constant prevalence of wind, frequently from the north or from the east, renders it, during the greater part of the year, chill, and in the summer cool. The winter, which may be said to last four months, is, as might be expected from the neighbourhood of the sea, generally open and variable, frosts or storms of snow seldom lasting longer than a few days. The wetness and sudden changes in the weather during spring are proverbial; and during the month of May, which in more southern countries is so delightful, damp easterly winds too generally prevail during the day, with frosts in thenight, destroying the blossoms and prospects of fruit, which a continuance of fine weather in April not unfrequently produces. At this period of the year, there is a striking difference in climate between the north and south sides of the town, often of material consequence to invalids; the latter lying exposed to the south, sheltered from the east wind by Arthur Seat, and from the north by the high ridge of the town, is considerably warmer than the northern part; not only an evident difference in the sensation of heat being felt in passing from the one to the other, but, during the day, a difference of two or three degrees in the thermometer being frequently observable. The summer is usually agreeable, as the heat is seldom oppressive, or the drought continued; and the weather, in the months of September and October, is generally steady, fair, and temperate. The changes in the barometer and thermometer, particularly in the latter, are frequent, and often great and sudden. The average annual temperature of Edinburgh is about 47°, and the thermometer seldom stands above 75° in summer, or falls below 20 in winter. Showers of rain are frequent at all times of the year, but wet weather is seldom long continued. In spring a drizzling mist from the east frequently occurs. The observations lately made at Edinburgh, from rain gauges, shew that the quantities of rain which fall, indicated by that instrument, are much modified by its position; and therefore, that the correctness of the results which have hitherto been obtained from its use, is not much to be depended on. By the gauge belonging to the Astronomical Instituion, placed on the top of Nelson's mo

nument, at a considerable height above the surface of the earth, and not exposed to eddies of wind, the annual quantity of rain, averaged from the observations of the years 1814 and 1815, is indicated to be 15.29 inches; and last year, an unusually wet season, notless than 18.15 inches. By the gauges in the immediate neighbourhood, but placed near the ground, the quantities indicated are much greater. country around Edinburgh is drained and highly cultivated, affording rich crops of wheat, turnips, and potatoes. An abundant supply of coals, for fuel, is brought at a reasonable price from the neighbouring country.

The

The spring of this year has been remarkable for the steadiness and dryness of the weather, and most favourable for the advancement of the operations of husbandry. The month of February was open and mild; and during March, though there were frequent frosts and showers of snow, and of rain, there was much fine weather. In the latter end of the month, after some days of warmth, an intense cold suddenly came on, which continued for three days, the thermometer, during the night, standing seven degrees below the freezing point, and a sharp dry wind blowing from the north. During April a westerly wind prevailed, and the weather, though not warm, was steady and remarkably dry, only a few slight showers of rain having fallen during the month. With May the east winds set in, and have continued with little variation during the month, but they have been less chill and damp than usual, and the frost in the night less severe. In the latter end of the month frequent seasonable falls of rain took place, which had become desirable for the advancement of vegetation.*

The markets of Edinburgh are well and regularly supplied with the necessaries of life; and abundance of fish of various kinds, particularly of cod, haddocks, and at certain seasons of herrings, is to be procured at a very moderate price. All the luxuries and indulgencies of the table are easily obtained by the rich, but the diet of the labouring classes, whose mode of liv

* It will be observed, from examining the meteorological report of the Magazine, that the average of the temperature of this spring has been about 5o higher than that ing is necessarily much limited by their circumstances, is chiefly composed of oatmeal porridge, bread, potatoes, and milk. Even among them wheaten bread has now in a great mea sure displaced that of oatmeal or bar leymeal. Their means enable them but seldom to procure butcher meat; but for dinner they frequently make a broth, with barley and green vegetables, in which beef bones, or a por tion of butter, of which they consume a considerable quantity, have been boiled, if not with the effect of adding to its nutritive qualities, at least with that of rendering it more palatable. During the season, the fresh herrings afford them a cheap and excellent food; and they at all times consume, with their potatoes, a considerable quantity of salt herrings and salted fish. Fresh white fish, though often cheap, they seem little in the habit of using in their families. The harmless and refreshing luxury of tea is very generally enjoyed; and the number of public houses, and the quantity of spirits consumed, but too plainly prove the extent to which the more pernicious one of dram-drinking is indulged in. It were much to be wished, both on account of the morals and health of the people, that the money expended in this destructive use of ardent spirits, were laid out on the more nutritive and wholesome be verage of malt-liquor. Though, along with whisky, a considerable quantity of inferior ale is consumed in the public houses, it is but little used as a regular article of diet.

During the last winter, from the difficulty of procuring employment, and the low rate of wages, joined with the high price and inferior quality of bread and corn, and particularly of oatmeal and potatoes, the food of the poor must have been less nutritious, as well as diminished in quantity; and while we cannot but admire the patience with which they have sustained them, it is melancholy to reflect on the privations which th the labouring classes of the community must have borne in their fare, which is at all times plain and so little abundant.

With all the advantages which this otherwise favoured town possesses, it is deficient in the most indispensable necessary and luxury of life. It is supplied with excellent water, convey ed, from springs near the Pentland Hills, to two reservoirs, from which

VOL. I.

it is distributed to the older part of the town by means of public wells in the streets, and to the more modern by pipes to each house, or to their areas. As of late years the population has greatly increased, and pipes have been furnished to the new houses, which, from their size, require a large quantity of water, while no effectual means have been taken to provide for this increased consumption, the sup. ply of this essential article is never abundant, and, in dry seasons, extremely deficient. In order, therefore, to observe a due and proper economy in its use, it is supplied to the public wells only at times, and it flows to the cisterns of the houses at considerable intervals. To all classes of the community this deficiency occasions a very great privation; but to the poor, when the time and labour which they expend, and the exposure they have to undergo in procuring their scanty supply are considered, it is obvious that it must be an evil of serious magnitude. To this scarcity of water there can be little doubt that the offensive state of the streets, particularly in summer, so long the opprobrium of Edinburgh, is in some degree to be attributed; and while it continues, it must oppose a serious obstacle to the improvement in the cleanliness of their persons and their habitations, which is so desireable among the poor.

The degree to which the scarcity of water was felt during the dry summer of 1815, and the threatening of it which has already been perceived this spring, has drawn the attention of the Magistrates and of the public to it in a particular manner; and it is now to be hoped, that the town will ere long enjoy the benefit of the advantages which it possesses from its situation, of obtaining a supply of water even to profusion, of which an abundance is so essential to the cleanliness of the city, and to the comfort and health of its inhabitants.

There is no disease which is peculiar to Edinburgh, neither can any of the diseases of this country be said to be particularly prevalent or severe in this town. On the whole, it is remarkably healthful; and I believe, that it may be stated, that the mortality in it is small in proportion to the population, though I have not before me, indeed I do not know if there exists, documents on which an accurate opinion

2 M

with regard to this point can be founded. The epidemic diseases to which children are liable, varying in the extent to which they prevail and the character which they assume, are always more or less present in the town. To make some record of these, from time to time, and to give an account of the state of the healthiness of the town, and of the circumstances which appear to affect it, are objects of interest and importance. Much valuable information is contained in the annual reports of the diseases of Edinburgh, which were published by Dr Monro, primus, in the Medical Essays of Edinburgh, early in the last century; and an excellent account of the epidemics of Edinburgh, which it is to be regretted has not been continued, was published by Dr Duncan, senior, in the year 1811. More recently, quarterly reports of the diseases treated at the New Town Dispensary have been regularly given, containing information much more minute concerning the diseases prevailing in Edinburgh, than is intended to be given in those which we are now commencing.

Edinburgh, June 1, 1817.

J. W. T.

Swiss tradition, that without further comment, I extract the latter from my journal, and send it for your perusal. It relates to an ancient family, now extinct, whose names I neglected to write down, and have now forgotten, but that is a matter of little importance.

"His soul was wild, impetuous, and uncontrollable. He had a keen perception of the faults and vices of others, without the power of correcting his own; alike sensible of the nobility, and of the darkness of his moral constitution, although unable to cultivate the one to the exclusion of the other.

"In extreme youth, he led a lonely and secluded life in the solitude of a Swiss valley, in company with an only brother, some years older than himself, and a young female relative, who had been educated along with them from her birth. They lived under the care of an aged uncle, the guardian of those extensive domains which the brothers were destined jointly to inherit.

SKETCH OF A TRADITION RELATED BY A MONK IN SWITZERLAND.

MR EDITOR,

In the course of an excursion, during the autumn of last year, through the wildest and most secluded parts of Switzerland, I took up my residence, during one stormy night, in a convent of Capuchin Friars, not far from Altorf, the birth-place of the famous William Tell. In the course of the evening, one of the fathers related a story, which, both on account of the interest which it is naturally calculated to excite, and the impressive manner in which it was told, produced a very strong effect upon my mind. I noted it down briefly in the morning, in my journal, preserving as much as possible the old man's style, but it has no doubt lost much by translation.

Having just read Lord Byron's drama, " Manfred," there appears to me such a striking coincidence in some characteristic features, between the story of that performance and the

on the mind of their father, and finally produced the most dreadful result. The fear of a similar tendency in the minds of the brothers, induced their protector to remove them, at an early age, from the solitude of their native country. The elder was sent to a German university, and the younger completed his education in one of the Italian schools.

"After the lapse of many years, the old guardian died, and the elder of the brothers returned to his native valley; he there formed an attachment to the lady with whom he had passed his infancy; and she, after some fearful forebodings, which were unfortunately silenced by the voice of duty and of gratitude, accepted of his love, and became his wife.

In the meantime, the younger brother had left Italy, and travelled over the greater part of Europe. He mingled with the world, and gave full scope to every impulse of his feelings. But that world, with the exception of certain hours of boisterous passion and excitement, affording him little plea sure, and made no lasting impression upon his heart. His greatest joy was in the wildest impulses of the imagination.

"His spirit, though mighty and unbounded, from his early habits and education, naturally tended to repose; he thought with delight on the sun rising among the Alpine snows, or gilding the peaks of the rugged hills with its evening rays. But within him he felt a fire burning for ever, and which the snows of his native mountains could not quench. He feared that he was alone in the world, and that no being, kindred to his own, had been created; but in his soul there was an image of angelic perfection, which he believed existed not on earth, but without which he knew he could not be happy. Despairing to find it in populous cities, he retired to his paternal domain. On again entering upon the scenes of his infancy, many new and singular feelings were experienced-he is enchanted with the surpassing beauty of the scenery, and wonders that he should have rambled so long and so far from it. The noise and the bustle of the world were immediately forgotten on contemplating "The silence that is in the starry sky,

The sleep that is among the lonely hills." A light, as it were, broke around him, and exhibited a strange and momentary gleam of joy and of misery mingled together. He entered the dwelling of his infancy with delight, and met his brother with emotion. But his dark and troubled eye betokened a fearful change, when he beheld the other playmate of his infancy. Though beautiful as the imagination could conceive, she appeared otherwise than he expected. Her form and face were associated with some of his wildest reveries-his feelings of affection were united with many undefinable sensations-he felt as if she was not the wife of his brother, although he knew her to be so, and his soul sickened at the thought.

"He passed the night in a feverish state of joy and horror. From the window of a lonely tower he beheld the moon shining amid the bright blue of an Alpine sky, and diffusing a calm and beautiful light on the silvery snow. The eagle owl uttered her long and plaintive note from the castellated summits which overhung the valley, and the feet of the wild chamois were heard rebounding from the neighbour

ing rocks; these accorded with the gentler feelings of his mind; but the strong spirit which so frequently overcame him, listened with intense delight to the dreadful roar of an immense torrent, which was precipitated from the summit of an adjoining cliff, among broken rocks and pines, overturned and uprooted, or to the still mightier voice of the avalanche, suddenly descending with the accumulated snows of a hundred years.

" In the morning he met the ob. ject of his unhappy passion. Her eyes were dim with tears, and a cloud of sorrow had darkened the light of her lovely countenance.

"For some time there was a mutual constraint in their manner, which both were afraid to acknowledge, and neither was able to dispel. Even the uncontrollable spirit of the wanderer was oppressed and overcome, and he wished he had never returned to the dwelling of his ancestors. The lady is equally aware of the awful peril of their situation, and without the know ledge of her husband, she prepared to depart from the castle, and take the veil in a convent situated in a neighbouring valley.

"With this resolution she departed on the following morning; but in crossing an Alpine pass, which conducted by a nearer route to the adjoining valley, she was enveloped in mists and vapour, and lost all knowledge of the surrounding country. The clouds closed in around her, and a tremendous thunder-storm took place in the valley beneath. She wandered about for some time, in hopes of gaining a glimpse through the clouds, of some accustomed object to direct her steps, till, exhausted by fatigue and fear, she reclined upon a dark rock, in the crevices of which, though it was now the heat of summer, there were many patches of snow. There she sat, in a state of feverish delirium, till a gentle air dispelled the dense vapour from before her feet, and discovered an enormous chasm, down which she must have fallen, if she had taken another step. While breathing a silent prayer to Heaven for this providential escape, strange sounds were heard, as of some disembodied voice floating among the clouds. Suddenly she perceived, within a few paces, the figure of the wanderer tossing his arms in the air, his eye inflamed, and his general aspect wild and distracted-he then appeared meditating a deed of sin-she rushed towards him, and, clasping him in her arms, dragged him backwards, just as he was about to precipitate himself into the gulph below.

"Overcome by bodily fatigue, and agitation of mind, they remained for some time in a state of insensibility. The brother first revived from his stupor; and finding her whose image was pictured in his soul lying by his side, with her arms resting upon his shoulder, he believed for a moment that he must have executed the dreadful deed he had meditated, and had wakened in heaven. The gentle form of the lady is again re-animated, and slowly she opened her beautiful eyes. She questioned him regarding the purpose of his visit to that desolate spota full explanation took place of their mutual sensations, and they confessed the passion which consumed them.

"The sun was now high in heaventhe clouds of the morning had ascended to the loftiest Alps-and the mists, ⚫ into their airy elements resolved, were gone.' As the god of day advanced, dark vallies were suddenly illuminated, and lovely lakes brightened like mirrors among the hillstheir waters sparkling with the fresh breeze of the morning. The most beautiful clouds were sailing in the air-some breaking on the mountain tops, and others resting on the sombre pines, or slumbering on the surface of the unilluminated vallies. The shrill whistle of the marmot was no longer heard, and the chamois had bounded to its inaccessible retreat. The vast range of the neighbouring Alps was next distinctly visible, and presented, to the eyes of the beholders, 'glory beyond all glory ever seen.'

"In the mean time a change had taken place in the feelings of the mountain pair, which was powerfully strengthened by by the glad face of nature. The glorious hues of earth and sky seemed indeed to sanction and rejoice in their mutual happiness. The darker spirit of the brother had now fearfully overcome him. The dreaming predictions of his most imaginative years appeared realised in their fullest extent, and the voice of prudence and of nature was inaudible amidst the intoxication of his joy. The object of his affection rested in his arms in a state of listless happiness, listening

with enchanted ear to his wild and impassioned eloquence, and careless of all other sight or sound.

"She too had renounced her morning vows, and the convent was unthought of, and forgotten. Crossing the mountains by wild and unfrequented paths, they took up their abode in a deserted cottage, formerly frequented by goatherds and the hunters of the roe, On looking down, for the last time, from the mountain top, on that delightful valley in which she had so long lived in innocence and peace, the lady thought of her departed mother, and her heart would have died within hers but the wild glee of the brother again rendered her insensible to all other sensations, and she yielded to the sway of her fatal passion.

"There they lived, secluded from the world, and supported, even through evil, by the intensity of their passion for each other. The turbulent spirit of the brother was at rest-he had found a being endowed with virtues like his own, and, as he thought, des titute of all his vices. The day dreams of his fancy had been realized, and all that he had imagined of beauty or affection was embodied in that form which he could call his own.

"On the morning of her departure the dreadful truth burst upon the mind of her wretched husband. From the first arrival of the dark-eyed stranger, a gloomy vision of future sorrow had haunted him by day and by night. Despair and misery now made him their victim, and that awful malady which he inherited from his ancestors was the immediate consequence. He was seen, for the last time, among some stupendous cliffs which overhung the river, and his hat and cloak were found by the chamois hunters at the foot of an ancient pine.

"Soon too was the guilty joy of the survivors to terminate. The gen tle lady, even in felicity, felt a load upon her heart. Her spirit had burned too ardently, and she knew it must ere long be extinguished. Day after day the lily of her cheek encroached upon the rose, till at last she assumed a monumental paleness, unreliev ed save by a transient and hectic glow. Her angelic form wasted away, and soon the flower of the valley was no more.

"The soul of the brother was dark, dreadfully dark, but his body wasted