ly astonished with him, resolved to try him the next day with a longer and a more difficult task, and to watch him at night when he retired to rest. Ac-. cordingly, Cyrillo was seen going to bed with great uneasiness, and soon was heard to sleep profoundly: but this did not continue long: for, in about an hour after he lay down, he got up, lighted his can, and sat down to study, where he completed his work as before.

A mind like Cyrillo's, not naturally very strong, and never at rest, began, when he arrived at manhood, to become gloomy, solicitous, and desponding. In consequence of this turn of thinking, he resolved to leave the world and turn Carthusian, which is the most rigorous of all the religious orders. Formed for a severe and abstemious life, he was here seen to set lessons of piety to the whole convent, and to show that he deserved the approbation as well of his fellows in seclusion as of the whole order. But this good fame did not last long; for it was soon found that Cyrillo walked by night, and, as we are told of the fabled Penelope, undid in his sleep all the good actions for which he had been celebrated by day. The first pranks he played were of a light nature, very little more than running about from chamber to chamber, and talking a little more loosely than became one of his professed piety. As it is against the rules of the fraternity to confine any man by force to his cell, he was permitted in this manner to walk about; and though there was nothing very edifying in his sleeping conversation, yet the convent were content to overlook and pity his infirmities.

Being carefully observed upon one of these occasions, the following circumstances offered:-One evening, having fallen asleep on his chair in his cell, he continued immovable for about an hour; but then, turning about in the attitude of a listener, he laughed heartily at what he thought he heard spoken; then snapping his fingers, to show he did not value the speaker, he turned towards the next person, and made a sign with his fingers, as if he wanted snuff. Not being supplied, he seemed a little disconcerted; and, pulling out his own box, in which there was nothing, he scraped the inside as if to find some. He next very carefully put up his box again; and, looking round him with great suspicion, buttoned up the place of his frock where he kept it. In this manner he continued for some time immovable; but, without any seeming cause, flew into a most outrageous passion, in which he spared neither oaths nor execrations, which so astonished and scandalized his brother friars, that they left him to execrate alone.

But it had been well if poor Cyrillo went no farther, nor driven his sleeping extravagances into guilt. One night he was perceived going very busily up to the altar, and, in a little beaufet beneath, to rummage with some degree of assiduity. It is supposed that he wished to steal the plate which was usually deposited there, but which had accidentally been sent off the day before to be cleaned. Disappointed in this, he seemed to be extremely enraged; but not caring to return to his cell empty-handed, he claps on one of the official silk vestments; and finding that he could carry still more, he put one or two more over each other, and thus cumberously accoutred, he stole off with a look of terror to his cell; there hiding his ill-got finery beneath his mattress, he laid himself down to continue his nap. Those who had watched him during this interval

were willing to see his manner of behaving the morning after.

When Cyrillo awaked, he seemed at first a good deal surprised at the lump in the middle of his bed; and going to examine the cause, was still more astonished at the quantity of vestments that were bundled there. He went among his fellows of the convent, inquired how they came to be placed there; and, learning the manner from them, nothing could exceed his penitence and contrition.

His last and greatest project was considered of a still more heinous nature. A lady, who had long been a benefactress to the convent, happening to die, was desirous of being buried in a cloister, in a vault which she had made for that purpose. It was there that she was laid, adorned with much finery, and a part of her own jewels, of which she had great abundance. The solemnity attending her funeral was magnificent, the expenses great, and the sermon affecting. In all this pomp of grief, none seemed more affected than Cyrillo, or set an example of sincerer mortification. The society considered the deposition of their benefactress among them as a very great honor, and masses in abundance were promised for her safety. But what was the amazement of the whole convent the next day, when they found the vault in which she was deposited broken open, the body mangled, her fingers, on which were some rings, cut off, and all her finery carried away! Every person in the convent was shocked at such barbarity, and Cyrillo was one of the foremost in condemning the sacrilege. However, shortly after, on going to his cell, having occasion to examine under his mattress, he there found that he alone was the guiltless plunderer. The convent was soon made acquainted with his misfortune; and, at the general request of the fraternity, he was removed to another monastery, where the prior had a power, by right, of confining his conventuals. Thus debarred from doing mischief, Cyrillo led the remainder of his life in piety and peace.

The arch of l'Etoile was begun by Napoleon in 1806, to commemorate the victories which had crowned the arms of France under his sovereignty; and was intended to form the most colossal monument of the kind which had ever been erected. Its height was to rise to one hundred and thirty-three feet, the breadth or span being one hundred and thirty-eight, and the thickness sixty-eight feet. Workmen were employed upon the structure for eight years, and immense sums of money were expended upon it.

On the 1st of April, 1810, when the Empress

Maria Louisa made her entry into Paris, a representation of the finished arch was erected of wood, which, being covered over with painted cloth, gave a sufficiently accurate notion of the whole design, and had a magnificent appearance. Notwithstanding Dulaure's anticipations, Charles X had some years ago given orders for prosecuting the construction of this vast monument; and the work was proceeding, we believe, with considerable activity when the events of July occurred,-the intention, however, being to dedicate the memorial to the exploits of the Duc d'Angouleme in Spain, a miserable substitution, it must be acknowledged, for the original design. Above is a cut of it as it appeared with the scaffolding around it immediately after the recent revolution.

MECHANICAL POWER.

Mr. Robert Owen calculates that two hundred arms, with machines, now manufacture as much cotton as twenty millions of arms were able to manufacture without machines forty years ago; and that the cotton now manfactured in the course of one year, in Great Britain, would require, without machines, sixteen millions of workmen with simple wheels. He calculates further, that the quantity of manufactures of all sorts produced by British workmen with the aid of machines is so great, that it would require, without the assistance of machinery, the labor of four hundred millions of workmen.

In the wool manufacture, machines possess an eminent advantage over common wheels. The yarn on thirty or thirty-six spindles is all equally twisted and drawn to the same degree of fineness. The most dexterous spinners cannot twist so equally and so gently twenty slips of yarn from wool of the same quality, as a machine can do twenty thousand.

At one of the cotton mills in Manchester yarn has been spun so fine, as to require 350 hanks to weigh one pound avoirdupois. The perimeter of the common reel being one yard and a half, 80 threads or revolutions would measure 120 yards; and one hank seven times as much, or 840 yards, which multiplied by 350, gives 294,000 yards, or 167 miles and a fraction.

A steam-engine of the ordinary pressure and construction, with a cylinder of thirty inches in diameter, will perform the work of forty horses; and, as it may be made to act without intermission, while horses will not work more than eight hours in the day, it will do the work of one hundred and twenty horses; and as the work of a horse is equal to that of five men, it will perform as much as six hundred men can; while its whole expense is only equal to about half the number of horses for which it is substituted.

The only purpose to which steam-engines were first applied was the raising of water from coal-pits, mines, &c.; but they are now used for many different purposes in which great power is required. Mr. Bolton applied the steam-engine to his apparatus for coining; and, by the help of four boys only, it was capable of striking thirty thousand pieces of money in an hour; the machine itself was made to keep an accurate account of the number struck off.

POETICAL QUID PRO QUO.

A Greek poet frequently offered little compliments to Augustus, with hopes of some small reward. His poems were worthless and unnoticed, but as he

persisted in his adulation, Augustus amused himself with writing an epigram in praise of the poet, and when he received the next customary panegyric, presented his lines to the bard with surprising gravity. The poor man took and read them, and with apparent delight deliberately drew forth two farthings, and gave them to the emperor, saying"This is not equal to the demands of your situation, sire; but 't is all I have: if I had more I would give it to you." Augustus could not resist this; he burst into laughter, and made the poet a handsome present.

Pickpockets.-The old robbers, in the "good old times," when purses were carried in the hand or borne at the side, cut them away, and carried them off with the contents, and hence they were called "cut-purses." In the scarce "History of Highwaymen," by Smith, there is a story of a ludicrous privale robbery, from "the person" of a man, mistakenly committed by one of these cut-purses.

Angling Anecdote.-In 1822, two young gentlemen of Dumfries, while enjoying the amusement of fishing at Dalswinton loch, having expended their stock of worms, &c., had recourse to the well-known expedient of picking out the eyes of the dead perches, and attaching them to their hooks-a bait which the perch is known to rise at quite as readily as any other One of the perches caught in this manner struggled so much when taken out of the water, that the unseen, though not unfelt hook had no sooner been loosened from its mouth than it came in contact with one of its eyes, and actually tore it ou The pain occasioned by this accident only made the fish strug gle the harder, until at last it fairly slipped through the holder's fingers, and again escaped to its native element. The disappointed fisher, still retaining the eye of the aquatic fugitive, adjusted it on the hook, and again committed his line and cork to the waters. After a very short interval, the latter substance began to bob, when, pulling up the line, he was astonished to find the identical perch that had eluded his grasp a few minutes before, and which literally perished by swallowing its own eye!

Daft Sandy Miller-Formerly, in Alloa House, there was a strange half-witted servant, of the name of Sandy Miller, whose principal business it was to attend to the coal bunkers or receptacles, of which there was one in every flat of that large mansion, for the supply of the fires. Sandy was sometimes negligent, so that the bunkers ran empty before he observed; and on such occasions he generally received such a dreadful scold, either from his master or from the other servants, that his life for the time was miserable. At length, Sandy was one day suddenly taken ill, and given up for lost, when a clergyman was sent for to administer to him the spiritual offices proper to a death-bed. Poor Sandy listened very attentively to what was said by the minister, and after prayers were over, mentioned, with a self-satisfied sigh, that there was one thing in particular which gave him great consolation in this his dying hour. "What may that be, Sandy?" said the clergyman."Oh, sir," answered the dying man, "a the bunkers is filled!"

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We find in a Buffalo paper a view of the Light House in that town, a copy of which is presented above. The original sketch was furnished by Isaac S. Smith, Esq., the superintendent of the work, who has also given the following account of its construction:

It is situated on the Molehead, or outer end of the Stone Mole, which projects one thousand five hundred feet from the shore, and on the south protects the harbor from the swell and ice of Lake Erie.

The base of the Molehead, (in fifteen feet of water,) is of a pentangular form, about one hundred and sixty feet in its greatest diameter. A little above the surface of the water, it forms three-fourths of a circle, as shown by the print, whence it rises by an inclined plane of heavy stones placed on their edges closely in contact with each other, to the horizontal summit twelve feet wide, which surrounds the light house. Connected with the view of the Molehead, we give a short section of the mole, which in front is a wall of heavy stones, laid in Hydraulic mortar, raised four feet above the water to the tow path or landing, which is twentyone feet wide, and flagged with very large, thick, flat stones. The wall of the mole laid in mortar, rises perpendicularly twelve feet to the summit; which, like the tow path, is flagged with large flat

stone

The foundation of the light house is a mass of solid masonry, in Hydraulic lime, thirty feet in diameter, and nine feet deep. The basement of the light house, (forming an oil vault,) commences on the foundation, with a wall seven feet thick, tapering to four feet in the summit of the mole.

The tower is an octagon constructed of hewn yellowish Limestone, forty-four feet high, twenty feet in diameter at the base, and twelve feet at the top, under the cornice. The walls are four feet thick at the base, tapering to two feet at the top, having at intervals of about six feet, iron bands in the middle of the wall to prevent the possibility of spreading. On the inside is a spiral or geometrical stone staircase, so constructed that each step has its broad end imbedded in the wall, while its outer end constitutes a section of a central column. The floors and deck are of hewn stone, the doors and scuttles of copper, and the window sashes of wrought iron, so that there is not a particle of wood in or about the building except the boom, of necessity made of wood, which sustains the copper electric conductor.

The lighting apparatus is in every respect of the most approved and perfect kind.

The following sailing directions are given for vessels approaching and entering the harbor:

"Whenever vessels find themselves in any position southward of the light house, they must steer

directly for it, but in the night should never approach within eighty yards at any time when it bears northward of east, or northward of west. When it bears east, run for it until within not less than fifty yards, then double the mole head and steer east by south into the harbor, keeping in the middle between the mole and the north pier. A vessel should never be suffered to get so far north in the night, as to bring the light to bear any where southward of east, except when within a quarter of a mile.

"There are sunken rocks about three quarters of a mile about northwest from the light, which can always be avoided in the daytime."

The number of passengers who have left Buffalo for the West in steamboats alone, during the season, taking the average to the close, will be from sixty-five to seventy thousand. The amount of tolls on the canal for the year 1829, was twentyfive thousand eight hundred and seventy-three dollars; for 1833, it was seventy thousand dollars.

CHIVALRY.

The institution of chivalry was most probably formed before the Crusades to the Holy Land, to which some imagine that it gave rise. It exerted a great influence upon society during the 12th, 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries.

The people of those ages were much oppressed by the operation of the feudal system. The poorer and weaker classes had no protection against the greater, and abuses were daily committed, which nothing but a combination of gentlemen devoted to the protection of their fellow men could remedy.

When the northern nations had overturned the Roman empire, they established a number of petty governments upon its ruins. Under the arrangement, called the feudal system, each lord had absolute power over his vassals. The spirit of feudal times survived to a very late period, and even up to the time of the revolution in France, near the close of the last century, many of the most cruel of the feudal laws were in operation.

At the time we speak of, it became necessary for those who wished to preserve an appearance of justice, to enter into a combination, binding themselves to preserve inviolate principles of honor and integrity, and to protect the weak from the strong. With such good intentions, chivalry was instituted.

In those lawless days men did not listen to the arguments of justice, unless they were enforced by an appeal to their personal feelings and interests. The fountains of justice were impure, and therefore law was regarded but as another word for fraud. A blow, from a stout lance or a sharp sword, was more convincing to an evil-doer, than a remonstrance from a clergyman, or an appeal from an injured lady. Chivalry, therefore, to meet the exigences of the times, was a warlike institution.

The crusades which were undertaken with the fire of religious zeal, and the thirst for military glory, opened a wide field for the prowess of the Christian knights. They fought and bled for the sake of restoring the places sanctified by the occurrence of the events of sacred history, from the hands of the unbelievers who held them. With singular misinterpretation of the wild spirit of our religion, they shed blood in torrents, to advance the progress of Christianity. The cross designed upon their mantles and their shoulders, whence they derived their name, was not less red than the

swords which they sheathed in the bodies of their enemies.

One great object with the Crusaders was the possession of the Holy Sepulchre. And the burden of their warlike songs brought that memorable place to mind,

-The cross, the Holy Sepulchre,
Remember, oh! remember!

They returned from these expeditions, with minds full of religious enthusiasm, and military ardor, and sought at home for the occupation of both. Thus, the union of religion with all their exploits and professions, was indissoluble.

The knights went through preparatory trials, and none but those of stainless reputation were admitted to the order and privileges of chivalry. The most devoted attachment to the fair sex was mingled with their piety and the "love of God and the love of ladies," was protested in the same breath. Various devices and titles were assumed by the knights, and as the institution grew in favor, the utmost splendor found way into it.

The knights-errant led lives checkered by various and singular adventures. When a knight set forth, he was mounted on a gallant steed, being wellarmed and generally accompanied by a trusty squire. When darkness and solitude, without the near glimmering of a single taper, from any friendly dwelling, overtook the knight, he flung himself at length upon his cloak, the leaves of the oak, and the spangled expanse of the sky forming his canopy. The horse, unbridled, found forage as he might, and the squire, if of "low degree," grumbled not a little at the inconveniences of the whole arrangement.

They were said to encounter every prodigy. One of the dearest duties of a knight-errant was to enlarge imprisoned damsels, and slay the cruel giants who confined them. The favorite writers of fiction, not content with presenting the dangers which chivalric gentlemen really encountered and overcame, represented captive the ladies as guarded by dragons, spitting fire, or by furious lions, which the heroes, with some slight opposition, invariably

overcame.

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The extravagances of chivalry were happily ridiculed by Cervantes, a Spanish gentleman of celebrity and courage, in the character of Don Quixotte. The "knight of the woful countenance, panied by his worshipful squire, Sancho Panza, performs feats of incredible courage but of a ludicrous nature. The poor gentleman, mistaking a windmill for a giant, whom he attacks, is terribly worsted in the encounter, while he certainly gets the better of the puppets, which he takes for real infidels.

The ridicule of chivalry however, is properly attached to the period when it was upon the decline, and when absurd observances were introduced into the system. Some exaggerations always found place in it, but perhaps no more than the unenlightened spirit of the times was ready to sanction.

A knight not only declared the virtue of the lady whom he loved, to be exalted, but he was ready to maintain by arms, against the world, that she was the fairest woman in the universe.

The knight endeavored as much as possible to soften the horrors of war by politeness, and a kind and courteous demeanor to the wounded and captive. This treatment was no more than just, at a period, when, from the absence of modern military inventions, wars were extremely bloody and ferocious. The knight bound up the wounds of his bleeding foe, frequently gave him his own

horse to carry him, and, satisfied with victory, endeavored to show that he deserved it by his gentleness, as well as his courage.

or

In a time of peace, to keep alive the spirit of honorable rivalry in warlike actions, JOUSTS tournaments, were held. At these, the knights fought in the presence of the fair, the grave, the gay, and the great, for the honor, generally, of their respective ladies. The lists, which were the scenes of their encounters, were enclosed and guarded. Heralds proclaimed the names and challenges, minute regulations were made, and any infringement of them severely punished.

Few exhibitions were so brilliant. A tournament, in times when intellectual enjoyments were in the possession only of few, formed a rallying point for the wealth, beauty, and nobility of a city or country. Before the eyes of those who took the deepest interest in their fate, the knights, splendidly armed and mounted, advanced. Amidst the clangor of martial music, they saluted the assembly, and displayed their address in managing their steeds. When the signal was given, the two opponents spurred their horses against each other, fixing their long, heavy lances, in the rest, in a horizontal position.

Sometimes the lances shivered, when new ones were supplied; sometimes the attacks proved fatal, and one of the warriors died in consequence of being flung violently from his horse on the arena. They fought with other weapons besides lances, and, to the dishonor of chivalry, instances occurred, in which fatal affrays took place the excited knights fought fiercely with battleaxes, and a scene, began with martial sport, ended with bloodshed.

The honors of knighthood were conferred upon a candidate, only after he had gone through numerous satisfactory trials. After having given incontestable evidence of his courage and virtue, after having confessed his sins to the priest, fasted, bathed and heard mass, the honors of knighthood were bestowed upon him, in the presence of an august assembly. He took an oath, consisting of twenty-six articles, swearing among other things, to be a "good, brave, loyal, just, generous, and gentle knight, a champion of the church and clergy, a protection of the ladies, and, a redressor of the wrongs of widows and orphans.'

Alphonso V., king of Portugal, when he conferred the honor of knighthood upon his son, made him kneel down beside him, and gave him particular instructions, with regard to the duties of a knight. He told him to observe that as the priesthood was instituted for divine service, chivalry was for the maintenance of religion and justice. The true knight, the king said, was a husband to widows, a father to orphans, a protector to the poor. Discharging these duties, he lived honored and courted by the great, and loved by the fair; failing in them, he became infamous and abhorred.

Kings contended bravely in the ranks of chivalry, and the honors bestowed on military prowess were alike an object of ambition to the monarch, and the subject. In England, King Richard I. surnamed Coeur-de-Lion, or the Lion-hearted, was noted for his valor. The sultan Saladin in the East, contended with him in acts of courtesy and courage. During the reigns of King John and Henry III., chivalry rapidly declined in England. It revived, however, under the sway of Edward I.

Edward I. is said to have been one of the most accomplished knights of his age. He excelled his

contemporaries in feats of arms, in which he took the greatest delight. As a proof of his military ardor, it is related that when he was eagerly expected in England, on his father's death, returning from the Holy Land, he heard of a tournament at Chalens in France, which he at once determined to attend, carrying his resolution into effect, and winning great fame.

With a design of subjugating France, Edward wished to call about him a band of warlike spirits, and accordingly held jousts and tournaments, to which he invited the brave and enterprising of the age. His son, the Black Prince, was a noted knight, distinguished for his gallantry in the field, and his courtesy when the battle was 'lost and