where concealment is possible-of course, although the Doctor forgets to suggest it, into the chimney. A friend of the Doctor's used to place a bureau against the door, and "thereon he set a basin and ewer in such a position as easily to rattle, so that, on being shook, they instantly became molto agitato." Upon one alarming occasion this device frightened away one of the chambermaids, or some other Paulina Pry, who attempted to steal on the virgin sleep of the travelling Joseph, who all the time was hiding his head beneath the bolster. Jo

tery touches.) Their feverish and restless anxiety about sheets, and their agitated discourse on damps and deaths, hold them up to vulgar eyes in the light of lunatics. They become the groundwork of practical jokes-perhaps are bitten to death by fleas; for a chambermaid, of a disposition naturally witty and cruel, has a dangerous power put into her hands, in the charge of blankets. The Doctor's whole soul and body are wrapt up in well-aired sheets; but the insidious Abigail, tormented by his flustering, becomes in turn the tormentorand selecting the yellowest, dingiest, and dir-seph, however, believed it was a horrible midtiest pair of blankets to be found throughout the whole gallery of garrets, (those for years past used by long-bearded old-clothesmen Jews,) with a wicked leer that would lull all suspicion asleep in a man of a far less inflammable temperament, she literally envelopes him in vermin, and after a night of one of the plagues of Egypt, the Doctor rises in the morning, from top to bottom absolutely tattooed!

night assassin, with mustaches and a dagger. "The chattering of the crockery gave the alarm, and the attempt, after many attempts, was abandoned."

With all these fearful apprehensions in his mind, Dr. Kitchiner must have been a man of great natural personal courage and intrepidity, to have slept even once in his whole lifetime from home. What dangers must we have passed, who used to plump in, without a thought of damp in the bed, or scamp below it-closet and chimney uninspected, door unbolted and unscrewed, exposed to rape, robbery, and murder! It is mortifying to think that we should be alive at this day. Nobody, male or female, thought it worth their while to rob, ravish, or murder us! There we lay, forgotten by the whole world-till the crowing of cocks, or the

ing on it that we were a Manchester Bagman, who had taken an inside in the Heavy at five, broke our repose, and Sol laughing in at the unshuttered and uncurtained window showed us the floor of our dormitory, not streaming with a gore of blood. We really know not whether to be most proud of having been the favourite child of Fortune, or the neglected brat of Fate. One only precaution did we ever use to take against assassination, and all the other ills that flesh is heir to, sleep where one may, and that was to say inwardly a short fer

all the happiness-let us trust it was innocent

The Doctor, of course, is one of those travellers who believe, that unless they use the most ingenious precautions, they will be uniformly robbed and murdered in inns. The villains steal upon you during the midnight hour, when all the world is asleep. They leave their shoes down stairs, and leopard-like, ascend with velvet, or—what is almost as noiseless-worsted steps, the wooden stairs. True, that your breeches are beneath your bolster-ringing of bells, or blundering Boots insistbut that trick of travellers has long been "as notorious as the sun at noonday;" and although you are aware of your breeches, with all the ready money perhaps that you are worth in this world, eloping from beneath your parental eye, you in vain try to cry out-for a long, broad, iron hand, with ever so many iron fingers, is on your mouth; another, with still more numerous digits, compresses your windpipe, while a low hoarse voice, in a whisper to which Sarah Siddons's was empty air, on pain of instant death enforces silence from a man unable for his life to utter a single word; and after pull-vent prayer, humbly thanking our Maker for ing off all the bed-clothes, and then clothing you with curses, the ruffians, whose accent betrays them to be Irishmen, inflict upon you divers wanton wounds with a blunt instrument, probably a crow-bar-swearing by Satan and all his saints, that if you stir an inch of your body before daybreak, they will instantly return, cut your throat, knock out your brains, sack you, and carry you off for sale to a surgeon. Therefore you must use pocket doorbolts, which are applicable to almost all sorts of doors, and on many occasions save the property and life of the traveller. The corkscrew door-fastening the Doctor recommends as the simplest. This is screwed in between the door and the door-post, and unites them so firmly, that great power is required to force a door so fastened. They are as portable as common corkscrews, and their weight does not exceed an ounce and a half. The safety of your bed-room should always be carefully examined; and in case of bolts not being at hand, it will be useful to hinder entrance into the room by putting a table and a chair upon it against the door. Take a peep below the bed, and into the closets, and every place

of the day; and humbly imploring his blessing on all the hopes of to-morrow. For, at the time we speak of we were young-and every morning, whatever the atmosphere might be, rose bright and beautiful with hopes that, far as the eyes of the soul could reach, glittered on earth's, and heaven's, and life's horizon!

But suppose that after all this trouble to get himself bolted and screwed into a paradisaical tabernacle of a dormitory, there had suddenly rung through the house the cry of FIRE-FIREFIRE! how was Dr. Kitchiner to get out? Tables, bureaus, benches, chairs, blocked up the only door-all laden with wash-hand basins and other utensils, the whole crockery shepherdesses of the chimney-piece, double-barrelled pistols with spring bayonets ready to shoot and stab, without distinction of persons, as their proprietor was madly seeking to escape the roaring flames! Both windows are iron-bound, with all their shutters, and over and above tightly fastened with "the corkscrew-fastening, the simplest that we have seen." The wind-board is in like manner, and by the same unhappy contrivance, firmly jammed into the

jaws of the chimney, so egress to the Doctor up the vent is wholly denied-no fire-engine in the town-but one under repair. There has not been a drop of rain for a month, and the river is not only distant but dry. The element is growling along the galleries like a lion, and the room is filling with something more deadly than back-smoke. A shrill voice is heard crying-"Number 5 will be burned alive! Number 5 will be burned alive! Is there no possibility of saving the life of Number 5?" The Doctor falls down before the barricado, and is stretched all his hapless length fainting on the floor. At last the door is burst open, and landlord, landlady, chambermaid, and boots-each in a different key from manly bass to childish treble, demand of Number 5 if he be a murderer or a madmanfor, gentle reader, it has been a- -Dream.

those who are, by the condition in which they are born, exempted from work, they are more miserable than the rest of mankind, unless they daily and duly employ themselves in that VOLUNTARY LABOUR WHICH GOES BY THE NAME OF EXERCISE. Inflexible justice, however, forces us to say, that although the Doctor throws a fine philosophical light over the most general principles of walking, as they are involved in "that voluntary labour which goes by the name of exercise," yet he falls into frequent and fatal error when he descends into the particulars of the practice of pedestrianism. Thus, he says that no person should sit down to a hearty meal immediately after any great exertion, either of mind or body-that is, one might say, after a few miles of Plinlimnon, or a few pages of the Principia. Let the man, quoth he, "who comes home fatigued by bodily We must hurry to a close, and shall per- exertion, especially if he feel heated by it, throw form the short remainder of our journey on his legs upon a chair, and remain quite tranfoot. The first volume of the Oracle concludes quil and composed, that the energy which has with "Observations on Pedestrians." Here been dispersed to the extremities may have we are at home-and could, we imagine, have time to return to the stomach, when it is regiven the Doctor a mile in the hour in a year- quired." To all this we say-Fudge! The match. The strength of man, we are given sooner you get hold of a leg of roasted mutton distinctly to understand by the Doctor, is "in the better; but meanwhile, off rapidly with a pot the ratio of the performance of the restorative of porter-then leisurely on with a clean shirt process, which is as the quantity and quality-wash your face and hands in gelid-none of of what he puts into his stomach, the energy of that organ, and the quantity of exercise he takes." This statement of the strength of man may be unexceptionably true, and most philo- | sophical to those who are up to it but to us it resembles a definition we have heard of thunder, "the conjection of the sulphur congeals the matter." It appears to us that a strong stomach is not the sole constituent of a strong man-but that it is not much amiss to be provided with a strong back, a strong breast, strong thighs, strong legs, and strong feet. With a strong stomach alone-yea, even the stomach of a horse-a man will make but a sorry Pedestrian. The Doctor, however, speedily redeems himself by saying admirably well, "that nutrition does not depend more on the state of the stomach, or of what we put into it, than it does on the stimulus given to the system by exercise, which alone can produce that perfect circulation of the blood which is required to throw off superfluous secretions, and give the absorbents an appetite to suck up fresh materials. This requires the action of every petty artery, and of the minutest ramifications of every nerve and fibre in our body." Thus, he remarks, a little further on, by way of illustration, that a man suffering under a fit of the vapours, after half an hour's brisk ambulation, will often find that he has walked it off, and that the action of the body has exonerated the mind." The Doctor warms as he walks-and is very near leaping over the fence of Political Economy. "Providence, he remarks, furnishes materials, but expects that we should work them up for ourselves. The earth must be laboured before it gives its increase, and when it is forced to produce its several products, how many hands must they pass through before they are fit for use! Manufactures, trade, and agriculture, naturally employ more than nineteen persons out of twenty; and as for

your tepid water. There is no harm done if you should shave-then keep walking up and down the parlour rather impatiently, for such conduct is natural, and in all things act agreeably to nature-stir up the waiter with some original jest by way of stimulant, and to give the knave's face a well-pleased stare-and never doubting "that the energy which has been dispersed to the extremities" has had ample time to return to the stomach, in God's name fall to! and take care that the second course shall not appear till there is no vestige left of the first-a second course being looked on by the judicious moralist and pedestrian very much in the light in which the poet has made a celebrated character consider it—

"Nor fame I slight-nor for her favours callShe comes unlook'd for-if she comes at all.'

To prove how astonishingly our strength may be diminished by indolence, the Doctor tells us, that meeting a gentleman who had lately returned from India, to his inquiry after his health he replied, "Why, better-better, thank ye-I think I begin to feel some symptoms of the return of a little English energy. Do you know that the day before yesterday I was in such high spirits, and felt so strong, I actually put on one of my stockings myself?"

The Doctor then asserts, that it "has been repeatedly proved that a man can travel further for a week or a month than a horse." On reading this sentence to Will Whipcord-"V es, sir," replied that renowned Professor of the Newmarket Philosophy, "that's all right, sir a man can beat a horse!"

Now, Will Whipcord may be right in his opinion, and a man may beat a horse. But it never has been tried: There is no match of pedestrianism on record between a first-rate man and a first-rate horse; and as soon as there is, we shall lay our money on the horse

only mind, the horse carries no weight, and

he must be allowed to do his work on turf. | frightened by Mr. Shepherd's picture of a storm We know that Arab horses will carry their in a puddle, and proposes a plan of alleviation rider, provision and provender, arms and ac- of one great inconvenience of pedestrianizing. coutrements, (no light weight,) across the de- " Persons," quoth he, Persons," quoth he, "who take a pedestrian sert, eighty miles a-day, for many days-and excursion, and intend to subject themselves to that for four days they have gone a hundred the uncertainties of accommodation, by going miles a-day. That would have puzzled Cap- across the country and visiting unfrequented tain Barclay in his prime, the Prince of Pe- paths, will act wisely to carry with them a destrians. However, be that as it may, the piece of oil-skin to sit upon while taking recomparative pedestrian powers of man and freshments out of doors, which they will often horse have never yet been ascertained by any find needful during such excursions." To save accredited match in England. trouble, the breech of the pedestrian's breeches should be a patch of oil-skin. Here a question of great difficulty and importance arisesBreeches or trousers? Dr. Kitchiner is decidedly for breeches. "The garter," says he, "should be below the knee, and breeches are much better than trowsers. The general adoption of those which, till our late wars, were exclusively used by the Lords of the Ocean,' has often excited my astonishment. However convenient trousers may be to the sailor who has to cling to slippery shrouds, for the landsman nothing can be more inconvenient. They are heating in summer, and in winter they are collectors of mud. Moreover, they occasion a necessity for wearing garters. Breeches are, in all respects, much more convenient. These should have the knee-band three quarters of an inch wide, lined on the upper side with a piece of plush, and fastened with a buckle, which is much easier than even double strings, and, by observing the strap, you always know the exact degree of tightness that is required to keep up the stocking; any pressure beyond that is prejudicial, especially to those who walk long distances."

The Doctor then quotes an extract from a Pedestrian Tour in Wales by a Mr. Shepherd, who, we are afraid, is no great headpiece, though we shall be happy to find ourselves in error. Mr. Shepherd, speaking of the inconveniencies and difficulties attending a pedestrian excursion, says, "that at one time the roads are rendered so muddy by the rain, that it is almost impossible to proceed;"-" at other times you are exposed to the inclemency of the weather, and by wasting time under a tree or a hedge are benighted in your journey, and again reduced to an uncomfortable dilemma." “Another disadvantage is, that your track is necessarily more confined-a deviation of ten or twelve miles makes an important difference, which, if you were on horseback, would be considered as trivial." "Under all these circumstances," he says, "it may appear rather remarkable that we should have chosen a pedestrian excursion-in answer to which, it may be observed, that we were not apprized of these things till we had experienced them.” What! Mr. Shepherd, were you, who we presume have reached the age of puberty, not apprized, before you penetrated as a pedestrian into the Principality, We are strongly inclined to agree with the that "roads are rendered muddy by the rain ?" Doctor in his panegyric on breeches. True, Had you never met, either in your experience that in the forenoons, especially if of a dark of life, or in the course of your reading, proof colour, such as black, and worn with white, or positive that pedestrians "are exposed to the even gray or bluish, stockings, they are apt, in inclemency of the weather?" That, if a man the present state of public taste, to stamp you will linger too long under a tree or a hedge a schoolmaster, or a small grocer in full dress, when the sun is going down, "he will be be- or an exciseman going to a ball. We could nighted?" Under what serene atmosphere, in dispense too with the knee-buckles and plush what happy clime, have you pursued your lining-though we allow the one might be preparatory studies sub dio? But, our dear ornamental, and the other useful. But what Mr. Shepherd, why waste time under the shel- think you, gentle reader, of walking with a ter of a tree or a hedge? Waste time nowhere, Pedometer? A Pedometer is an instrument our young and unknown friend. What the cunningly devised to tell you how far and how worse would you have been of being soaked to fast you walk, and is, quoth the Doctor, a the skin? Besides, consider the danger you" perambulator in miniature." The box conran of being killed by lightning, had there been a few flashes, under a tree? Further, what will become of you, if you addict yourself on every small emergency to trees and hedges, when the country you walk through happens to be as bare as the palm of your hand? Button your jacket, good sir-scorn an umbrella -emerge boldly from the silvan shade, snap your fingers at the pitiful pelting of the pitiless storm-poor spite indeed in Densissimus Imber-and we will insure your life for a presentation copy of your Tour against all the diseases that leapt out of Pandora's box, not only till you have reached the Inn at CapelCerig, but your own home in England, (we forget the county,)-ay, till your marriage, and the baptism of your first-born.

Dr. Kitchiner seems to have been much

taining the wheels is made of the size of a watch-case, and goes into the breeches-pocket, and by means of a string and hook, fastened at the waistband or at the knee, the number of steps a man takes, in his regular paces, are registered from the action of the string upon the internal wheelwork at every step, to the amount of 30,000. It is necessary to ascertain the distance walked, that the average length of one pace be precisely known, and that multiplied by the number of steps registered on the dial-plate.

All this is very ingenious; and we know one tolerable pedestrian who is also a Pedometrist. But no Pedometrician will ever make a fortune in a mountainous island, like Great Britain, where pedestrianism is indigenous to the soil. A good walker is as regular in his

going as clock-work. He has his different | glimmering eyes with honey-dew, and stretches paces-three, three and a half-four, four and out, under the loving hands of nourrice Nature, a half-five, five and a half-six miles an hour the whole elongated animal economy, steeped -toe and heel. A common watch, therefore, in rest divine from the organ of veneration to is to him, in the absence of milestones, as good the point of the great toe, be it on a bed of as a Pedometer-with this great and indis- down, chaff, straw, or heather, in palace, hall, putable advantage, that a common watch con- hotel, or hut? If in an inn, nobody interferes tinues to go even after you have yourself with you in meddling officiousness; neither stopped, whereas, the moment you sit down on landlord, bagman, waiter, chambermaid, boots; your oil-skin patch, why, your Pedometer -you are left to yourself without being neg(which indeed, from its name and construction, lected. Your bell may not be emulously is not unreasonable) immediately stands still. answered by all the menials on the establishNeither, we believe, can you accurately note ment, but a smug or shock-headed drawer the pulse of a friend in a fever by a Pedometer. appears in good time; and if mine host may What pleasure on this earth transcends a not always dignify your dinner by the deposibreakfast after a twelve-mile walk? Or is tion of the first dish, yet, influenced by the there in this sublunary scene a delight superior rumour that soon spreads through the preto the gradual, dying-away, dreamy drowsiness mises, he bows farewell at your departure, that, at the close of a long summer day's with a shrewd suspicion that you are a noblejourney up hill and down dale, seals up the man in disguise.

SOLILOQUY ON THE SEASONS.

Thank Heaven! Summer and Autumn are | both dead and buried at last, and white lies the snow on their graves! Youth is the season of all sorts of insolence, and therefore we can forgive and forget almost any thing in SPRING. He has always been a privileged personage; and we have no doubt that he played his pranks even in Paradise. To-day, he meets you unexpectedly on the hill-side; and was there ever a face in this world so celestialized by smiles! All the features are framed of light. Gaze into his eyes, and you feel that in the untroubled lustre there is something more sublime than in the heights of the cloudless heavens, or in the depths of the waveless seas. More sublime, because essentially spiritual. There stands the young Angel, entranced in the conscious mystery of his own beautiful and blessed being; and the earth becomes all at once fit region for the sojourn of the Son of the Morning. So might some great painter image the First-born of the Year, till nations adored the picture.-To-morrow you repair, with hermit steps, to the Mount of the Vision, and,

"Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,"

during all that wavering visitation, to be of al sights the most evanescent, and yet inspirative of a beauty-born belief, bright as the sun that flung the image on the cloud-profound as the gloom it illumines-that it shone and is shining there at the bidding of Him who inhabiteth eternity.-The grim noon of Saturday, after a moaning morning, and one silent intermediate lour of grave-like stillness, begins to gleam fitfully with lightning like a maniac's eye; and is not that

"The sound

Of thunder heard remote ?""

On earth wind there is none-not so much as a breath. But there is a strong wind in heaven-for see how that huge cloud-city, a night within a day, comes moving on along the hidden mountain-tops, and hangs over the loch all at once black as pitch, except that here and there a sort of sullen purple heaves upon the long slow swell, and here and there along the shores-how caused we know not-are seen, but heard not, the white melancholy breakers! Is no one smitten blind? No! Thank God! But ere the thanksgiving has been worded, an Spring clutches you by the hair with the fingers airquake has split asunder the cloud-city, the of frost; blashes a storm of sleet in your face, night within the day, and all its towers and and finishes, perhaps, by folding you in a wind- temples are disordered along the firmament, to ing-sheet of snow, in which you would infalli- a sound that might waken the dead. Where bly perish but for a pocket-pistol of Glenlivet. are ye, ye echo-hunters, that grudge not to -The day after to-morrow, you behold him- purchase gunpowder explosions on Lowood Spring-walking along the firmament, sad, but bowling-green at four shillings the blast? See! not sullen-mournful, but not miserable-dis- there are our artillerymen stalking from batturbed, but not despairing-now coming out tery to battery-all hung up aloft facing the towards you in a burst of light-and now fad-west-or "each standing by his gun" with ing away from you in a gathering of gloom-lighted match, moving or motionless, Shadoweven as one might figure in his imagination a figures, and all clothed in black-blue uniform, fallen Angel. On Thursday, confound you if with blood-red facings portentously glancing you know what the deuse to make of his in the sun, as he strives to struggle into heaSpringship. There he is, stripped to the buff ven. The Generalissimo of all the forces, who -playing at hide-and-seek, hare-and-hound, is he but-Spring?-Hand in hand with Spring, with a queer crazy crony of his in a fur cap, Sabbath descends from heaven unto earth; and swandown waistcoat, and hairy breeches, Lod- are not their feet beautiful on the mountains? brog or Winter. You turn up the whites of Small as is the voice of that tinkling bell from your eyes, and the browns of your hands in that humble spire, overtopped by its coeval amazement, till the Two, by way of change trees, yet is it heard in the heart of infinitude. of pastime, cease their mutual vagaries, and So is the bleating of these silly sheep on the like a couple of hawks diverting themselves braes-and so is that voice of psalms, all at with an owl, in conclusion buffet you off the once rising so spirit-like, as if the very kirk premises. You insert the occurrence, with were animated, and singing a joyous song in suitable reflections, in your Meteorological the wilderness to the ear of the Most High. Diary, under the head-Spring. On Friday, For all things are under his care-those that, nothing is seen of you but the blue tip of your as we dream, have no life-the flowers, and nose, for you are confined to bed by rheuma- the herbs, and the trees-those that some dim tism, and nobody admitted to your sleepless scripture seems to say, when they die, utterly sanctum but your condoling Mawsey. "Tis a perish-and those that all bright scripture, pity. For never since the flood-greened earth whether written in the book of God, or the on ner first resurrection morn laughed around book of Nature, declares will live for ever! Ararat, spanned was she by such a Rainbow! By all that is various and vanishing, the arch seems many miles broad, and many miles high, and all creation to be gladly and gloriously gathered together without being crowded-plicable, but incomprehensible? But we canplains, woods, villages, towns, hills, and clouds, beneath the pathway of Spring, once more an Angel-an unfallen Angel! While the tinge that trembles into transcendent hues fading and fluctuating-deepening and dyingnow gone, as if for ever-and now back again in an instant, as if breathing and alive-is felt,

If such be the character and conduct of Spring during one week, wilt thou not forget and forgive-with us-much occasional conduct on his part that appears not only inex

not extend the same indulgence to Summer and to Autumn. SUMMER is a season come to the years of discretion, and ought to conduct himself like a staid, sober, sensible, middleaged man, not past, but passing, his prime. Now, Summer, we are sorry to say it, often behaves in a way to make his best friends