nery, and to betake yourself to better things.

Perhaps, however, no subject is more intimately connected with our existence and well-being than water, and a knowledge of its properties. It constitutes our food and physic. It is our best friend, and not unfrequently enables us to prevail over stronger enemies.

Before us is a thin half-crown Treatise on IVater. The subject is patriarchal; the author is Abraham Booth,

and the volume is dedicated " to his re

vered father, Isaac Booth." Here the natural and chemical properties of water are briefly treated of, and the British mineral waters duly considered. There

is little new in the work, but considerable industry has been used in collecting its materials. We looked for more on the Thames water; though our expectations were those of a Londoner attaching all importance to his great city.

Mr. Booth's Treatise is too thin to

allow us to say we have waded through it. Here and there we pick out some amusing facts. Thus, what tricks our the ignorant, through the wells round forefathers were enabled to play off on London, several of which were impregnated with carbonic acid gas. monks of the Holy-well, near Shoreditch, turned this property to good account by selling the water as spiritus mundi, or a kind of spiritual nectar. -Oh! the "glassy essence" that enabled them to

The

Play such fantastic tricks before high heaven As made the angels weep.

-The mystery-mongers of our day are

WATER.

WHAT a poor, starveling, unsubstantial thing is "WATER.' What solitariness and sadness are in its name: only think of the "watery element," and "watery grave," of the newspapers; and those unenviable attributes of health, toast and water, burley - water, and warm water. Allied with something else, it is barely tolerable: sugar and water is an elegant French drink, and brandy and water may be a palatable English beverage; but nothing can be more anti-social than water. You have but to think of Parnell's hermit

bis drink the crystal well, and you may fancy yourself isolated from all that is good in life. You feel an unpleasant vacuum in your imaginative enjoyments, and inclined to leave the man of the cell to his monastic nun

water: they affect the same consideration for our bodies that the monks did for our souls; and both made and make the study an equal source of profit.

At page 47, there is mentioned a frightful fact, that "Dr. Lambe has lately revived the idea of arsenic being present in all natural waters, and particularly in the waters of the Thames.". This is as alarming as a drop of the same water seen through Carpenter's microscope, with its myriads of animalthis, we drank nothing weaker than culæ. For a month after we had seen Spanish wine, and took care not to sit next to a water-drinker.

A page of pleasant romance succeeds. Thus, says Mr. Booth :

"Various remarkable accounts of particular waters are on record, which, although they must be deemed fabulous, we shall just enumerate. The Stygian water, said to be the death of Alexander the Great, is supposed to have contained

fluoric acid gas. A spring of this kind is said to have been discovered in Prussia, and closed by order of the government. A river is named at Epirus that puts out any lighted torch, and kindles any torch that was never lighted. Some waters, being drunk, cause madness, some drunkenness, and some death. The river Selarus was said in a few hours to turn a root or wand into stone. There is also a river in Arabia where all the sheep that drink thereof have their hair turned to a vermilion colour; and one, of no less credit than Aristotle, names a merry river, the river Elusina, that dances at the sound of music; for with music it bubbles, dances, and grows sandy, and so continues till the music ceases; but then it presently returns to its wonted clearness and calmness.' Josephus likewise names a river in Judea that runs swiftly all the six days of the week, and stands still and rests all the Sabbath "

Rain water is next in purity to distilled water; but its drinkers have a chance of their insides being plastered and white-washed. "Rain collected in towns acquires a small quantity of sulphate of lime, and carbonate of lime, obtained from the roof and the plaster of houses." Hippocrates knew this, although Mr. Booth tells us some che mists do not; for the father of physic states that rain water should always be boiled and strained when collected near large towns.

Dr. Perceval observes that bricks harden the softest water, and give it an aluminous impregnation. Mr. Booth adds, "the common practice of lining wells with them is therefore very improper, unless they be covered with cement:" would not the cement have a similar hardening property?

Hard water introduces Burton ale, the excellence of which has been found by chemistry and law to be owing to a gypsum rock over which the Trent water flows. We have therefore to thank Nature for this delicious sophistication, and the drinker may double his nips or tankards accordingly: for, what Nature and the law sanction, let no man eschew.

Mr. Booth tells us "At Paris, where the water is hard, the same baker cannot make so good bread as at Gormes. The purity of the waters at Beaume, in Burgundy, is the cause why this bread was long celebrated as the whitest and best bread in France." We always thought the Paris bread excellent; but the French bakers have more varieties than we have. The crisp-crusted roll,

napkin, silver, and china of the Restaurateur will never fade away from our recollection.

Bleaching is another important use. At page 86, Mr. Booth says→

"Pure waters are found most valuable in bleaching wax, and in the manufacture of white paper; in consequence that such waters require the less alkali and soap in cleansing and whitening the rags, and the paper made with soft water is thus found firmer and to require less sizing than that made with hard water. This circumstance is said to give the French paper a preference to the English or Dutch, whose waters, being harder, require more soap and lime, become more tender, and require more sizing than the French." We fall in with these observations for nothing can be more vexatious to fast writers than some English floccy paper, where the pen becomes furred every twenty minutes. We uniformly reserve the hard paper backs of our correspondents letters; the rest we banish.

The chapter on mineral waters is interesting; but that on the dietetic properties of water exceeds it. Notwithstanding all we have said against the stream, we must give place to the following:

T

"Water drinkers are in general longer livers, are less subject to decay of their faculties, have better teeth, more regu lar appetites, and less acrid evacuations than those who indulge in a more stimulating dilutent as their common drink. This liquid is undoubtedly not only the most fitted for quenching the thirst and promoting true and healthy digestion, but the best adjutant to a long and comfortable life. Its properties are thus summed up by Hoffman: 'Pure water is the fittest drink for all ages and temperaments: and, of all the productions of nature or art, comes the nearest to that universal remedy so much sought after by mankind, and never hitherto discovered :' an opinion in which he is supported by most scientific and intelligent men."

The reader will pardon our prolixity: the subject is of current interest, and one which all who thirst after useful knowledge must enjoy.

GOODS OF LIFE.

THE greatest pleasure of life is love; the greatest treasure is contentment; the greatest possession is health; the greatest ease is sleep; and the greatest medicine is a true friend.—Sir W. Temple.

bloodshot, and seemed incapable of distinguishing the print to which they were directed. He was dressed in a plain suit of mourning, and wore a simple black stock round his neck. How I shuddered, when I thought of the rude hands which were soon to unloose it!Beside, him, on the table, lay a white pocket handkerchief, completely saturated, either with tears, or wiping the perspiration from his forehead; and a glass of water, with which he occasionally moistened his parched lips. I knew not whether he was more to be pitied than his wretched, heart-broken father! The latter seemed a worthy, respectable person (he was an industrious tradesman in the country), with a few thin grey hairs scattered over his otherwise bald head, and sat with his hands closed together, resting on his knees, gazing on his doomed son with a lack-lustre eye, which, together with his anguish-worn features, told eloquently of his sufferings!

"Well, doctor!" exclaimed the young man at length, closing the bible, "I have now read that blessed chapter to the end; and, I thank God, I think I feel it. But now, let me thank you, doctor, for your good and kind attention to my request! I have something particular to say to you, but it must be in private," he continued, looking significantly at his father, as though he wished him to take the hint, and withdraw for a few mo ments. Alas! the heart-broken parent understood him not, but continued with his eyes riveted-vacantly-as before.

casioned by this sudden ebullition of his father's feelings.

"Doctor," he gasped at length, "we've but a few-very few moments, and I have much to say. God Almighty bless you," squeezing my hands convulsively, " for this kindness to a guilty, unworthy wretch like me; and the business I wanted to see you about is sad, but short. I have heard so much of your goodness, doctor, that I'm sure you won't deny me the only favour 1 shall ask."

"Whatever is reasonable and proper if it lie in my way, I shall certainly" said I, anxiously waiting to see the nature of the communication he seemed to have for me to execute.

"Thank you, doctor-thank you. It is only this-in a word-guilty wretch that I am!--I have"-he trembled violently-"seduced a lovely, but poor girl; God forgive me! and-and-she is now

nearly on the verge of her confinement!' He suddenly covered his face with his handkerchief, and sobbed bitterly for some moments. Presently he resumed.“ Alas, she knows me not by my real name; so that, when she reads the account of-of-my execution in the papers of Wednesday-she won't know it is her Edward! Nor does she know me by the name I bore in Regentstreet. She is not at all acquainted with my frightful situation; but she must be, when all is over! Now, dear, kind, good doctor," he continued, shaking from head to foot, and grasping my hand, "do, for the love of God, and the peace of my dying moments, promise me that you will see her--(she lives at

"Oh! yes-yes. What? Of course," stammered the old man, with a bewildered air, rising; and then, as it were with a sudden gush of full returning consciousness, flung his arms round his son, folded him convulsively to his breast, and groaned "Oh, my son-my poor son!" Even the iron visage of the turnkey seemed, darkened with a transient emotion, at this heart-breaking scene. The next moment we were left alone; but it was some time before the culprit recovered from the agitation oc

and gradually break the news of my death to her; and say my last prayers will be for her, and that my Maker may forgive me for her ruin ! You will find in this little bag a sum of 30%.--the last I have on earth-I beg you will take five guineas for your own fee, and give the rest to my precious-my ruined Mary!". He fell down on his knees, and folded his arms round mine, in a supplicating attitude. My tears fell on him, as he looked up at me.-"Oh, God be thanked for these blessed tears!--they assure me you will do what I ask-may I believe you will ?”

"Yes-yes-yes, young man," I replied, with a quivering lip; "it is a painful task; but I will do it-give her the money, and add ten pounds to the thirty, should it be necessary.”—“Oh, doctor, depend on it, God will bless you and yours for ever, for this noble conduct! And now, I have one thing more

to ask-yes-one thing" he seemed choked-"Doctor, your skill will enable you to inform me-I wish to know-is-the death I must die to-morrow" he put his hand to his neck, and, shak. ing like an aspen-leaf, sunk down again into the chair from which he had risen, "is-hanging-a painful-a tedious-❞ He could utter no more, nor could I answer him.

"Do not," I replied, after a pause, "do not put me to the torture of listen ing to questions like these. Pray to your merciful God; and, rely on it, no one ever prayed sincerely in vain. The thief on the cross-" I faltered; then feeling that if I continued in the cell a moment longer I should faint, I rose, and shook the young man's hands;-he could not speak, but sobbed and gasped convul. sively; and in a few moments I was driving home. As soon as I was seated in my carriage I could restrain my feelings no longer, but burst into a flood of tears. I prayed to God I might never be called to pass through such a bitter and afflicting scene again, to the latest hour I breathed! I ought to have called on several patients that evening, but finding myself utterly unfit, I sent apo logies, and went home. My sleep in the night was troubled; the distorted image of the convict I had been visiting flitted in horrible shapes round my bed all night long. An irresistible and most morbid restlessness and curiosity took possession of me, to witness the end of this young man. The first time the idea presented itself, it sickened me; I revolted from it. How my feelings changed, I know not; but I rose at seven o'clock, and, without hinting it to any one, put on the large top coat of my servant, and directed my hurried steps towards the Old Bailey. I got into one of the houses immediately opposite the gloomy gal. lows, and took my station, with several other visiters, at the window. They were conversing on the subject of the execution, and unanimously execrated the sanguinary severity of the laws which could deprive a young man, such as they said E

T- was, of his life, for an offence of merely civil institution. Of course, I did not speak. It was a wretch ed morning-a drizzling shower fell incessantly. The crowd was not great, but conducted themselves most indecorously. Even the female portion-by far the greater— occasionally vociferated joyously and boisterously, as they recognised their acquaintance among the crowd. At length, St. Sepulchre's bell tolled the hour of eight-gloomy herald of many a sinner's entrance into eter

nity; and as the last chimes died away on the ear, and were succeeded by the muffled tolling of the prison bell, which I could hear with agonizing distinctness, I caught a glimpse of the glistening goldtipped wands of the two under-sheriffs, as they took their station under the shade at the foot of the gallows. In a few moments, the Ordinary, and another grey-haired gentleman, made their appearance, and between them was the unfortunate criminal. He ascended the steps with considerable firmness. His arms were pinioned before and behind; and when he stood on the gallows, Í could hear the exclamations of the crowd-"Lord, Lord, what a fine young man! Poor fellow!" He was dressed in a suit of respectable mourning, and wore black kid gloves. His light hair had evidently been adjusted with some care, and fell in loose curls over each side of his temples. His countenance was much as I saw it on the preceding evening-fearfully pale; and his demea nour was much more composed than I had expected, from what I had witnessed of his agitation in the condemned cell. He bowed twice very low, and rather formally, to the crowd around—gave a sudden and ghastly glance at the beam over his head, from which the rope was suspended, and then suffered the executioner to place him on the precise spot which he was to occupy, and prepare him for death. I was shocked at the air of sullen, brutal indifference with which the executioner loosed and removed his neckerchief, which was white, and tied with neatness and precisiondropped the accursed noose over his head, and adjusted it round the bare neck—and could stand it no longer. staggered from my place at the window to a distant part of the room, dropped into a chair, shut my eyes, closed my tingling ears with my fingers-and, with a hurried aspiration for God's mercy towards the wretched young criminal who, within a very few yards of me, was, perhaps that instant surrendering his life into the hands which gave it, continued motionless for some minutes, till the noise made by the persons at the window, in leaving, convinced me all was over. I rose and followed them down stairs-worked my way through the crowd, without daring to elevate my eyes, lest they should encounter the suspended corpse-threw myself into a coach, and hurried home. I did not recover the agitation produced by this scene for several days. This was the end of a forger!

I

In conclusion I may just inform the