

The south magnetic pole may be considered as at an equal distance from the south pole of the earth.

The mere rotatory motion of the earth round its axis may cause, in certain positions, (for instance, when either of the chasms is directly towards the sun, and the pressure of the atmosphere consequently lessened from the greater rarity of the air,) a natural tendency in the water of the internal abysses of the earth gradually to escape to the surface.

In magnetism the attracting power has always been considered by the best writers upon the subject to be placed within the earth; and by late experi ments it has been ascertained that electricity and magnetism are most intimately connected.

Water is one of the great conductors of the electric fluid, and if within the abysses of the earth is contained a great body of water which has constant communication with other waters on the surface, and to which the latter may be continually conducting the electric streams gathered in their exposure to the atmosphere, why may not this acaccount for some of the phænomena of magnetism so long an object of scientific but unsatisfied inquiry.

Whether magnetic attraction is caused by a fluid, or by a mass of loadstone within the earth, I have made for you a hole in the shell at the Magnetic Poles which will give an easier communication with the needle.

The summary of the theory is, first, That the internal parts of the earth are filled with water, originally separated from the superficial waters by a shell or

crust.

That at the time of the flood this shell or crust was broken in two places; and that the chasms, from whence the waters issued, still exist at the North Magnetic Pole, and the South Magnetic Pole.

That the flood arose from this breaking forth of the internal waters, caused either by a suspension of the rotatory motion of the earth round its own axis, while the chasm was turned towards the sun; or by a diagonal inclination on the agis of the earth, in its annual

orbit round the sun; or by the immediate command of the Almighty, in the same way as when the sun stood still in the Valley of Ajalon.

That the rotatory motion of the earth being resumed, the waters again retirea into the abyss, but with the communication between the superficial and internal waters left free.

That by means of this communication between the upper and lower waters, and in conjunction with the influence of the moon and sun, the tides are produced, and

That this is also the cause of the pola rity of the magnet.

ACQUAINTANCES.

"Let others fear their foes; you beware only of your friends." Anastasius.

I do not wonder at people being fond of hating, for it is truly a much more comfortable feeling in society than its opposite. To tell a person, either by word or look, that you hate him, is easy, and easily understood; but you must find out some more complicated method of informing an acquaintance that you like him. In one there is the semblance of a thousand things to be avoided -servility and adulation, if he be above you-self-importance and an air of patronage, if beneath; but plain, downright hatred is not to be mistaken; if it is not altogether spirit and independence, it is something very like them, and may fairly pass for a virtue in these cursedly civil times.

If there be any unpleasant feeling in hatred, it is in the first conception; the subsequent indulgence of it (I do not mean in outward action)is one of the most agreeable feelings we possess "I'm sure, ma'am, you'll agree with me, if you reflect for a moment. But friendship is a bore as long as ever it exists-the continual source of those petty uneasinesses which, it is truly observed, contribute more to embitter life than the most serious misfortunes.

From

the first pique to the last satisfaction, the regulations of quarrel are known and defined; so are those of love; but to mortal legislator has yet thought it worth his while to regulate the province of friendship. It is a mongrel statea neutral and anarchical sort of territory, like the Isle of Man of old, a refuge for all the outlaws from more worthy and

decided feelings. As long as people remain friends, mutual behaviour is a puzzle, but the instant they quarrel, the road is plain before them, and no one can be at a loss how to proceed. While in the several degrees of intimacy, men seem to be acting out of nature-every second step is an awk. wardness or an absurdity.

First come the horrors of introduction -the anticipated ideas of face, manner, character, that regularly prove erroneous --our own idea of ourselves-their idea of us-our's of them--the same compared-d- civil-rather haughty-he might have done so and so--but no matter. Then the departure, and we retrace the interview: how treacherously exact the memory is in noting every circumstance, while if we wanted a name, it would see us hanged before it would tell us! Then all the way home, all that day, all that night, the overconsciousness of thought sticking in us like pins and needles.

"O that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister." But ladies won't go into the desert even to spend the honey-moon; and if the fair spirits won't go with us, why we must e'en stay with them.

It were endless to enumerate the various fashions, perplexities and despondencies, attendant on touching of hats, shaking of hands, making of bows, and saluting of cousins. Some lift the hand to the uppermost button of the coat, as a kind of half-way house between the breeches-pocket and hat-leaf, and if you be short-sighted, will never forgive you there is no balm in Gilead for non-salution. These canvassers of bows are in the first rank of nuisances; they possess an astonishing ubiquity; you are not safe for having once passed them; "again, again, and oft again," must thy best beaver pay toll at the turning of a corner. There is a very amusing paper in "The Indicator" upon shaking hands; the writer abets the cordial shake, and tells a story of some one's introducing a fish-slice into the passive hand of an acquaintance by way of rebuke. I have envied the said fish-slice since, when in the hands of Hibernians and seamen, who are both unconscionable in their grasp.

With ladies, however, it is a very agreeable salutation, if it be not in the dog-days, not to mention the convenience of having such a tacit barometer

of affection. As a hint, a hearty shake or loving squeeze is much better than endangering the corns of a mistress or dirtying her stockings. Though in

these cases, as in all others, moderation should be used; it is extremely awkward to see (as I have) a cornelian ring fly from a fair hand, owing to the rude pressure of an unhandy beau, or by burying the diamond or garnet in the finger, to produce an exclamation too confessive of the ardour of the address. Every one has heard the comical story of two gentlemen, seated on each side of a lady, each flattering himself that he possessed the hand of the fair one, till they convinced one another of the mutual mistake by squeezing the blood out of their eight fingers. But not one of my gentle readers, I dare say, would be at a loss to recall a similar contretems of his own when a novice in the tender passion; he had rather trust his fingers with the secret than his tongue.

There is an ingenious writer in this very magazine, who

"Has some stout notions on the kissing score." I am not at all inclined to agree with him, being myself a downright monosculist. Let the lip and the heart go together but-to one. I protest against kissing three hundred country cousins four times a year, twice at Christmas and twice at Whitsuntide. It is by far too much of a good thing.

Such are the vexations and troubles ere we enter even the threshold of friendship; and "we may go further and speed worse," as father O'Leary said to the impugner of purgatory. All the necessary requisites for mingling with our fellow-creatures-of secrecy, selfishness, politeness, reserve-all these we generally learn by having felt the dangerous consequences of wanting them. And when we come to cast up the balance between the pleasures and the troubles of intimacy, the latter is so predominant, that we are more inclined to give up the concern altogether, than make use of our experience in new and more cautiously managed connexions.

Friendship, I know, is looked upon as a more noble, a more disinterested feeling than love; and ladies, in particular, who know nothing about it, think it a very romantic sort of passion between us men. Alas! they have by far too good an opinion of the lords of the creation:-if they knew, if they could bring themselves to imagine, for

a moment, the real state of the casebut they cannot-they would find that there is as much selfishness, as many insignificant jealousies in friendship as in love; and that these are ten times more odious and troublesome, being such as no man would be mean enough to confess, however he might be little enough to feel and indulge them.

As long as a person is nothing, all these symptoms sleep,-the selfishness of friends is not awakened. But when one has obtained the unlucky fortune of having his sonnet inserted in a magazine, or his maiden poem landed in a minor review,--if he have even a Waterloo medal.

"Or lady such as lovers prize
Have smil'd on him ;"

then up spring the little harvest of jealousies, in those very faces, where he, luckless wight, expected to have found but smiles and congratulations. He is no longer what he was; as soon as he becomes something, his friends become patrons: and then,

Farewell the sweet communion of young minds, The pleasant paths of hope essay'd together, The subtle wheel of sympathy, that winds Round either heart the wishes of the other. Poor, pitiful, or talentless as he may be, he will not want some one "to take pride out of him." And the moment he finds that he has made a step in life, he also finds thorns and dissensions beset him. At home, or abroad, in the strange or the friendly circle, he is astonished to see every aspect altered; there may be more smiles,-whether or not, there certainly is more rancour.

But, unfortunately, the sensitive minds, that penetrate with the greatest ease into the petty motives of those around them, and consequently most strongly feel the repulsiveness of society, are the very beings who require more than any others the countenance and presence of their fellows. 'Tis hard to pass "the slough of despond" alone. And we are compelled at times to acknowledge, that the cause of the disease is its only remedy. It is this balance, this suspense, and alternate betaking itself to each, that harasses the mind, and frets it to morbidity. Each beckons one to it. The company of our "d-kind friends" is often a refuge from loneliness, and loneliness is always a refuge from our "d--kind friends." And the only pleasure left, is in abusing both, RALPH,-(New Monthly Mag.)

Mine eyes did never see a moonlight night
So purely beautiful; the skies were blue,
Without a stain of cloud, and, twinkling bright,
The thin stars wore an evanescent hue:
I gazed, and gazed; far off the mighty hills
Their hoary brows uprear'd; the silent woods
Without a sound outspread their solitudes,
Darkly umbrageous; the descending rills

Glitter'd with fitful light; it was a scene,
So magical it looked, and so serene,
That brought to mind old Fairy land; beside
My lattice, with the woodbine canopied,

Long did I sit and gaze; and thought my
fill;

And ere the midnight chime, the dews of sleep
Fell not upon my eye-lids; all was still,
And as I inused, I could not chuse but weep
As thronging in upon me, bright and fast,
Came, clothed in light, the visions of the
past.

Sleep bound me in his chains; and, lo! a dream

Came o'er my heart, with its fantastic dyes All rainbow tinctured, and the whole did seem To settle to a calm, bright paradise:

Flowers gemm'd the path, and over-head blue skies

Outspread their lucid canopy; tall trees,

The cedar, and the chesnut, and the palm, Their mighty arms expanded, and the breeze Kiss'd them in passing, and an odorous balm,

From bloomy beds, in rich varieties,
Loaded the gale.

Methought I stood with thee,
Arm link'd in arm, and down a vista green
We gazed delighted, where far off were seen,
Crowning a rosy knoll with symmetry,
A woodbined cottage, while the light blue

smoke

Mounted up tranquilly, and wreathed away To nothingness, and far behind it broke,

Reddening the west, the setting orb of day. Then did we turn, and gaze upon the lake, Sleeping in all the bright and glowing hues, Which the last beams of summer suns infuse Into the waters; here the swans did break

With snowy breast its glossiness; and there The lily lifted to the wooing air Its white and azure beauties, and its stem Girdled with leaves, almost as fair as them. The swallow, with its shrill and twittering note,

Darted along its surface, and the trout, After the skinming insects leaping out From its cool home, made round about it float A thousand widening rings.

For us alone the never idle bee Treasur'd its honey store; our very words

Savour'd of luxury and sweetness, more
Than speech can tell; to love, and to adore
Each other, and uncheck'd to wander free,
Our only care and duty seemed to be!

Methought, I ponder'd on the vanish'd scenes
Of noisy cities, and the haunts of men ;
Of knavish cunning; of the fool who leans
On sandy piles; of sin within its den;

Of jealousy; and grief that wails aloud;
Of care that walks amid the smiling crowd
With heavy heart; of penury that pines

In roofless hovels, where the shower descends;

Of pale disease; whom pain the torturer

iends

graves;

Of melancholy vaults, and dripping caves; And on each brow, where youth had set his mark,

Methought a gentle silentness did lie, Which spoke the vigour of eternity; When, lo! as gazing on a silver cloud,

We stood admiring, from the heaven it came Lower and lower, and a tongue of flame Glow'd in its centre; and, at length, it bow'd Its volume to the earth, and broader grew

The central light; while, from its inner shrine,

Stepp'd shining forth, with countenance divine,

A radiant Angel, and he look'd at me
As if in pity; then he took thy hand,
And bade thee go with him; he waved his
wand,

And the dim volumes of the chariot-clond
Closed upon both, concealing like a shroud
His radiance, and thy beauty; and it rose
Majestical, as doth the eagle dun,

When bent to drink the fountains of the

sun;

And round its path unmingled splendour glow'd