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recording it as such, a homestead, which, with its necessary appurtenances of furniture, shall be secured from the demands of her husband's business creditors. This admirable law, like almost every institution originating in humane feeling, may have its abuses. What is there without?"

Respecting public education, there is matter well worthy of notice, as the authoress must be some judge in that which was so plainly set before her eyes. Education in America has been deemed almost perfect in its working, but it has its defects. Every well-wisher to it should read from page 66 to 69.

Our authoress visited Big Tree Grove, in the county of Calaveras. She set out with a party by the river between San Francisco and Sacramento, and passed through the district of the southern mines. The party then sent on their luggage, and afterwards travelled at leisure by pony or car, until they reached those marvellous trees, or rather, as styled, the "Mammoth Grove.” For the description we must refer to the book itself.

Another excursion described was to the Geysers, or boiling springs, the probable future watering-place of the western world. These wonders are eight miles from Healdsburgh. On arriving at the Geyser Hotel, a rustic place, and having taken up their quarters, the party proceeded to visit the springs. The inn itself stands in a delightful spot. Near this hotel "is a large, deep, wide ravine, running north and south opposite the hotel; but on the other side of the main stream, is called the Devil's Canon. Its smaller tribute of waters enters Pluto's Canon at a right angle. The eminence to the right of this, apparently covered with red and white ashes, is called the Mountain of Fire.' Crossing the main creek, or Pluto's Canon, and proceeding due north, we entered a narrow glen, the commencement of the foregoing Devil's Canon. Shortly it narrowed to a rocky pass, roofed by the trunks of two large trees long ago fallen across it, whose interstices later years have filled with earth and creeping parasitical plants, as well as débris of rocks and stones from the banks above. Proceeding still north, the trail' (for the constant changes of the earth's surface prevent a decided footpath) leads closely along, and often across, the stream of warm water flowing down the bed of this remarkable ravine. Wherever the visitor treads, he finds a combination of powerful acids, rocks, and heated ashes, apparently a mere crust, under which roaring noises are unceasingly heard. Steam arises in volumes to a great height from the boiling springs scattered through the canon; steam bursts from the banks on either side above the head, which appear half eaten away, and ready to cave in; and steam also issues from every tiny fissure beneath the feet. It is almost impossible to divest the mind of the impression that in about two minutes more, at the latest, the whole will be blown up by some hidden agency.


We explored the ravine three times-boasting of tolerably strong nerves; but reason and judgment had hard matter, the last time as well as the first, to prevent instinct from making us run away on the instant as the only means of safety. The visitor has to leap over boiling water, as he proceeds further on, at almost every step. There is one large hollow, filled with water of a pitchy blackness, termed the Devil's or Witch's Caldron, which night and day, year by year, boils so furiously that visitors cannot approach it for fear of being bespattered. The 'Steamboat Exhaust-pipe,' so called, near the head of the canon, keeps up incessantly a terrific noise, and produces the sound we heard on approaching the Geyser Hotel on the night of our arrival. Scientific men assert that there is nothing to indicate volcanic action. The whole is the effect of acids. Boiling and ice-cold springs emerge from the earth side by side. Here a stream of black sulphur, and there a jet of pure water; in one place the two latter rise in the same pool, yet the liquids refuse to mingle, and the black sulphur flows on like a black snake, though without tainting the purer element, till it reaches the main creek, the general receptacle of all these varied tributes. Springs of pure alum, of salt, and of sulphur, black, white, and blue; springs of magnesia, and springs of iron-water, and, again, springs in which all are united, abound in this curious region. Epsom salts, alum, magnesia, and sulphur, can be gathered from the rocks without change of position. It is, in brief, a grand chemical laboratory of nature. Emerging from this deep hollow by dint of clambering almost upon hands and knees, the trail crosses a small brooklet, whose waters flow in a south-east direction towards the main ravine. Two trees meet across it, where, to quote Mr. Ewer, the visitor may carve out immortality for himself, and where, judging from appearances, many have attempted to do so. Continuing on our way, we examined the Devil's Tea-kettle' and 'Wash-tubs,' and descending the Mountain of Fire, recrossed Pluto's Canon and Creek, and regained the hotel after an uncommonly fatiguing walk, though not more than a mile and a half. The Indian spring-one of the greatest luxuries of the Geysersis situated about a mile westward down Pluto's Creek, in a small glen on its northern bank. Here the Indians have been in the habit of coming for generations to benefit by its healing waters, and here, again, the Anglo-Saxon has deprived the red man of his heritage. The water is hot and darkened with black sulphur, but a stream of pure cold water flows through the bath-house (a primitive structure of rough boarding, with a canopy of dead boughs), available at pleasure. One feels a decided reluctance at first to plunge into the black liquid, but its effect upon the skin proves delightful. Over one of the boiling springs, rising on the edge of Pluto's Canon, to the east of the hotel, a pine-board

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structure is erected for the purpose of steam-baths; in the second compartment there is a douche of cold water from the rock overhanging the bath-house, the whole of which latter is not much larger than a bathing-machine. Perhaps of all the baths, that called the acid or sour spring, lying also across Pluto's Creek in a north-westerly direction, has the most beneficial effect upon persons whose skin is disordered. The following are the ingredients composing it, as analysed by an eminent chemist, but we made no note of the proportionate quantities of each:

Sulphate of aluminium.
Sulphate of soda.
Sulphate of lime.
Sulphate of magnesia.

Sulphuric acid.

Protosulphate of iron.
Chloride of sodium.

As a tonic, under careful treatment, for the cure of dyspepsia, chronic diarrhoea, and a host of ills that 'flesh is heir to,' it is invaluable.”

Allusions have often been made to the noble steamers which ply from San Francisco to Panama on the Great Pacific. One Sunday the passengers were favoured with a sermon from " bishop of the coloured persuasion," as they humourously call them in San Francisco.


"In consequence of the extreme softness and warmth of a tropical atmosphere, the discourse was delivered under the awning upon deck. Lanterns were hung at intervals along its full extent, and a small round table with a glass of water, and an unusually brilliant lantern upon it, were placed for the accommodation of the speaker, a short thick-set man of the blackest colour, a fair type, as to physical strength and intellectual ability, of the hitherto trammelled and down-trodden African. His lecture, remarkable rather for pungency than logic, was undeniably very superior to one delivered a little while before by a 'great gun' of the Sanitary Commission Brigade, who proved a poor specimen of the oratorical powers of the Anglo-Saxon type of manhood. The text of the white man was significantly chosen in accordance with the creed of the sect to which he belonged: If any man preach any other Gospel unto you than that I have preached, let him be accursed;' and this simple verse, without regard to context, the reverend gentleman contrived to render available for launching all the anathemas of revelation against the very large mass of God's creatures who presumed to differ from his ideas of acceptance before heaven. A man of a much more liberal heart and creed

was our African friend, whom suffering appeared, as it should do, to have taught toleration. In the course of his lecture he alluded to the passage of a law by the American authorities, some years before, which weighed heavily upon the unhappy negro. He was then in one of the Northern States, and hearing the news, was constrained, out of his deep sense of injury, to exclaim, 'What does Almighty God mean by it?' (i.e. by suffering it). Said he, How far was my capacity from comprehending the mysteries of the kingdom behind that of an old woman of my congregation, whom we called Aunt Sally. When she heard the news for which we had so anxiously waited, she hopped up and down three times, waving her arms in the air, exclaiming "Glory be to God! Glory be to God! the tighter the hoop, the sooner the barrel will bust!"""

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Here we must cease our extracts, only lamenting with the author that the Isthmus of Panama has not been cut through, and thus a navigable way been opened into the Pacific Ocean and to our Australasian possessions.

There is much interesting information in this work respecting the mines of California, many anecdotes, and desultory notices regarding manners, which will be read with much interest. It is in vain for those who snarl and sneer at the progress of the United States to continue their spleen. The States will go on and increase, adding to the glory of the mother country. Englishmen must feel a just pride in legitimate glory. The reflection that East as well as West, and North as well as South, the Anglo race is increasing into powerful nations, will reflect more true glory upon England and her children than all the hordes of Norman robbers, cut-throat knights of the cross, or the pride of her rulers was ever able to confer upon the progress of civilisation and true greatness in the world.






As tired as the reader no doubt is of following me from publisher's to publisher's, am I tired of the hunt. I returned home weary and out of spirits; my confidence had quite deserted me, I was disgusted with life, and wished all publishers, with respect be it said, at the deuce. I had no mind, however, to sit alone at home and let disappointment prey on my vitals, therefore, after having taken some refreshment, I determined to go to the theatre, where "A Glass of Water" was to be performed that evening. I had seen the piece before, but I never could see Frue Heiberg too often, even in the same character, so I betook myself to the second row in the pit. On one side of me sat a pretty little Jewish girl, who frequently gave vent audibly to her feelings of pleasure with a "Gott, how charming this is!" which she addressed, it might have been to the actors themselves, or to the Jew who sat by her, or to me, for her head was constantly turning to all sides.

On my right hand sat a tall, lanky man, with spectacles upon his snub nose, and a thin book in his hand, in which he was constantly reading while the curtain was up, and in which, with a pretty little silver pencil, he made from time to time marks, such as crosses, and sundry other figures. I cast a side-long glance on the upper margin of an open page of the book, and saw written on it "A Glass of Water." I, of course, concluded that the lanky man must be a critic employed by some newspaper, who would next day have the pleasure of showing up the poor actors and actresses before the reading public, most of whom would thus decide upon the merits of the performers without having witnessed their performance.

Between the acts I entered into conversation with my neighbour, who had paused in his reading and writing labours, and found that I had not mistaken his occupation. When his literary position, or at least his position so nearly akin to a literary one, became known to me, and that he was well acquainted with booksellers, publishers, and other merchants in literature, I told him of my bad fortune that day, and took the liberty of asking him if he could give me any advice respecting my classical work.

"One can do nothing more absurd," he replied, in a dictatorial

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