The Lord of the Mannor being the Impropriator hath the presentation of the viccar to the viccaridge.

In the Grounds contained in this particuler there is great store of Timber Trees & wood besides the Hedgerowes & besides wood to bee left for the repayer of Houses & Mill Dames worth at least 1000£. The opinion of divers is that all the wood growing in the groundes conteined in this Particular is worth 2000£.

The Stank or Pond att Hollin kall is well stored with Carpes & Eyles.

The Stank or Pond att Gawthorp with Trout, Roch, Gudgeon & Eyles.

Gawthorp Hall most part of the Walles built with good stone and all the Houses covered with slate and a great part of that new building, four Rooms in the ould building all waynscotted fyve large rooms in the new building all wainscotted likewise and collored like wallnut tree, the materealls of which house, if sould, would raise 500€. at least.

To this belongeth a Parke in former tymes stored with Deere, a Parkelike place it is, and a Brook running through the middle of it which turnes 4 payer of millstones att 2 milles.

Upon the River of Wharfe there is a Corne Mill with 2 payer of millstones, the dam of which was almost mede new the last yeare and cost near unto 100€.

There is ett Gawthorp a Garden and Orchards about 3 Acres in compasse fenced round with high stone walls, the Garden towards the North side hath 4 walles lying one above another, both the Garden and Orchard well planted with great store of fruit trees of several kindes, which with the Dovecote & the hill before the Doore Mr. Fox hath in lieu of 8£. part of his waiges yearly."

NB. The Court Leet and Court Baron at present extends over the following Townships.

Harewood Eastkeswick

the truth of this, however, I will not vouch on two accounts:-first, it is not always true; and secondly, if it were, I think it a very ungenerous mode of triumph over the once lovely portion of our species.

In your last number you gave the advertisement from a curious sign;-many equally whimsical may be easily produced, but such are of so common-place a character, that a collection of them would afford but little amusement, because they offer little that is novel.

But your limits call for a close, and I embrace the opportunity, being as glad of a respite as your readers can possibly be, even though they should have yawned through three fourths of the piece, like the occupants of the Wellington Shambles, when that unlucky young rascal, Lackington, so mischievously set them agog. COMMON SENSE.

In commencing my promised remarks on the subject of marriage, I think it necessary to observe that I am a bachelor, (as indeed may be conjectured from a passage in a former communication,) consequently my opinions relative to wedded life must have been formed from observation and not experience. Therefore should this letter meet the eye of any married man, who enjoys true happiness in the society of his wife, I trust he will not accuse me of any unjust or uncharitable designs in thus writing against the state into which he has entered. It is my intention to endeavour to account for those numerous ills and that unhappiness which exists in families, in which one would imagine felicity ought to reign. And in doing so, lest my motive be misconstrued, I would observe that I am not influenced by self-interest, or prompted by disappointment in my observations. That marriage is an institution devised by the Supreme Being, as a vehicle of happiness to man, as well as for the propoga

tion of our species, yea, and that it may be rendered subservient to his earthly comfort I do not deny. But alas, mankind are so prone to error; their bosoms are the seat of such rebel and vicious passions; the heart is so depraved; and man is so naturally inclined to refrain from the practice of that which is good, in order that he may pursue that which is contrary to the laws of God; that one object desired by marriage is seldom, very seldom, obtained. To be plain, man is so uncontrollable in his passions, so vicious in his desires, and so licentious and immoral in his habits; and woman, the weaker vessel, is generally so volatile, thoughtless, coquettish, and gay; so ruled by custom, and so greatly the slave of fashion, which, by the way, is ever opposed to reason; that it is rarely that husband and wife "love, andlive in faith and amity." The dispositions, affections, nay very ideas of mankind are so various, so different, and so jarring, that though a man may with difficulty live happily alone, it is almost a moral impossibility, when united to another of the opposite sex, he shoold enjoy lasting peace and tranquillity, by reason of the said incongruity of tempers, affections, &c. Indeed, there are so many Xantippes to plague and torment us unfortunate men, that, in my opinion, happy and fortunate is he who can avoid that trap, whence there is no escaping, and in whose durance there is such misery and pain. Now I would not by any means have any of my fair readers believe I mean to insinuate that the unhappiness which too commonly exists between man and wife, is entirely of their creation, or that were there an alteration in their conduct, a perfect restoration to bliss would be effected. No, No! I am fully aware that my own sex, may often be charged with a breach of those duties, and of those rules of courtesy and necessity, an obedience to which would be attended with the most happy results. And I know too, that impetuous and self-willed, he will seldom brook any contradiction, from those who claim our every indulgence. Hence may arise many bars to "connubial bliss." But notwithstanding this allowance, (and I am willing to make all in my power in favour of the ladies) I think that most of those infelicities which the married experience, may be laid to the charge of the female sex.

It has been said by Pope, that
Some men to business, some to pleasure take,
But every woman is at heart a rake.

And if indeed the assertion be founded
in truth, how can a man reasonably ex-
pect to improve his condition by wed-
lock? Men may, I imagine, be addict-
ed some to one pursuit, and some to
another; their hearts may be engrossed
by a variety of objects; but women have
only two; the love of pleasure and the
love of power. The love of power, how-
ever, may perhaps be regarded as the
means of procuring pleasure; so that in
fact the love of pleasure is the reigning
principle, and every woman, whose chief
object is pleasure, must be at heart a
rake, and consequently little calculated
for the duties of wife and mother. Fe-
males are taught from education, and
custom, to disguise their feelings-
"They daub their tempers o'er with washes,
As artificial as their faces."

As unfit for wives, must I also necessarily set down all those who betray an inordinate partiality to dress. Every lady has, or fancies she has, a taste for dress: she, therefore who dresses, or attempts to dress, in the exteavaganza of fashion, whether in toto or partially; whether she blazes a brilliant star of St. James's, or the belle of a tea-garden; whether she wears a bonnet uncommonly small, or uncommonly large, but especially if she wears neither bonnet nor cap a petticoat too long or too short; an enormous protuberance behind, or one equally ridiculous before; in short the lady who adopts (and alas! how many misguided and unthinking females do adopt) whatever is egregiously in fashion, must be denominated a rake; for why are the extremes of fashion adopted, but the more certainly to attract particular attention. If then it can be proved, that thousands of the fair sex ARE rakes in practice, and that all are so AT HEART; how is it possible that we can hope for happiness in the wedded life? Where

is the wonder that domestic broils so unceasingly exist? And in my opinion,

a pliancy of disposition in the sterner sex towards the failings of their partners" which your correspondent, Veritas" recommends, will be of little avail, will produce no reformation in their conduct, without which, we may look for felicity in vain. However submissive, however patient, and however charitable the

[Altho' our opinion is decidedly opposed to the sentiments contained in the above communication, we thought it fair to insert them-but we promise our fair readers, that if no Correspondent takes up the matter, we shall make a few remarks upon it in our next publication. -ED.]

Original Poetry.

SONNET, BY A HUSBAND.
When on thy bosom I recline,
Enraptur'd still to call thee mine,
To call thee mine for life;

I glory in the sacred ties

(Which modern wits and fools despise)

Of husband and of wife.

One mutual flame inspires our bliss,
The tender look-the melting kiss-
E'en years have not destroy'd:
Some sweet sensation ever new
Springs up and proves the maxim true—
That love can ne'er be cloyed.
Have I a wish, 'tis all for thee?
Hast thou a wish, 'tis all for me?

So soft the moments move,
That angels look with ardent gaze,
Well pleased to see our happy days,
And bid us live and love.

If cares arise, and cares will come,
Thy bosom is my softest home,
I lull me there to rest;

And is there aught disturbs my fair,
I bid her sigh out all her care,
And lose it in my breast.
Have I a joy, 'tis all her own?
For her's and miue are all but one
Our hearts are so entwined;
That like the ivy round the tree
Bound up in closest amity,
'Tis death to be dissolved.

"We sitll remember with a sigh,
The days that are no more."
And has it past another year?
And left me still as lonely here:
It was not so when first its light,
Looked on me in its sunbeams bright,
A thousand hopes unmixed with fear,
Were mine in that departed year;
And they have left me one by one,
As coldly as itself has gone.

I moved as if in fairy land,

And fancy shower'd with playful hand,
Her faithless roses in my way,

With gorgeous dreams as frail as they.
That lovely year at length is fled,
And youth's fair rose is also dead,

One wild sweet hope I cherished long,
Nor breathed it e'en in minstrel song.
The others unfulfiled had past,
It was the dearest and the last,
I will not name it, it was one,

Would please such hearts as mine alone:
The year that gave it birth is dead
That last, loved, lingering hope is fled.
Oh one rests calmly in the grave,
And leaves me on life's stormy wave,
He rests in peace, and yet I wept,
To think that in the grave he slept;
I would that he had lived to know,
How well one heart could feel, but-no,
I breath'd the wish and might it be,
That there was hope or joy for me,
He knew me not, amid a throng
I gazed and thus my life were long;
The glance I met, till life should part,
Would live within my lonely heart.
Some say they have a joy to weep,
On the dark grave where calmly sleep,
Those they have lov'd; tho' tears are gone,

His grave I dare not look upon :

Even as I write I shrink to hear,

The knell of the departing year;

For on my heart it seems to swell,
The echo of his funeral knell.

The robber' hand have stript his golden mail;
And in his naked side an arrow's barb
At every step dropp'd blood upon his garb.
He spake not; but his heavy eye complain'd,
With pain and travel doowzed: his arms were
chain'd;

And idled by his side the scymetar

That once had smote them like an evil star.

That night the festival had lasted long, Joyous with Tartar games: the wrestler strong Had show'd his naked majesty of limb; The juggler play'd his wonders; and the mime Stoop'd to reluctant mirth the features grim Of the throned lords of war; and, last of all, The Almai's jewel'd dance had witch'd the hall.

The dance was ended and the banquet done, Deep rang the trumpet from the Sultan's

throne

The captive's death-sign; and a giant slave
Flourish'd the falchion o'er him. Osmyn gave
One look to Heaven, and then his weary eye
Sank from man's face for ever. One last sigh
Was for his love. He kiss'd his bugle's rim,
Rapt in the fantasies, delicious, dim,
That hopeless passion leaves to kill the mind;
And pray'd for life a moment, but to wind
That horn in memory of the Peri grove.
The echo whisper'd, sweet as tales of love
Shed in a maiden's ear. The crowd were spell'd!
The sound arose, around the hall it swell'd,
Grew fierce and fiereer, grew a whirlwind's

roar!

With a strange sudden shattering on the floor His chains fell of: thick lightenings fill'd the dome,

A mass of solid splendour, gem and plume
Glaring in wild white flame on every brow,
All terrible distinctness: still the blow
Hung o'er him; but the headsman look'd a
stone:

Each chief seem'd spell'd, a statue on his throne.

The captive sprang within the canopy,
And dragg'd the struggling Sultan out to die.
Down cleft the scymetar his turban star.
The conqueror gazed upon his dying glare!
Then flung the head along the cloth of gold,
A dying thunder-peal through midnight roll'd.
And the rich curtain rose to sounds of wings,
And fragrance cool, as when the twilight flings
Its pinions o'er the earth, dew-bath'd: the

throne

Bore a veil'd Vision! mantled with a zone Silvery and slight as moonbeams. Osmyn felt The madness of the moment; and he knelt,

And pour'd his burning soul in passion's sighs"
Slow rose the veil, and show'd the starry eyes
And lips like opening roses,-'twas his love!
Then with sweet smile the Peri soar'd above,
Kindling the air with radiance, and was gone.
Silence and darkness sate upon the throne:
And Osymn, with a wild and desperate tread,
Rush'd through the camp; the mighty spell
had spread;

And all its myriads look'd a host of stone.
He pass'd away-unheard, unseen, alone!

FALLS OF NIAGARA.

We extract the following highly interesting sketch from Howison's Canada, which we present to our readers, as connecting an elegance of diction, and beauty of description rarely to be met with in the journals of more experienced travellers.

"The Table Rock, from which the Falls of Niagara may be contemplated in all their grandeur, lies on an exact level with the edge of the cataract, on the Canada side, and, indeed, forms a part of the precipice over which the water gushes. It derives its name from the circumstance of its projecting beyond the cliffs that support it, like the leaf of a table. To gain this position, it is necessary to descend a steep bank, and to follow a path that winds among shrubbery and trees, which entirely conceal from the eye the scene that awaits him who traverses it. When near the termination of this road, a few steps carried me beyond all these obstructions, and a magnificent amphitheatre of cataracts burst upon my view with appalling suddenness and majesty. However, in a moment the scene was concealed from my eyes by a dense cloud of spray, which involved me so completely, that I did not dare to extricate myself. A mingled rushing and thundering filled my ears. 1 could see nothing except when the wind made a chasm in the spray, and then tremendous cataracts seemed to encompass me on every side, while below, a raging and foamy gulf of undiscoverable extent lashed the rocks with its hissing waves, and swallowed, under a horrible obscurity, the smoking floods that were precipitated into its bosom.

"At first, the sky was obscured by clouds, but after a few minutes the sun burst forth, and the breeze subsiding at the same time, permitted the spray to

ascend perpendicularly. A host of pyramidal clouds rose majestically, one after another, from the abyss at the bottom of the Fall; and each, when it had ascended a little above the edge of the cataract, displayed a beautiful rainbow, which in a few moments was gradually transferred into the bosom of the cloud that immediately succeeded. The spray of the Great Fall had extended itself through a wide space directly over me, and, receiving the full influence of the sun, exhibited a luminous and magnificent rainbow, which continued to over-arch and irradiate the spot on which I stood, while I enthusiastically contemplated the indescribable scene. "Any person, who has nerve enough, (as I had,) may plunge his hand into the water of the Great Fall, after it is projected over the precipice, merely by lying down flat, with his face beyond the edge of the Table Rock, and stretching out his arm to its utmost extent. The experiment is truly a horrible one, and such as I would not wish to repeat; for, even to this day, I feel a shuddering and recoiling sensation when I recollect having been in the posture above described.

"The body of water which composes the middle part of the Great Fall is so immense, that it descends nearly twothirds of the space without being ruffled or broken, and the solemn calmness with which it rolls over the edge of the precipice, is finely contrasted with the perturbed appearance it assumes after having reached the gulf below. But the water towards each side of the Fall is shattered the moment it drops over the rocks, and loses as it descends, in a great measure, the character of a fluid, being divided into pyramidal-shaped fragments, the basis of which are turned upwards. The surface of the gulf below the cataract presents a very singular aspect; seeming, as it were, filled with an immense quantity of hoar frost, which is agitated by small and rapid undulations. The particles of water are dazzlingly white, and do not apparently unite together, as might be supposed, but seem to continue for a time in a state of distinct comminution, and to repel each other with a thrilling and shivering motion which cannot easily be described.

"The noise made by the Horse-shoe Fall, though very great, is infinitely

less than might be expected, and varies in loudness according to the state of the atmosphere. When the weather is clear and frosty, it may be distinctly heard at the distance of ten or twelve miles; nay much further when there is a steady breeze; but I have frequently stood upon the declivity of the high bank that overlooks the Table Rock, and distinguished a low thundering only, which at times was altogether drowned amidst the roaring of the rapids above the cataract. In my opinion, the concave shape of the Great Fall explains this circumstance. The noise vibrates from one side of the rocky recess to the other, and a little only escapes from its confinement, and even this is less distinctly heard than it would otherwise be, as the profusion of spray renders the air near the cataract a very indifferent conductor of sound.

"The road to the bottom of the Fall presents many more difficulties than that which leads to the Table Rock. After leaving the Table Rock, the traveller must proceed down the river nearly half a mile, where he will come to a small chasm in the bank, in which there is a spiral staircase enclosed in a wooden building. By descending this stair, which is seventy or eighty feet, perpendicular height, he will find himself under the precipice on the top of which he formerly walked. A high but sloping bank extends from its base to the edge of the river; and on the summit of this there is a narrow slippery path, covered with angular fragments of rock, which leads to the Great Fall. The impending cliffs, hang with a profusion of trees and brushwood, over-arch this road, and seem to vibrate with the thunders of the cataract. In some places they rise abruptly to the height of one hundred feet, and display upon their surfaces, fossil shells, and the organic remains of a former world thus sublimely leading the mind to contemplate the convulsions which nature has undergone since the creation. As the traveller advances, he is frightfully stunned by the appalling noise; for clouds of spray sometimes envelope him, and suddenly check his faltering steps, -rattlesnakes start from the cavities of the rocks, and the scream of eagles soaring among the whirlwinds of eddying vapour, which obscure the gulf of the cataract, at intervals announce that