THE choice of the ancient Castle of Windsor for the baptism of the infant Prince of Wales was a preference in excellent taste, both as regarded historical association, and fitting splendour for so august a ceremony. Its performance in our metropolitan minster, and the dispensing of its attendant hospitalities in either of the metropolitan palaces, would, doubt. less, have rendered the event more popular in its day, when the spirit of festivity would have been more generally diffused among the masses of the people; but. in order to perpetuate the occasion in true English hearts, and to impress it with due importance in the history of our times, WINDSOR was, of all places in England, the most appropriate locality. There is no spot in her dominions so invested with "the divinity that doth hedge a king," as the royal castle of Windsor: it is almost the only regal abode in the kingdom, worthy of being styled a palace. In this picturesque country, the sovereigns of England have dwelt for more than one thousand years: our Saxon kings built themselves a palace in the vale of Old Windsor; and William the Norman erected a castle upon the site of the present structure, around which has risen a town, ancient in itself, yet distinctively called "New." Henry III. rebuilt the Castle, and raised it to the importance of second only to the Tower of London; and a few relics of this edifice were brought to light during the late restorations: of the chapel built by this Prince, a doorway may be recognized behind the altar of the present St. George's Chapel, nearly upon the spot whereon the recent baptism was performed. Edward III. founded the College, and restored the Chapel of St. George, and fixed here the inauguration of the Order of the Garter; but the existing chapel was built by Edward IV., the direction of the works being confided to Richard Beauchamp, Bishop of Salisbury, a most distinguished prelate and architect he was succeeded by Sir Reginald Bray, who built the Bray Chapel, now the south transept; and in 1508, the stone roof of the choir, by a subscription of the knights of the Garter the main vaulting is cited as, without exception, the most beautiful specimen of the gothic stone roof in existence. In 1528, its exquisite fan-groining at the interstices of the cross of the chapel was executed by subscription of the Order of the Garter; the fan vaultings to the side aisles of the choir were executed in 1537. Wolsey built the stately Tomb-house at the east end of the chapel; which James II. fitted up as a Catholic chapel, and employed Verrio to decorate. In 1787, the restoration of the interior of St. George's Chapel was commenced at the private expense of George III.; in 1796, the large painted glass window of the Crucifixion, over the altar, was completed from the design of West. Some improvements were effected under James Wyatt, appointed surveyor-general in 1796; but his successor, Sir Jeffrey Wyatville did not reach the chapel in his magnificent restorations. Within the past year, however, the windows have been put in a course, under Mr. Blore, the glass being executed by Mr. Willement.

Such is the superb edifice wherein the recent ceremony was performed; and, however gorgeously appointed, it must have been aided by the architectural sublimity of the chapel itself; as in the curiously designed and emblazoned bosses of the celiings, among which the arms of Edward the Confessor, Edward III., Edward the Black Prince, Edward IV., and the Prince of Wales's feathers, shone with appropriate radiance. But the choir, shown in the engraving, as you advance through the organ colonnade, is unique. Of the elaborate roof-tree we have spoken: the carved stalls on each side of the choir, each with its mantle, helmet, crest, sword, and banner, carry us back to the extreme splendour of chivalry; whilst the carvings belong to all ages-the history of our Saviour from his nativity to his ascension, figures of patriarchs and kings, and the bravery of St. George, down to the events of our own times. So highly decorated an edifice needed but little preparation for the late ceremony; and little was attempted. Before the altar was raised a dais, or haut pas, in the centre of which was placed the baptismal font on a purple velvet and

gold ottoman: this font consists of a golden salver, on which rest a pedestal and bowl used at the christening of Charles II., whence rises a second pedestal bearing a shallow lotus. leaved vase containing the water. Semicircularly on the haut pas were placed twelve chairs and fald-stools, of purple and gold. Upon the altar were ranged the communion-services of the Chapel Royal, St. James's, and St. George's, comprising six salvers, eight large tankards and flagons, two cups, and ten smaller vessels, of gold, or silver-gilt. The entire floor of the chapel was covered with a purple carpet, ornamented with the star of the Order of the Garter, and the cross or shield of St. George. Wolsey's Tomb-house, or Hall, was fitted up as a reception room; the floor being covered with crimson drugget, ornamented with the Prince of Wales's plume in white. The passages connecting this hall with the chapel, were similarly floored, and in them were erected accommodation for persons to view the baptismal procession. To enumerate the company admitted to the chapel would occupy more space than we can spare: they included the Ministers of State; the Ambassadors; the Knights Compa nions of the Garter, in their Stalls; the Naval and Military Knights; and very few ladies. Sir W. Newton and Mr. G. Hayter were present, by command of Her Majesty, taking sketches for pictures commemorative of the occasion. Only a few spectators were accommodated in the organ-gallery, and in galleries in the north and south aisles; the representatives of the public press were admitted under the organ-loft, which was the orchestra. The best situation in the chapel for viewing the ceremony, was the Queen's closet, to the left, immediately over the altar, and which was reserved for Her Majesty's attendants.

At half past twelve o'clock, the Royal procession left the quadrangle of the Castle in carriages, and soon reached Wolsey's Hall. Shortly afterwards, the Archbishop of Canterbury entered the platform, and stood before the font; and was joined by the Archbishop of York, the Bishops of London, Norwich, Winchester, and Oxford, and the Deans and Canons of Windsor. The Royal procession then left Wolsey's Hall, the Queen and Prince Albert and their attendants, filing off, and entering the choir by the north door, to the right; and the King of Prussia, (and suite,) the Duchesses of Kent aud Cambridge, and the Duke and Princess Augusta of Cambridge, entering by the opposite, or southern door. The Queen, in a few seconds, appeared, conducted by Prince Albert, and preceded by the Lord Chamberlain and Master of the Household, when the company rose, and the band played the march from Joseph. The Queen wore the robes of Sovereign of the Order of the Garter, and a circlet of diamonds: her Majesty was supported by Prince Albert, the Duke of Sussex, Prince George of Cambridge, and Princes Ferdinand and Leopold of Saxe Coburg. The Duke of Wellington stood behind Her Majesty's chair, bearing the Sword of State.

The March having been concluded, the Archbishop of Canterbury, standing behind the font, and supported as before, commenced reading the usual baptismal service; during the greater part of which the Queen, Prince Albert, the King of Prussia, and other Royal and distinguished personages, kneeled. The King of Prussia, and the other Royal Sponsors, repeated the usual responses in an audible tone of voice.

When the Archbishop said, "Dost thou, in the name of this child, renounce the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all the covetous desires of the same, the carnal desires of the flesh, so that thou wilt not follow nor be led by them?" His Majesty in a firm, and rather loud tone of voice, repeated-" I renounce them all."

The sponsors were, besides the King of Prussia, the Duchess of Kent, proxy for the Duchess of Saxe Coburg; the Duchess of Cambridge, proxy for the Duchess of Saxe-Gotha; the Princess Augusta of Cambridge, proxy for the Princess Sophia: the Duke of Cambridge, and Prince Ferdinand of Saxe Coburg.

Archbishop.-Dost thou believe in God the Father Almighty, Muker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his only begotten Son? His Majesty and the other Royal Sponsors answered in an audible voice, "All this I stedfastly believe."

The Royal infant was then conveyed from the Chapter Room to the font, and placed in the arms of the Archbishop of Canterbury, by her Grace the Duchess of Buccleuch, Mistress of the Robes, preceded by the Lord Chamberlain, with his wand of office.

The Archbishop then said to his Royal Highness' Godfathers and Godmothers," Name this Child.”

The King of Prussia and the other Royal Sponsors said, "ALBERT EDWARD."

The Archbishop, in a most impressive manner, then said, "Albert Edward, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." The Archbishop then said, "we receive this child into the congregation of Christ's flock;" and after reading the prayer appointed for this important part of the baptismal ceremony, the right Reverend prelate sprinkled the Prince with water from the font. We may here mention that the baptismal water was filled from the River Jordan, and presented to Her Majesty by the Rev. C. B. Elliott, of Tattingstone, Suffolk.

The Royal Infant was then delivered by the Archbishop to the Duchess of Buccleuch, and her Grace carrying the Royal Babe in her arms, proceeded to a seat near her Majesty and Prince Albert, and there continued until the conclusion of this interesting and solemn ceremony.

The Hallelujah Chorus was then sung by the full choir. The Archbishop having pronounced the benediction, this imposing ceremony ended.

Previous to her Majesty, Prince Albert, the King of Prussia, and the other Royal and illustrious visitors leaving the chapel, the overture to Esther was admirably performed. The whole of the music was selected from the works of

Handel.

The Prince of Wales was attired in a white satin slip, over which was an elegant lace dress, richly embroidered. The Duchess of Kent, the Duchess of Cambridge, and all the other ladies present, were in dresses of British manufacture, and wore three ostrich feathers on their heads.

Her Majesty, on leaving the chapel, bowed in a most graceful manner to the King of Prussia and the other Royal and distinguished personages near the altar.

The procession then left the chapel, and returned to the Castle in the same order as it arrived.

The young Prince is described as a remarkably fine boy, and was eagerly recognised by the spectators outside the chapel, when he was considerately held up at the carriage-window by the Duchess of Buccleuch. He was most cordially cheered, as were Her Majesty, Prince Albert, and the King of Prussia.

The royal party, and the distinguished guests, on their return to the castle, next partook of a déjeûner. In the evening, a magnificent banquet was served in St. George's Hall, to 140 persons, a servant in the royal state livery being placed

behind each guest. After the banquet, a grand musical performance took place in the Waterloo gallery; in which room also was exhibited the Christening Cake, on a silver plateau, about 30 inches in diameter; and with the figured ornaments, upwards of 4 feet high.

In the town of Windsor, the event of the day was variously celebrated: a large party dined at the Town Hall; the poor

It is impossible to compass the splendid details of this banquet in our present space: their gorgeousness almost amounts to embarras. The Times considers the banquet to have been less effective than that in the picture gallery of Buckingham Palace, on the christening of the Princess Royal. This conclusion is judicious; for St. George's Hall has little to recommend it but its extreme length: it is deficient in altitude and breadth, and has little in high feudal keeping beyond its emblazoned ceiling. The newspapers are so minute as to give a list of the castle guests, and the number and situation of the apartments in which they were lodged.

were feasted at their homes; and the streets were illuminated. In London, the celebration was less rife; for thousands of persons poured down by the Great Western Railway to Windsor, to witness what they could of the out-door procession; and they were admitted, by tickets, to the chapel after the ceremony, and to St. George's Hall before the dinner was served. Nevertheless, in the metropolis, various public bodies dined together, and the illuminations were numerous. Business was pretty generally suspended during the day; and, what proverbially constitutes one of the best observances of an English holiday, the inmates of charitable institutions, and the poor of several parishes, were right loyally feasted by those rich in this world's wealth, and ready to indulge the luxury of doing good. The English, after all, are a monarchy loving people; and, probably, no event of late years has so efficiently tested their patriotic enthusiasm as the recent Birth and Baptism of the Prince of Wales: whom, and his illustrious parents, may God long preserve!

STRAY THOUGHTS.

BY E. J. HYTCHE.

THE best antidote to inordinate self-esteem is self knowledge. Hence, the most intellectual men have been the most modest; because they knew how small was their acquirement when compared with that greater amount of knowledge which their powers were unable to attain.

How much misery is suggested by the phrase "criminal calendar!" We hear the sighs of heart-broken parents, we see the worn looks of disgraced relatives; and we view the haggard countenance of the prisoner, who breathes the fetid air of a dungeon loathsome and sunless. Oh that men before they become addicted to vice would but count the cost-blasted character, wasted affections, hopeless misery-and see if momentary pleasure were not too dearly purchased.

As a mirror reflects the body, so a diary should be a reflex of the mind; and it loses half its advantages, and all its likeness, if the defects be omitted.

Industry and hopefulness can compete with every difficulty which besets the path of life. The American beaver is an insignificant animal-if anything that God has created can be insignificant-and yet by perseverance it erects its habitation in the channels of the great deep, whereby the current is stayed and conquered.

If it be desirable to know at all, it is desirable to know well; for to a mere acquaintance with half-truths may most existing errors be traced.

Repine not, O man, at thy trials; but rather recollect what thy actions merit, and be thankful that thou sufferest so little compared with thy deserts!

be answered-How shall we regard it when its recall is Before engaging in any speculation, let this question impossible? Did men reply to the question suggested, we imagine that fewer names would appear in the Ga

zette.

There is no greater sign of innate vulgarity than the use of catch-words. We know a lady who has such an affection, or affectation, for the word "absurd," that the absurd manner in which she employs it, has made her the laughing-stock of her associates; and yet there is no person more addicted to charging others with vulgarity.

How indefinite a term is old age! some are decrepid at thirty, whilst others are youthful in feeling at sixty. Thus, the ladies of India are aged at thirty, and the ladies of England are aged at But we forget; we never knew an English lady to acknowledge herself to be aged, even though she had seen the snows of seventy winters. Dare, if thou wouldst Do!

Station cannot confer honour on any person, unless his character reflect honour on the station.

The owl flies, hooting near the ground, breaking the dor-flies' hum ;

The brown bat in its angular flight seizes the shining sphynx, Loud chirp the hoarsely-throated frogs, from stagnant water brinks;

And two sweet blending voices--hark! from copse and plantel green,

The nightingale's wild minstrelsy, and the ring-dove's passionate threne!

'Tis night, the drowsy earth is steeped in the young moon's mellow glow,

As up the bending south it floats-a barque with marble prow;

The gold-eyed families of stars peer through the blue again, Twinkling like blossoms on long boughs under a splashing rain.

And the thin soft clouds like phantom-ships are looming up the sky,

With white sails dark'ning from the light, as they voyage slowly by.

Fold after fold they cross the moon--and the great shadows pass,

Over broad lands of yellowing wheat, and slopes of dewy

The shrubberies how dark they stand, each side yon ancient ball!

Long shadows from the massive gate across the lawn are thrown, Where sculptured leopards couchant glare with great fierce eyes of stone;

The embattled walls against the sky their antique outline show, And the tall windows sparkling out fling back the moon's bright glow.

Down this green slope the hamlet lies-what peace is brooding there!

star-lit air,

The last thin smoke-wreaths trembling up, scarce stain the Faint household sounds just heard at times die gradually away; Sweet voices singing evening hymns blend with the mastiff's bay; Then through some smooth white chamber-blind a glimmering radiance falls,

And the casement shadows lengthening out, glance up the opposite walls.

The old church-clock strikes out the hour with a strong level chime,

Telling, whilst sleep hath swathed the earth, the unwearied march of time:

As if with mailed hand he smote the sounding doors of night, Or bent aloud his world-wide wings along his solemn flight O'er town and village, mound and tower, o'er ocean, hill, and vale,

Keeping bright life and dusky death for ever on his trail. Sweet time for thought a summer's night with golden-lighted skies,

No noise to mar the quietude that round us brooding lies; The spacy air, low fluttering, seems with shadowy spirits rife, At parley for the weal of man through the dark ways of life. O that one now would whispering come, with warm outholden hand,

And bear me flying through the sky into the eternal land! JOHN GIBSON.*

LADY ALICE LISLE;

A ROMANCE OF FIVE MINUTES.

You will remember, that after the unfortunate Monmouth's overthrow at Sedgemoor, near Bridgewater, his scattered partisans sought protection and relief, some in the hovels of the poor and naked like themselves, and some at the mansions of the neighbouring gentry, whose principles were thought not unfavourable to the defeated, or whose charitable dispositions might be expected to offer a still more ready asylum to the fugitives. Of the latter class was the venerable hostess of Moyles Court. Her husband, indeed, had distinguished himself among those who sat in judgment on the royal martyr; but her own better feelings had always attached her to the house of Stuart, and her son had displayed his courage in favour of James at that very battle which had just blasted the hopes of his antagonist. The only rebel of her kindred, the colonel himself, had long ago retired an outlaw from his country, and was "shot dead at Lausanne, in Switzerland, by three ruffians, engaged for that purpose by some of the royal family." Nevertheless, the widow of the regicide had been inarked out by government for de

struction.

It was at that notorious tribunal, nicknamed by a hor rible familiarity, the "Merciful Assizes" of Winchester, and before that notorious miscreant, Chief Justice Jeffreys, that the infirm, yet stately dame, now past her 70th year, stood arraigned for high reason, in having concealed and supported two of poor Monmouth's followers in a cell, or

and tall;

* An evening moth.

We are happy to meet our " Correspondent of the Mirror" patronage his poetical labours have already received, and which we take to be somewhat flattering to our judgment of his earliest productions.-ED. L. S. J.

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vault, at Moyles Court, originally constructed to secure the persecuted priesthood of either party from the malice of their mutual pursuers. The aspect of the judge and prisoner presented a remarkable contrast. The countenance of the former betrayed nothing of that pride or ferocity which might be imagined from the character of the man. From continued habits of intoxication and sensuality, his face and demeanour were indicative rather of sottish indolence and brutal doggishness, than of active cruelty or revenge. Few witnesses were called in the present case, yet their hasty evidence seemed too dilatory for his impatient petulance; he declared the charge to be established, and directed the jury to find their verdict accordingly. But the spirit of the indignant matron was not so tamely to be extinguished. She rose with majesty from the seat which her infirmities had demanded, rather than her wishes entreated; she raised her lofty form to its full proportions, and cast around for a moment, her wan, yet impressive features, maintaining, in wrinkles and fatigne, the serenity, if not the fire, of youth. Then, with an air which awe-struck even the heartless dolt upon the bench, she warned the jury of their duty; reminding them," that the services her son had just performed should now exonerate her from regal animosity, had any accrued to her name from the disloyalties of her husband; that her crimes amounted to no more than this,-that, in ignorance both of the condition of the fugitives, and of the law which now pretended to condemn her, she had opened her doors to the hungry, the naked, and the forlorn; that even this offence, if offence it were, must rest upon her own confession alone, as no evidence had proved the fact upon her trial; that she had been allowed neither notice of the accusation, nor counsel, nor defence; that the safety of his Majesty's subjects was far more endangered by one unjust trial and condemnation, than by any conspiracies or treasons of his people; and that their own bodies had better be given over to the anger of a bigoted task-master, than their minds to the fangs of conscious iniquity, and their souls to that place of torment, whither the curses of a murdered wornan would irrevocably consign them."

The effect of this appeal was visible even on the judge; he leaned forward with his eyes half raised from the ground, and, without suppressing the malicious smile that rose involuntarily on his lips, he motioned the jury to withdraw. They remained absent an unusual time, during which an intense anxiety pervaded all except the judge himself, who rolled about from side to side with manifest uneasiness and displeasure. At length the foreman appeared, and pronounced, "Not Guilty." An indistinct murmur of approbation ensued, while the disappointed monster lifted his unwieldy limbs from the chair, his eyes bursting with rage, his mouth foaming, his hands clenched, and stamping with the rage of a tiger, yet the impotence of a child, gave vent to a loud, rapid, and unconnected volley of oaths, and shaking his fist with more vehemence than dignity, fairly drove back the terrified juryman, by the mere menace of his gesture. Again he sat down; wrath and disappointment gave way at length to a smile of contempt, which indicated that some scheme was at hand to prevent the recurrence of a like rebuff. Again the door opened; the same messenger of justice returned, and commenced an apologetic preface, which was speedily interrupted by a demand of their decision. The same verdict was delivered as before; and every one expected from the judge a still more terrible ebullition of fury. But their expectations were balked; he merely nodded in sarcasm, and beckoning to a serjeant who attended with some score of that barbarous troop distinguished by the title of "Kirke's Lambs," whispered him to keep guard at the door of the jury-room, till the verdict was a third time

WINTER .

IN IMITATION OF SPENSER.

*

THE little brook that erst my cot did lave,
And o'er its flinty pavement sweetly sung,
Doth now forget to roll her wanton wave,
For winter hoar her icy chain has flung,
And stilled the babbling music of her tongue.
The lonely woodcock seeks the splashy glen,
Each mountain head with fleecy snow is bung,
The suipe and duck enjoy the moorish fen,
Like eremites they live, and shun the sight of men.
The wareless sheep no longer bite the mead,
No more the ploughboy turns the stubborn ground;
At the full crib the horned labourers feed,
Their nostrils cast black clouds of smoke around;
A squalid coat doth the lean steed surround;
The wily fox doth prowl abroad for prey,
Reckless of snares or of the avenging hound;
And trusty Lightfoot, now no longer gay,

Sleeps at the kitchen hearth his cheerless hours away.
Where erst the boat and slowly moving barge
Did with delight cut through the dimpling plain,
Now wanton boys and men do roam at large;
The river-gods quit their usurped domain,
And of the wrong at Neptune's court complain.
There mote you see mild Avon crown'd with flowers,
And milky Wey withouten spot or stain;

There the fair stream that washes Hampton's bowers,
And Isis who with pride beholds her learned towers.
Intent on sport, the ever jocund throng
Quit their warm cots and for the game prepare;
Behold the restless football whirls along,
Now near the earth, now mounted high in air.
Thus often men in life's wild lottery fare,
Who quit true bliss to grasp an empty toy.
Our honest swains for wealth nor titles care,
But lusty health in exercise employ,

The distant village hears the rude tumultuous joy.

The careful bedger looks the fields around
To see what labour may his skill demand;
He mends the fence, repairs the sinking mound,
Or in long drains he cuts the lower land,
That shall henceforth all sudden floods withstand.
Meanwhile at home his dame, with silver hair,
Doth sit encircled by a goodly band

Of lovely maids, who various works prepare,
All chaste as Jove's wise child, as Cupid's mother fair.

She them discourses not of fashions nice,

Nor of the trilling notes which eunuchs sing,
Allurements vain that prompt the soul to vice!
Ne tells she them of Kesar or of king;
Too great the subject for so mean a ring.
Her lessons teach to swell the capon's size;
To make the ben a numerous offspring bring;
Or how the wayward mother to chastise,

When from her vetchy nest the weetless vagrant hies.

When glittering spangles deck the robe of night,
And all their kine in pens avoid the cold;
The buxom troops, still eager of delight,
Round Damon's eyne a drapet white infold,
He darkling gropes till he some one can hold.
Next Corin hides his head, and must impart
What wanton fair one smote his hand so bold.
He Delia names, nor did from truth depart;

For well he knew her touch who long had fired his heart.
Stay, I conjure you by your hopes of bliss,
Trust not, my Daphne, the rough-biting air;
Let not rude winds those lips of softness kiss;
Will Eurus stern, the charms of beauty spare
No, he will hurt my rosy featured fair,
If aught so bright dares rugged carle invade,
Too tender thou such rough assaults to bear;
The mountain ash may stand, though stripped of shade,
But at the slightest wound the silken flower will fade.
MENDEZ.t

SONGS OF THE AUSTRALIANS. LIKE all other savage races, the natives of Western Australia are very fond of singing and dancing: to a sulky old native, his song is what a quid of tobacco is to a sailor;-is he angry, he sings; is he glad, he sings; is he hungry, he sings; if he is full, provided he is not so full as to be in a state of stupor, he sings more lustily than ever; and it is the peculiar character of the Australian songs, which renders them, under all circumstances, so solacing. The songs are short, containing generally only one or two ideas, and are constantly repeated over and over again, in a manner, doubtless, grating to the untutored ear of an European; but to one skilled in Australian music, lulling and harmonious in the extreme, and producing much the same effect as the singing of a nurse does upon a child.

Nothing can give a better idea of the character of these people than their songs. In England, an elderly gentleman, who has been at all put out of his way by encroachments and trespasses upon his property, sits over his fire in the evening, sipping his port, and brooding over vengeance by means of the law; but the law is tortuous, expensive, and uncertain; his revenge is very distant from him: under these circumstances, the more the elderly gentleman talks, the more irate he becomes. Very different is the conduct of the elderly Australian gentleman. He comes to his hut at night in a towering passion, tucks his legs under him, and seats bimself upon his heels before the fire; be calls to his wife for pieces of quartz, and some dried kangaroo sinews; then forthwith begins sharpening and polishing his spears, and whilst thus occupied, sings to himself

I'll spear his liver, I'll spear bis lights, I'll spear his heart, I'll spear his thigh, &c. &c. &c.

After a while, he pauses and examines the point he has

A linen cloth.

+ Mendez, who was the intimate friend of Thomson, was of a Jewish family, and was born in London. He took the degree of M.A. at Oxford, in 1750. Unlike poets in general, Mendez was one of the favourites of Fortune, and he died worth a hundred thousand pounds.

been working at; it is very sharp, and he gives a grunt of satisfaction. His wives now chime in—

The wooden-headed,

Bandy-legged, Thin-thighed fellows; The bone-rumped, Long-shinned, Thin-thighed fellows.

The old gentleman looks rather more murderous, but withal more pleasant, and as he begins to sharpen his second spear, he chants out

I'll spear their liver, I'll spear their bowels, I'll spear their hearts, I'll spear their loins.

As he warms on the subject, he ships bis spear in the throwing-stick, quivers it in the air, and imitates rapidly the adventures of the fight of the coming day; then the recollections of the deeds of his youth rush through his mind; he changes his measure to a sort of recitative, and commences an account of some celebrated fray of by-gone times; the children and young men crowd round from the neighbouring huts, the old gentleman becomes more and more vociferous,-first, he sticks his spear-point under his arm, and lies on his side to imitate a man dying, yet chanting away furiously all the time; then he grows still more animated, occasionally adjusting his spear with his throwing-stick, and quivering it with a peculiar grace. The young women now come timidly up to see what is going on; little flirtations take place in the back-ground, whereat the very elderly gentlemen with very young wives, whose dignity would be compromised by appearing to take an interest in passing events, and who have therefore remained seated in their own huts, wax jealous, and despatch their mothers and aged wives to look after the younger and, consequently, will not move from the fire without carryladies. These venerable females have a dread of evil spirits, ing a fire-stick in their hands; the bush is now dotted about with these little moving points of fire, all making for a common centre, at which are congregated old and young; jest another, the elderly gentleman is loudly applauded by the follows jest,-one peal of laughter rings close upon the heel of bystanders, and having fairly sung the wrath out of himself, he assists in getting up the dances and songs, with which their evening terminates.

Is a native afraid, he sings himself full of courage; in fact, under all circumstances, he finds aid and comfort from a song. they are all concise, and convey in the simplest manner, the Their songs are, therefore, naturally varied in their form; but most moving ideas: by a song or wild chant composed under the excitement of the moment, the women irritate the men to acts of vengeance; and four or five mischievously inclined old women can soon stir up forty or fifty men to any deed of blood by means of their chants, which are accompanied by tears and groans, until the men are worked into a state of frenzy.

A true poet is highly appreciated in Australia. Occasionally, the songs bear the name of the poet who composed them, though this is not often the case. There are two or three poets in Australia who enjoy a great celebrity.

The songs of the Australians are, according to their idea, the very perfection of harmony, rude and discordant as they are to our ears; perhaps no more extraordinary instance of the force of habit and diversity of taste than this could be adduced. A native sings joyously the most barbarous and savage sounds, which rend asunder the refined ears of the European, who turns away in agony from the discord,-while the surrounding natives loudly applaud as soon as the singer has concluded. But, should the astounded European endeavour to charm these wild men by one of his own refined and elegant lays, they would laugh at it as a combination of silly and effeminate notes, and for weeks afterwards entertain their distant friends, at their casual meetings, by mimicking the tone and attitude of the white man; an exhibition which never fails to draw down shouts of applause.

The only accompaniment to their songs, used in the southern parts of the continent, is the clapping of hands, or the beating