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hand, by far the greater number are taken by enterprising individuals, who have only their own steadiness of head, strength of muscle, and dauntless spirit, to ensure success. We will describe the means and proceedings of those in St. Kilda, a small speck of an island, the most westward and distant, (save a still smaller needlepointed uninhabited spot, called Rockall,) in the midst of the Atlantic Ocean, containing a few people, who, from infancy accustomed to precipices, drop from crag to crag, as fearlessly as the birds themselves. Their great dependence is upon ropes of two sorts; one made of hides,-the other of hair. The former are the most ancient, and still continue in the greatest esteem, as being stronger, and less liable to wear away, or be cut, by rubbing against the sharp edges of rocks. These ropes are of various lengths, from ninety to a hundred and twenty, and nearly two hundred feet in length, and about three inches in circumference.

So valuable are these ropes, that one of them forms the marriage portion of a St. Kilda girl; and to this secluded people, to whom monied wealth is little known, an article on which often life itself, and all its comforts, more or less depends, is far beyond gold and jewels.

The favorite resort for sea-fowl, particularly the oily Fulmars, is a tremendous precipice, about thirteen hundred feet high, formed by the abrupt termination of Conachan, the most elevated hill in the island, and supposed to be the loftiest precipitous face of rock in Britain.

How fearful

And dizzy 'tis, to cast ones eyes so low!

The Crows and Choughs, that wing the midway air,
Show scarce so gross as beetles; half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head;
The fishermen that walk upon the beach
Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark,
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge
That on the unnumbered idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.

and slippery,-the rocks perpendicular from their summit to their base; and yet, upon this treacherous surface, the St. Kilda people approached, and sat upon the extremest verge; the youngest of them even creeping down a little way from the top, after eggs or birds, building in the higher range, which they take in great numbers, by means of a slender pole like a fishing-rod, at the end of which was fixed a noose of cowhair, stiffened at one end with the feather of a Solan Goose.

But these pranks of the young are nothing when compared to the fearful feats of the older and more experienced practitioners. Several ropes of hide and hair are first tied together to increase the depth of his descent. One extremity of these ropes, so connected, is of hide, and the end is fastened, like a girdle, round his waist. The other extremity is then let down the precipice, to a considerable depth, by the adventurer himself, standing at the edge: when, giving the middle of the rope to a single man, he descends, always holding by one part of the rope, as he lets himself down by the other, and supported from falling only by the man above, who has no part of the rope fastened to him, but holds it merely in his hands, and sometimes supports his comrade by one hand alone, looking at the same time over the precipice, without any stay for his feet, and conversing with the other, as he descends to a depth of nearly four hundred feet. A bird-catcher, on finding himself amongst the Fulmars' nests, took four, and with two in each hand, contrived, nevertheless, to hold the rope as he ascended; and, striking his foot against the rock, threw himself out from the face of the precipice, and returning with a bound, would again fly out, capering and shouting, and playing all sorts of tricks. Frightful as such a display must be to those unaccustomed to it, accidents are extremely rare; and the St. Kildians seem to think the possibility of a fatal termination to these exploits almost out of the question.

Such is the beautiful description of Dover It is, indeed, astonishing to what a degree Cliff, by Shakspeare; but what would he habit and practice, with steady nerves, may have said, could he have looked down from remove danger. From the island of the South this precipice in St. Kilda, which is nearly Stack above mentioned, boys may be seen three times higher, and so tremendous, that frequently scrambling by themselves, or held one who was accustomed to regard such sights on by an urchin or two of their own age, letwith indifference, dared not venture to the ting themselves down the picturesque preciedge of it alone? But, held by two of the pice opposite the island, by a piece of rope so islanders, he looked over into what might be slender, and apparently rotten, that the wontermed a world of rolling mists and contend-der is why it does not snap at the first strain. ing clouds. As these occasionally broke and Yet, without a particle of fear, heedless of dispersed, the ocean was disclosed below, consequences, they will swing themselves to but at so great a depth. that even the roaring a ledge barely wide enough to admit the foot of its surf, dashing with fury against the rocks. of a goat, and thence pick their way with or and rushing, with a noise like thunder, into without a rope, to pillage the nest of a Gull, the caverns it had formed, was unheard at which, if aware of its own powers, might flap this stupendous height. The brink was wet" them headlong to the bottom.

Here, too, as in St. Kilda, accidents are said to be of rare occurrence, though, of course, they do occasionally happen; but escapes, sufficiently appalling to make the blood run cold to hear of, are common enough.

The first we shall mention happened about two miles from the South Stack, on the rocky coast of Rhoscolin. A lady, living near the spot, sent a boy in search of samphire, with a trusty servant to hold the rope at the top. While the boy was dangling midway between sky and water; the servant, who was unused to his situation, whether owing to a sudden dizziness from looking down on the boy's motions, or misgivings as to his own powers of holding him up, felt a cold, sickly shivering, creep over him, accompanied with a certainty that he was about to faint; the inevitable consequence of which, he had sense enough left to know, would be the certain death of the boy, and, in all probability of himself,|| as in the act of fainting, it was most likely he would fall forward, and follow the rope and boy down the precipice. In this dilemma, he uttered a loud despairing scream, which was fortunately heard by a woman working in an adjoining field, who, running up, was just in time to catch the rope, as the fainting man fell senseless at her feet.

The next occurred at St. Kilda; where, amongst other modes of catching the sea-fowl, that of setting gins or nooses is adopted.— They are fixed in various places frequented by the birds. In one of these, set upon a ledge a hundred and twenty feet above the sea, a bird-catcher entangled his foot, and not being at the moment aware of it, was, on moving onwards, tripped up, and precipitated over the rock, where he hung suspended. He, too, as in the preceding case, had no companion; and, to add to his misfortune, darkness was at hand, leaving little prospect of his being discovered before morning. In vain he exerted himself to bend upwards, so as to reach the noose or grapple the rock. After a few fruitless efforts, his strength was exhausted, and in this dreadful situation, expecting, moreover, that the noose might give way every instant, did he pass a long night. At early dawn, by good fortune, his shouts were heard by a neighbor, who rescued him from his perilous suspension.

The last we shall relate, terminated in a more awful manner. A father and two sons were out together, and, having firmly attached their rope at the summit of a precipice, descended, on their usual occupation. Having collected as many birds and eggs as they could carry, they were all three ascending by the rope,-the eldest of the sons first,-his brother, a fathom or two below him; and the father following last. They had made considerable progress, when the elder son looking upward, perceived the strands of the rope grinding against the sharp edge of rock, and gradually giving way. He immediately reported the alarming fact. "Will it hold together till we can gain the summit?" asked the father. "It will not hold another minute," was the reply: "our triple weight is loosening it rapidly!” "Will it hold one?" said the father. It is as much as it can do," replied the son, "even that is but doubtful." "There is then a chance, at least, of one of us being saved; draw your knife, and cut away below!" was the cool and intrepid order of the parent;" Exert yourself, you may yet escape, and live to comfort your mother!" There was no time for discussion or further hesitation. The son looked up once more, but the edge of rock was cutting its way, and the rope had nearly severed. The knife was drawn,-the rope was divided, and his father and brother were launched into eter

We shall add two more, equally hazardous, and one fatal. Many bird-catchers go on these expeditions without any companion to hold the rope or assist them. It was on such a solitary excursion, that a man, having fastened his rope to a stake on the top, let himself down far below; and, in his ardor for collecting birds and eggs, followed the course of a ledge, beneath a mass of overhanging rock: unfortunately, he had omitted to take the usual precaution of tying the rope round his body, but held it carelessly in his hand; when, in a luckless moment, as he was busily engaged in pillaging a nest, it slipped from his grasp, and, after swinging backwards and forwards three or four times, without coming within reach, at last became stationary over the ledge of the projecting rock, leaving the bird-catcher apparently without a chance of escape, for to ascend the precipice without a rope was impossible, and none were near to hear his cries, or afford him help. What was to be done? Death stared him in the face. After a few minutes' pause, he made up his mind. By a desperate leap he might regain the rope, but if he failed, and, at the distance at which it hung, the chances werenity! against him, his fate was certain, amidst the pointed crags ready to receive him, over which the waves were dashing far, far, below. Collecting, therefore, all his strength, with outstretched arms he sprang from the rock, and lived to tell the tale,-for the rope was caught![See Engraving.]

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Humility is the vital principle of Christianity: that principle by which, from first to last, she lives and thrives: and in proportion to the growth or decline of which, she must decay or flourish.—Wilberforce.

sorrows have been, that he has embittered the existence of her who nurtured him in infancy. He may be callous to the appeals and entreaties of conjugal affection, and the suffering innocence of his offspring; but if his mother has once inspired the strong and active sympathies of his moral nature, her monitions will outreach every other.

Written for the Ladies' Garland. the vision," she will haunt him wherever he turns, and "the maddest cup of sin" cannot MATERNAL INFLUENCE. banish her from his sight. If she has been The impressions connected with our early faithful to him, and urged upon his thoughts associations, are deeply engraven upon the the great considerations of life and death, and heart. The precepts and sentiments incul- judgment and eternity, by precept and an excated at a riper age, although sanctioned by emplary life, she has made him a better man our better judgment, may be forgotten in the than he would otherwise have been, even luring mazes of temptation and sin. But the though he may have lived in dishonor, and truths first impressed by maternal tenderness || died in disgrace. He may have rejected her and affection, will abide there for ever. They counsels, but he has not despised them; and are indeed the last to yield up their conserv-in his moments of reflection his most pungent ative influence to the wayward tendencies of passion. It is true they may become dormant, and lie for a season upon the heart, as fruitless as inscriptions upon the marbles of the dead; but there will be times when they will recur to the mind with resistless power, and arouse it to moral vitality. Truth from other sources and other instructors, may fail of its legitimate tendency-we can evade its cogency without feeling we are sacrilegious; but when a mother has taken the hand and silently pointed us to heaven, we instinctive. ly feel that God has set his signet to her commission, and she has a right to "lead us into the way of all truth." She has our re-pulse was received. Tributaries may enspect, our confidence, and our affections, and it is usually in connection with her precepts that conscience does its first office. Hence her power, and the abiding influence of her instructions. Let, then, religion and virtue be associated with maternal endearments and filial duty, and "the still small voice" that mildly breathes its teachings into the ear of childhood, will echo in the bosom, when the tempest of transient feeling, which the appeals of holy eloquence excited, has passed away, and the soul has settled back into apathy.

Some poet has made Eve to say, as she turned in sorrow from the garden of Para

dise

Ever in their earliest days,

I'll teach my sons God's holy will;
Teach them to fear, to love and praise,

That they may win an Eden still.

In estimating the influences which have elevated those whom the world calls good or great, we are prone to think too much of the force of those circumstances which have operated when they have started in their course. We forget where the primary im

large, and give sweep and power to the current, but its direction is determined by the parent fountain. Maternal instruction has made the brightest ornaments of humanity. Upon every department of human interest and industry-from him, whose humble cares are circumscribed by the mere wants of his family, to him whose high career is a nation's glory, and whose wisdom is its lawthe advice and example of the mother tells. Her supervision is felt when her authority has ceased. The thought that she is watching our progress with unabated interest, creates many a high resolve, and nerves us yet to struggle, ere we yield to a current that may be bearing us downward.

Why may not the Oriental legend that gives to mortals one visible Guardian Angel, that ever anxiously hovers over them and points upward, have been an allegorical symbol of the ceaseless and affectionate interest This may be regarded merely as a poetic which is manifested by the mother?—and fancy-but surely, since then, the mother why may not the golden chain, one end of (of whom Eve was a prototype) whether Pa- which that angel is represented as endeavorgan, Mahomedan, or Christian, has generallying to bind about the heart, and attach the endeavored to imbue her offspring with such other in Heaven, be a bright emblem of the sentiments of faith and practice, as she sup- strong moral sympathies by which she would posed would at last restore them to their allure us heavenward? B. W., Jr. primitive inheritance. And God, as if to aid Yates, N. Y., July, 1842. her in her resolves, has made the mother the living oracle of childhood, and the first lessons she may impart, indellible. And however degraded man may become, he cannot, if he would, erase them from his memory. Nor can he forget her; for, like Pollock's image of "Virtue hovering evermore before

Simplicity is nature and truth, and is equally opposite to affectation and vulgarity, both of which are the proofs of want of right "feeling.-Danby.

Written for the Ladies' Garland.

THE NEWLY MARRIED.

BY H. J. BOGUE.

A something light as air-a look,

A word unkind, or wrongly taken-
Oh! love that tempests never shook,

A breath, a touch like this, hath shaken.
And ruder words will soon rush in,
To spread the breach that words begin:
And eyes forget the gentle ray

They wore in courtship's smiling day;
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said;
Till fast declining, one by one,
The sweetnesses of love are gone,
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem
Like broken clouds-or like the stream,
That smiling left the mountain's brow,
As though its waters ne'er could sever,
Yet, ere it reached the plain below,

Break into floods that part forever.--Moore.

“Are you unwell, Emily?”

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"Oh! do not speak to me; I am unable to tears flowed freely, and sobs choked her utbear your language; very soon I will be bet-terance. ter," sobbed the wife.

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This avowal of love awakened the tenderness of the husband, and contrasted it with her first display of unfounded jealousy. He did all in his power by soothing expressions to prove to his wife, that he loved her and none other. He lavished on her all the touching demonstrations of tenderness which are the comforts of the newly married, before continual fault-finding has nipped the delicate blossom of love, which, like the bloom

"Unfeeling language! Why, I cannot find out what has distressed you, unless you tell me. I entreat you to do so at once," Rich-on the peach, constitutes one of the chief ard said with much affection.

attractions of matrimony; but if once destroyed, real affection can seldom be restored. This conversation occurred between a cou

"It seems passing strange to me that you are so absent-minded at present. As, however, you cannot guess the cause of my trou-ple who had been married two weeks, which ble, I will tell you. Last evening I was were passed at Saratoga Springs, where a annoyed, because you lavished such marked delightful dwelling, occupied by a relation, attentions on that odious flirt, Alice Allerton. had enabled the newly wedded pair to enjoy I do not like her, and I would have made all the privacy so much desired during the known that dislike, had she appealed to me early days of marriage. The supper which as she hinted, about a certain play that she gave rise to the domestic dissension, was had read," said the wife with warmth. given by a rich merchant, as soon as Emily and Richard returned to their home in this city. The wife, previous to this evening, had been so sweetly tempered since marriage that the husband was astonished to perceive this inexplicable chagrin on her part

"Can it be possible! That lady is in every respect a desirable acquaintance,” replied the husband.

"You and I differ very much upon that subject, and I am pained to have seen you pay more than common politeness to a person whom you have not seen a dozen times?" 66 You wrong me, Emily, you wrong me. I paid nothing more than the ordinary politeness expected from every well-bred man towards the woman he sits by at table," answered Richard in a mild manner.

"There is a difference in looking with tenderness on a person almost a stranger, and occasionally glancing at your wife. I never before saw so much disgusting levity in a coquettish woman, and you ought to have been ashamed to have permitted it," said Emily, glancing sharply at her husband's

countenance,

The next day there was a smile on the face of Emily. The husband breathed a prayer that he might never again experience such painful emotions, as he endured on the previous evening. And desirous of preventing a recurrence of similar scenes, he entered into an explanation of the conduct expected in general society; and were she to act for the future, as she had done, she would be named a jealous wife, which would be painful and humiliating to him; he thought it a wiser plan to abandon society altogether than suffer inentally, as he had done.

Further conversation was precluded by the entrance of the father of Emily Richard

repaired to his counting rcom: on the way thither he was met by an old friend, Benjamin Buley, who congratulated him for having left the ranks of the bachelors. This friend had been a fellow collegian with him, and they had not seen each other since their graduation. Richard, therefore, was delighted to meet him, and invited him to dinner, being anxious to present him to his wife. The invitation was accepted. They parted, and as Richard was proceeding towards his store, he glanced round to have another look at Benjamin, and said to himself—

"He is a good-humored follow; I wonder if my wife will like this man whom I most esteem."

At the appointed hour Benjamin came, and Richard conducted him with all the unceremonious cordiality of gentlemanly freedom to his wife.

"We have so often made you a subject of discourse, my dear Ben, that my wife feels as if she were as long acquainted with you as myself."

A formal nod from Emily ill accorded with this assertion. But Benjamin attributed this mode of reception to the bashfulness of the wife, whose exquisite loveliness justified Richard's taste, and agreeably surprised the friend.

"Whom do you think I met yesterday?" said Benjamin to the husband, who appeared mortified at the coldness of his wife, as they seated themselves on a sofa: Emily sat near a window.

"On the life of me I do not know," replied the husband, suddenly recovering from displeasure.

"I saw the bewitching widow,' as we used to call her; she has not found a second husband yet; she looked as 'bewitching' as ever. She made many inquiries about you. We spent some pleasant hours in her mirth loving society," said Benjamin. This troubled Richard, who endeavored to turn the conversation by inquiring

"Did you visit our old haunts in Southwark, since you came to Philadelphia? You doubtless remember the pranks we played there?"

Emily gave her husband a look of displea

sure.

aware of the indiscretion he had committed. The wife arose to withdraw, and though affectionately urged by her husband to remain, she replied

"The agreeable reminiscences of by-gone days can be talked over by yourselves," and a cloud of displeasure was on her countenance. Then the husband anticipated another scene of tears, as he excused himself to his friend for the absence of a few minutes, offering as an apology the sudden indisposition of his delicate wife.

66

I regret it, my dear fellow, and hope she will soon be better; I will call another time," said Benjamin, rising.

He accordingly left the house, and on his way to his lodgings he was unable to answer the many questions that arose in his mind about the conduct of Emily, whom he first thought possessed true amiability.

In the meantime Richard and Emily in an adjoining room were endeavoring to convince each other by arguments, nay more, by tears, of their own conduct, for each considered the other unreasonable. Mutual affection, however, operated more powerfully in their domestic dissensions than it had in the first; and, like un April sun which quickly dries up the rain that preceded its appearance, soon banished every trace of discontent, and again the skies of true affection became serene. This halcyon term of happiness was of brief duration. A late night at an Association of which Richard was an active officer, led to an angry discussion, more out of order than any the husband had witnessed while in the Presidential chair. This domestic disagreement was not so easily adjusted as the two preceding ones, for these passionate quarrels have this peculiarity, that each succeeding one finds those engaged in them less disposed to make or accept concessions.

The high value of mental cultivation was a weighty motive for giving attendance to this literary and scientific Society. Richard was well aware that knowledge mainly distinguishes a man from the brute. It forms the principal difference between men, as they exist in the same society. Knowledge raised Franklin from the humble station of a printer's boy, to the highest honors of his country. It took Sherman from his shoemaker's "Apropos of our old haunts," observed bench, gave him a seat in Congress, and Benjamin, "I was only one day in this city, thereby made his voice heard among the after my return from the Mediterranean, wisest and best of his compeers. It raised when I sauntered about that quarter and met Simon from the weaver's loom, to a place our interesting Sarah, still in single blessed- among the first mathematicians; and Herness; she was my sweetheart; you thought schel from a poor fifer's boy in the army, to to cut me out, but now I have no opposition." a station among the first of astronomers. Emily appeared restless, and Richard again Knowledge, therefore. is power. It is the endeavored to direct the conversation to other philosopher's stone; the true alchymy, topics. Had Benjamin observed the expres- turns every thing it touches into gold. It is the sion of the husband, he would have been "sceptre that gives our dominion over nature;

that

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