eas, or volcanoes,--he would look into the homes and social assemblies
of all lands. In the extreme North, there is the snow-hut of the
Esquimaux, shining with the fire within, like an alabaster lamp left
burning in a wide waste; within, the beardless father is mending his
weapons made of fishbones, while the dwarfed mother swathes her infant in
skins, and feeds it with oil and fat. In the extreme East, there is the
Chinese family in their garden, treading its paved walks, or seated under
the shade of its artificial rocks; the master displaying the claws of his
left hand as he smokes his pipe, and his wife tottering on her deformed
feet as she follows her child,--exulting over it if it be a boy; grave
and full of sighs if heaven have sent her none but girls. In the extreme
South, there is the Colonist of the Cape, lazily basking before his door,
while he sends his labourer abroad with his bullock-waggon, devolves the
business of the farm upon the women, and scares from his door any poor
Hottentot who may have wandered hither over the plain. In the extreme
West, there is the gathering together on the shores of the Pacific of the
hunters laden with furs. The men are trading, or cleaning their arms, or
sleeping; the squaws are cooking, or dyeing with vegetable juices the
quills of the porcupine or the hair of the moose-deer. In the intervals
between these extremities, there is a world of morals and manners, as
diverse as the surface of the lands on which they are exhibited. Here is
the Russian nobleman on his estate, the lord of the fate of his serfs,
but hard pressed by the enmity of rival nobles, and silenced by the
despotism of his prince; his wife leads a languid life among her spinning
maidens; and his young sons talk of the wars in which they shall serve
their emperor in time to come. There is the Frankfort trader, dwelling
among equals, fixing his pride upon having wronged no man, or upon having
a son distinguished at the university, or a daughter skilled in domestic
accomplishments; while his wife emulates her neighbours in supporting the
comfort and respectability of the household. Here is the French peasant
returning from the field in total ignorance of what has taken place in
the capital of late; and there is the English artizan discussing with his
brother-workman the politics of the town, or carrying home to his wife
some fresh hopes of the interference of parliament about labour and
wages. Here is a conclave of C