temperament lessens the credit of the men with the females, who uniformly prefer the European, or the still more vivacious negro. "The indigenous Mexican is grave, melancholic, silent, so long as he is not under the influence of intoxicating liquors. This gravity is peculiarly remarkable in Indian children, who at the age of four or five years display more intelligence and precocity than the children of whites. The Mexican loves to attach mystery even to his most trifling actions; the strongest passions do not display themselves in his countenance; the transition is frightful when it passes suddenly from a state of absolute repose to that of violent and unrestrained agitation." Slavery with them has engendered guile. They are obstinate in all their habits and opinions; their religion is one of mere ceremonial, justifying the observation of a priest to Mr. Ward, "son mui buenos Catolicos, pero mui malos Cristianos" (very good Catholics, but very bad Christians.) Deception in this, as well as in every thing else, is the order of the day; and the Indian Alcalde now oppresses the villagers as much as he himself has ever been.

Humboldt considers the Mexican Indian as destitute of all imagination, though when to a certain degree educated, he attributes to him facility in learning, a clearness of understanding, a natural turn for reasoning, and a particular aptitude to subtilize and seize trifling distinctions.

The music and dancing are as dull as might be expected among beings so full of phlegm. The Mexican has a turn for painting and sculpture; and retains the same fondness for flowers that struck Cortez so forcibly upwards of three centuries ago. The "Indios Bravos," or Wild Indians, are said to display more energy; but our information respecting them is remarkably scanty.

Among the active vices of the Mexican Indian, that of drunkenness prevails to a most lamentable extent. In the upper districts, pulque, or the fermented juice of the aloe, is the principal tempter; sometimes a spirit, distilled from the same plant, called Vino de Mescal; while, in the hotter districts, the same effects are ensured by the chinguirito, a very coarse kind of rum. Combined with this disposition to intoxication, the Indian is constitutionally indolent; and, now that he is a free man, he will rarely work, except to obtain just as much as will afford him the means of enjoying his greatest luxury—that of steeping his senses in oblivion. This last tendency is much to be deplored, as, in the larger towns, we know that every Sunday (which is the day of greatest indulgence) assassinations, to the extent of six or eight each day, are the melancholy consequence of its indulgence. Humboldt states that the police were in the practice of sending tumbrels round, to collect the unhappy victims of intoxication. The punishment was, and we believe still is, three days' labour in the streets; but it does not seem to be very efficacious, for generally within the week the delinquents are again in custody.

There is something characteristic in the indolence of these sombre beings. They will travel immense distances; but to steady labour they are, generally speaking, not prone. It is told of them, that in one of the most fertile districts (the Baxio) it is not unusual for an Indian, on receiving his wages, to get thoroughly drunk, go to sleep, and on awakening renew his potations and repose, until the exhaustion of his finances compels him to return to labour. In some parts, however, there are exceptions to this observation.

Education has been more attended to, by some of the leading personages, than could have been expected in a society that had been so much kept in the shade. We apprehend the advantages are chiefly prospective, and may be well defined in another generation; at present they are but small. The whites have been, and still are, the most educated portion of the Mexicans, owing, no doubt, to their greater opulence, and having access to official rank. The mass of ignorance, however, among all classes, is inconceivable to any one who has only moved in the principal countries of Europe. Nor is it confined to the lower classes, but finds protection among the highest in the community. We heard a reverend canon of the metropolitan church gravely inquire, whether it was possible to reach London except by sailing up the Thames. And we knew a very pretty, agreeable young lady, moving in the first circles, who could not write a single letter at the age of seventeen. She has been since married, and has, we are informed, been taught to write by her husband, who is not a Mexican. The religion of all classes resembles too much that of the Indians; and the practical morality and general tone of society are by no means refined. If one half of the scandalous tales in circulation be true, the former ranks with that of Paris in its worst periods, and the latter is assuredly gross to a degree that would surprise even an inhabitant of Madrid. The familiarity with which every subject is treated at first excites emotions in an Englishman of the most unpleasant kind, which gradually subside, from the frequency with which they are discussed by young and old; by high and low, of both sexes.—Foreign Quarterly Review.

Notes of a Reader.

SIR WALTER SCOTT'S NEW WORK.

We detach this little descriptive gem from Sir Walter Scott's "Anne of Geierstein," just published. An outline of this very delightful novel will be found in a SUPPLEMENT with the present number of the MIRROR.

"The ancient tower of Geierstein, though neither extensive, nor distinguished by architectural ornament, possessed an air of terrible dignity by its position on the very verge of the opposite bank of the torrent, which, just at the angle of the rock on which the ruins are situated, falls sheer over a cascade of nearly a hundred feet in height, and then rushes down the defile, through a trough of living rock, which perhaps its waves have been deepening since time itself had a commencement. Facing, and at the same time looking down upon this eternal roar of waters, stood the old tower, built so close to the verge of the precipice, that the buttresses with which the architect had strengthened the foundation, seemed a part of the solid rock itself, and a continuation of its perpendicular ascent. As usual, throughout Europe in the feudal times, the principal part of the building was a massive square pile, the decayed summit of which was rendered picturesque, by flanking turrets of different sizes and heights, some round, some angular, some ruinous, some tolerably entire, varying the outline of the building as seen against the stormy sky."

THORWALDSEN.

Since the death of his illustrious contemporary, Canova, Thorwaldsen, born at Copenhagen in 1771-2, has occupied the public eye as head of the modern school. The character and powers of this master are doubtless of a very elevated rank: but neither in the extent nor excellence of his works, do we apprehend his station to be so high as sometimes placed. The genius of the Danish sculptor is forcible, yet is its energy derived more from peculiarity than from real excellence. His ideal springs less from imitation of the antique, or of nature, than from the workings of his own individual mind—it is the creation of a fancy seeking forcible effect in singular combinations, rather than in general principles; therefore hardly fitted to excite lasting or beneficial influence upon the age. Simplicity and imposing expression seem to have hitherto formed the principal objects of his pursuit; but the distinction between the simple and rude, the powerful and the exaggerated, is not always observed in the labours of the Dane. His simplicity is sometimes without grace; the impressive—austere, and without due refinement. The air and contours of his heads, except, as