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H ir- 3^4- J- X 

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V.. .".'ArH 



Price 6s. in IWtfe Monthly Paris, and 7s. Qd bound in Cloth 

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Chairman— the Right Hon. the LOR© CHANCELLOR. FjR.8„ Member of the National Institute of Franca 

Vic+Ck mrmm m The RighfHon. SIR HENRY PARNELL. Bart, M.P. 

Treasurer— WILLIAM TOOKE. Esq., M.P., F.R.8. 

W. Allen, Esq., F.R. and R.A.8. 

Rt. Hon. VUc. A 1 thorp, M. P., .Chancellor of 

tne Exchequer. 
W. B. Baring, Esq.Bf.P. 
Capt. P. Beaufort, R.N., F.R. and R.A.8., 

Hydrographer to the Admiralty. 
Sir C. Bell, P.R.S.L. and E. 
O. Burrows, M.D. 
C. Hny Cameron, Esq. 
The Rt. Rev. the Bishop of Chichetter, D.D. 
William Coulnon, Esq. 
R. D. Craig, Esq. 
Wm. Crawford, Esq. 
J. Frederick Daniell, Esq. F.R.S. 
Rt. Hon. Lord Chief Justice Denman. 
Lieut. Drummond. R.E., F.R.A.S. 
Rt. Hon. Vise, h'brington, M.P. 
T. F. Ellis, Esq., M.A., F.R.A.S. 
John EUioUon, M.D., F.R.8. 

Thomas Falconer, Esq. 

I. L. Goldsmid, Esq.. F.R. and R.A.3. 

B. Gomperts, Esq., F.R. and R.A.S. 

G. B. Greenough, Esq., F.R. and L.S. 

H. Hallam, Esq. F.R.S.. M.A. 

M. D. Hill. Esq. M.P. 

Rowland Hill, Esq., F.R.A.S. 

Edwin HI1L Esq. 

David Jardlne, Esq., M.A. 

Henry B. Ker, Esq. 

Th. Hewitt Key, Esq., M.A. 

J. G. 8. Lefevre, Esq. M.A. 

George C. Lewis, Esq., M.A. 

James Loch, Esq., M.P., F.G.S. 

George Long, Esq., M.A. 

J. W. Lubbock, Esq.. F.R., R.A. and L.S.S. 

H. Maiden, Esq. M.A. 

A. T. Malkin, Esq., M.A. 

James Manning, Esq. 

J. Herman Mertvale, Esq., F.A.8. 

James Mill, Esq. 

W. H. Ord, Esq. M.P. 

Dr. Roget, Sec. R.8., F.R.A.S, 

Rt. Hon. Lord John Russell, M.P., Pay* 

master to the Forces. 
Sir M. A. Shee, P.R.A., F.R.S. 
Rev. Richard Sheepshanks, M.A. 
J. Smith, Esq., MP. 
John Taylor. Esq. F.R.S. 
Dr. A. T. Thomson, F.L.S. 
N. A. Vigors, Esq , M.P. F.R.S. 
John Ward, Esq. 
H. Waymouth, Esq. 
J. Whishaw, Esq., M.A., F.R.S. 
John Wood, Esq. 
John Wrottesley, Esq., M.A. F.R.A.S. 

Angle—a— Rev. E. Williams. 

Rev. W. Johnson. 

Mr. Miller. 
Ashburton—i. F. Kingston, Esq. 
Barnstaple. Bancraft, Esq. 

William Gribble, Esq. 
mitt on— Rev. W. Leigh. 
Birmingham— Rev.J.Corrie.F.R.S. Chairman. 

Paul Moon JameB, Esq., Treasurer. 

?5\T'£ W ' 5 1 * ! Honorary Sect. 
W. Redtern, E»q. I w 

Bonn— I^onard Horner, Esq., F.R.S.L. & E. 

Bridport—Wm. Forster. Esq. 

James Williams, E*q. 
Bristol— J. N. Sanders, Esq., Chairman, 

J. Reynolds. Esq., Treasurer. 

J. B. Estlln. Es.j , F.L.S., Secretary. 
Bury St. Ediuunds—ft. Bevan, Esq. 
Calcutta— Lord Wm. Bentinck. 

Sir Edward Ryan. 

James Young, E<*q. 
Cambridge — Rev James Bowstead, M.A. 

Rev. Prof. Henslo w, M .A. F.L.S. & G.S, 

Rev. Leonard Jenyns, M.A., F.L.S. 

Rev. John Lodge, M.A. 

Rev. Geo Peatoik, M.A., F.R.S. «c O.S. 

Rev. Prof. Sedgwick, M.A. F.R.S. & G.S. 

Professor Smyth, M.A. 

Rev. C. Thlrlwall, M.A. 


Rev. Geor«e Waddtngton, M.A. 
Canterbury — Alexander B. Higgins, Esq. 

John Brent, E>q. 

Dr Harry Wm. Carter, M.D., F.R.S.E. 

William Masters, Esq. 
Canton— J. F. Davis, Esq., F.R.3. 
Cardigan— Rev. J. Black wall. 
Carnarvon — R. A. Poole, Esq. 

William Roberts, Esq. 
Chester — Hayes Lyon, Esq. 

Dr. dimming. 

Dr. Jones. 

Henry Potts, Esq. 

Dr. Thackery. 

Rev. Mr. Thorp. 

— Wardell, Esq. 

— Wedge, Esq. 

Chichester— John Forbes, M.D. F.R.S. 

Thomas Sanden, M.D. 

C. C. Dendy, Esq. 
Corfu— John Crawford, Esq. 

Mr. Plato Petrides. 


Coventry — Arthur Gregory, Esq. 
Denbigh — John Madoota, Esq. 

Thomas Evans, Esq. 
Derby— Joseph Strntt, Esq. 
JJevonport and Stonehoute— John Cole, Esq. 

— Norman, Esq. 

Lt. Col. C. Hamilton Smith, F.R.S. 
Etruria — Jos. Wedgwood, Esq. 
J£jteter—Rev. J. P. Jones. 

J. Tyrrell, Esq. 

John Blilford. Esq. (Ciaver.) 
Olatgoxc—K. Finlay, Esq. 

Professor Mylne. 

Alexander McGrlgor, Esq. 

Charles Tennant, Esq. 

James Cowper, E)*q. 

Mr.T. Atkinson, Honorary Secretary. 
QlamorgansJdre— Dr. Malkin, Cowhrldge. 

Rev. B. R. Paul. Lantwit. 

W. Williams, Esq., Aberpergwm. 
Gloucester — Samuel Bowley, Esq. 
Guernsey— F. C. Lukis, Esq; 
HuU—2. C. Parker, Esq. 
Keighley, Yorkshire— Rev. T. Dury, M.A. 
Launceston — Rev. J. Bartitt. 
Leamington Spa — Dr. Loudon, M.D. 
Leeds— J. Marshall, Esq. 

Benjamin Gott, Esq. 

J. Marshall, Jun., Esq. 
Lewes— J. W. Woollgar, Esq. 
Liverpool Loc. At.—W. W. Currie, Esq. Ch. 

J. Mulleneux, Esq., Treasurer. 

Rev. W. Shepherd. 

J. Ashton Yates, Esq. 
Ludlow— T. A. Knight, Esq., P.H.S. 
Maidenhead— R. Goolden, Esq., F.L.S. 
Maidstone — Clement T. Smyth, Esq. 

John Case, Esq. 
Malmesbury—B. C. Thomas, Esq. 
Manchester Loc. As — G. W. Wood. Esq., Ch. 

Benjamin Heywood. Esq., Treasurer. 

T W. Winstanley, Esq., Hon. Sec. 

Sir G. Philips, Bart., M.P. 

Benjamin Gott, Esq. 
Merthyr Tydvil—J. J. Guest, Esq. M.P. 
Mine hinhamp ton — John G. Ball, Esq. 
Monmouth— J. H. Moggrldge, Esq. 
Neath— John Rowland, Esq. 
Newcastle — James Losh, Esq. 

Rev. W. Turner. 

Newport, I tie of Wight— Ab. Clarke, Esq. 

T. Cooke. Jun., Esq. 

R. G. Kirkpatritk, Esq. 
Newport Pagnell—J. Millar, Esq. 
Newtown, Montgomeryshire— W '. Pugh, Esq. 
Norwich— Rt. Hon. Lord Suffield. 

Richard Bacon. Esq. 
Oxford— Dr. Daubeny, F.R.S. Prof, of Chem. 

Rev. Prof. Powell 

Rev. John Jordan, B.A. 

Rev. R. Walker, M.A., F.R.S. 

E. W. Head, Esq., M.A. 

W. R. Browne, Esq., B.A. 
Penang— Sir B. H. Malkin. 
Plymouth— H. Woollcombe, Esq, F. A. S., 

Snow Harris, Esq.. F.R.< 

E. Moore, M.D . F.L.S., Secretary. 

G. Wightwick, Enq. 
Presteign— Dr. A. W. Davis, M.D. 
Bippon— Rev. H. P. Hamilton, M.A., F.R.S. 
and G.S. 

Rev. P. Kwart. M.A. 
Ruthen — Rev. the Warden of. 

Humphreys Jones. E*q. 
Byde, Isle of /right— Sir Rd. Simeon. Bart, 

She field — .1. H. Abraham, Esq. 
Shrpton Mallet— G. F. Burroughs, Esq. 
Shrewsbury— R. A.Slaney. E*q., M.P. 
South Petherton—Jouu Nirholetts, Esq. 
St. Asaph — Rev. George Strong. 
Stockport — H. Marslnnd, E*q., Treasurer. 

Henry Coppock, Esq., Secretary. 
Tavistock— Her. W. Evans. 

John Rundle, Esq. 
Tunbridae Wells— Vr. Yeats, M.D. 
Warwick — Dr. Conolly. 

The Rev. William Field, {Leamington.) 
Waterford—SW John Newport, Bt.M.P. 
Wolverhampton— J . Pearson, Esq. 
Worcester— Dr. Corbett, M.D. 

Dr. Has tines, M.D, 

C. H. Hebb, Esq. 
Wrexham — Thomas Edgworth, Esq. 

J. E.Bowman, Esq. F.L.S., Treasurer. 

Bfajnr William Lloyd. 
Yarmouth— C. E. Rumbold, Esq., M.P. 

Dawson Turner. Esq. 
York—Rer. J. Kenrick, M.A. 

THOMAS COATES, Secretary, No. 59, Lincoln's Inn Fields. 

Printed by William Cfcowss, Duke-street, Lambeth. 

Digitized by 



Abruzzt. shepherds of the, 106. 

Abstraction, self, recommended, 176. 

Adam's Peak, in Ceylon, 217* 

JE*chylns, hi* tragedy of the Persians, 18. 

, hi* Prometheus Bound, 2. 

Africa, South, description of a settler's cabin in, 

Africa, South, settlement of a British colony in, 

ApricoKwe, system of, in modern Greece, 239. 

Aixla-Chupelle Cathedral, notice of, 105. 

Albert Durer, notice of, 118. 

Atfric. Earl of Mercia, account of his seal^lll. 

American Indians*, deer hunting by, 375. 

American politeness, instances of, 195. 

Angersteta Gallery, pictures in the, 73. 

Anglo-Chinese {Calendar for 1833, 243. 

Arithmetical rules, simplifications of, 26, 54, 71* 
91, 11*0. 

Armenian Marriage, account of an, at Constanti- 
nople, 439. 

Aurora Borealls, described, 489. 

Baco*, Lord, biographical sketch of, S3. 

Bagdad, narrative of the plague of, in 1831, 458. 

Bamboo, great utility of the, 61. 

BsnVt, Sir Joseph, statue of, 340. 

Bannoekbum, account of the battle of, 234. 

Barbrrini Vase, formation of the, 8. 

Pass Rock, account of the, 265. 

Bath, abbey church of, 268. 

Battle Abbey, historical notice of, 211. 

Beads, poisonous nature of some, 211. 

Bearer, habits of the, 129. 

Beguine Nuns, the, account of, 315. 

Bible, the, its study recommended, by the example 
of eminent -men, 139. 

Birds, swarms of insects devoured by, 279. 

Bird* of Paradise, description of, 82. 

Black-cap. account of the, 216. 

Black teeth, strange predilection for, 176. 

Blarney stone. 64. 

Blind Alick of Stirling, notice of, 194, 

Boar-hunting, various instances of, 397. 

Book-binding, explanatory account of the pro- 
cess of, 511. 

Books, slow production of, before the invention 
of printing, 417. 

Books, effect of sale on the price of, 19. 

Borneo, an entertainment at, described, 324. 

British Museum, the. number of visitors at, 310. 

, review of the, 337i 

Brussels, hotel de ville of, 89. 

Burns, a remedy for, 14. 

Burrowing Owls, account of, 356. 

Cachimerk Goat, account of the, 361. 

Camel, the Arabian, description of, 116. 

Camphor tree, description of the, 144. 

Canterbury, historical notice of, 460. 

Capelin. description of the, 135. 

Carlisle, the city of. described, 303. 

Cartoons', Death of Ananias, 75,— remarks of 

correspondents on the, 77* 

, Paul preaching at Athens, 17. 

, the sacrifice at Lystra, 124. 

, St. Peter curing the cripple. 173. 

, the miraculous draught of fishes, 219. 

, Elymas struck with blindness, 261. 
Cassowary, the, description of. 376. 
Castaiia. historical account of, 273. 
Ceyloo, account of a rebellion in, 198. 
Chain Pier at Brighton, description of, 454. 
Chamois, account of the, 449. 
Chelsea Hospital, description of, 92. 
Chestnut tree, the gigantic, 135. 
Chess players, a village of, 216. 
Cingalese book, description of a, 216. 
Cinnamon tree, products of the, 402. 
Civilization, advantages of, 80. 
Clock, curious specimen of a, 264. 
Coal, in England, geological situation of, 427,— 

origin of, 450. Sti. ^\ ~w\ 
Cocoa, account of the, 119. 
Coffee, mode of making, 328. 
Coleridge, his •• Vale of Chamouni," 356. 
Cologne, historical notice of. 25. 
Colonseum in London, description of the, 121. 
Columbus and the egg, 272. 
Commerce, protective system of, in the Tyrol, 

Companion to the Almanac for 1833, 89. 
Compositor in a printing-office, various operations 

of a, 466. 
Condor, account of the, 183. 
Consumption, and similar diseases, observation! 

on. 93. 
Corfu, diet of the inhabitants of, 315. 

, method of pressing oil in, 275. 

Corn, its use in England, 370. 
Corunna, relation of the battle o 15. 
Councils of trade, at Lyons, 83. 

Cranmer, Archbishop, biographical notice of, 103. 
Cressy, battle of, 326. 

Cromwell, dissolution of the Long Parliament 
by, 486. 

Damfibr. William, adventures of. 414, 429, 434 

Daniel Defoe, biographical notice of, 151. 

Deaf Traveller narrative of a, 309, 323, 335, 366. 

Dodo, account of the, 209. 
Dogs, utility of, 259 ; St. Bernard. 45. 
Domestic habits, good results of, 82. 
Dover Castle, historical notice of, 57. 
Drunkenness, gradations of, 67. 
Durham Cathedral, historical notice of, 196. 

Edinburgh Castle, historical notice of, 145. 

Education, general, proposed plan for, 120 j Pin- 
tarch's ideas on, 174. 

Egg-oven, account of an Egyptian, 311. 

Egina. notice of, 2S3. 

Egripos, modern town of, described, 169. 

Ehrenbreitsteln Castle, historical notice of, 68. 

Elgin Marbles, notice of the, 4. 

Emigrants in Africa, 22. 28. 

Eminence, its attainment by men of humble 
birth, 227. 

Erysipelas, the pestilent, described, 352. 

Eschlnes, the orator, his style of eloquence, 117. 

Esklmaux dogs, account of, 109. 

Etna, eruption of, in 1832, 302. 

, visit to the summit of, 357, 365. 

Eton College, historical notice of, 441. 

Eubosa, moderate price of land in, 247— advan- 
tageous as a seat of migration to foreign far- 
mers, 247— climate, soil, and productions of, 

Euripus, the channel of, 169. 

Eurotas, the river, account of, 297. 

Exmouth, viscount, biographical no ice of, 123. 

Factory, example of a well conducted, 445. 

Fashion, instances Bhewing the tyranny of, 416. 

Fata Morgana, account of this phenomenon, 351. 

Fire of London, in 1666, account of the. 342. 

Flying, various modes of, in birds and fishes, ll ( 

Forests in Sweden, conflagrations incidental to' 

Fountain of the Elephant at Paris, description 
of, 359. 

France, agricultural decline in, induced by un- 
equal taxation, 258— penury of the nobles, 260. 

Galileo, historical uotice of, 63. 

Gambling, pernicious effects of, 182. 

Geysers, the, description of, 473. 

Germany, infant asylums in, 32. 

Gladiator, the dying, statue of, 9. 

Globe theatre in the sixteenth century, 60. 

Goredale, cataract of, 189. 

Grain worms, mischief done by, 300, 334. 

Greece, emigration to, 239, 247. 

Greenwich, account of the observatory at, 308. 

Gustavus Vasa, events relating to, 59. 

Handel, historical notice of, 72. 

Hawks, ferocity of, 396. 

Hecla. mount, nolice of, 495. 

Hemans, Mrs., her poem, the ' Voice of Spring,' 

Hemp, cultivation of, 319. 
Herring Fishery, in various Reas, 54. 
Hofwyl institution, mode of instruction at, 389. 
Horse, instinct of the, 144. 
Hottentots, condition and character of the, 69. 
Human life compared to a river, 232. 
Hunter, John, a letter by, 2/5. 
Hymn to morning, 176. 

Ickland, soil, produce and population of, 452; 

various particulars concerning, 4.'»3. 
Icelanders, rational amusement of the, 135 ; their 

wonderful progress in knowledge, 442, 443, 

Ichneumon, the, account of, 503. 
Icononto, natural bridges of, 364. 
Jguanodon. the fossil, account of, 27. 
Italian letter-writers. 436. 
Italians, the wanderings of poor, 42, 61. 

Jacquard Loom, historical notice of the, 13. 
Jacquard, Mr., persecuted for a great invention, 

Jane Grey, Lady, execution of, 55. 
Jupiter, statue of, by Phidias, 1 13. 

Kxkilwortr Castlb, description of, 84. 

Knox, Bobert, account of his captivity in Ceylon, 
186, 19<,214. 

Knowledge, moderation in the pursuit of, recom- 
mended, 64 $ use of, 355. 

Kr urn mac her, his " Days of Creation," 6. 

Labour, misapplication or, 438. 

Labourers of Europe : Portugal, 3 j France, 258, 

475, 485. 
Lancastrian system in Greece, 173. 
Language, C ax ton's remarks on the changes of. 

Lapland stockings, 195. 
Legal age, when attained, 44. 
Leopard-hnnting, L 
Liberia, account of the colony in, 267. 
Library for working men, a, 494. 
Lichens, brilliancy of some species of, 279. 
Lichfield Cathedral, description of. 97. 
Lincoln Cathedral, historical notice of, 132. 
Linnaeus, biographical notice of, 191. 
Lions, conflicts with, in Africa, 140. 
London, rapid Improvement of, 278. 
London University, account of the, 372. 
Longevity, remarkable Instances of, 222. 
Loudon, Mr., his work on Architecture, review 

of, 339. 

Maccaroni Eatkrs at Naples, 305. 

Machine-printing, explanatory account of, 509. 

Maclow, Church, St, at Rouen, historical notice 
of. 281. 

Magna Charta, historical account of, 223. 

Maid of Orleans, biographical account of the, 6. 

Manual alphabets, single and double handed, de- 
scribed, 499 

Manuscript books, first produced by the monks, 

Marabouts of Africa, learning of the, 399. 

Marathon, description of the famous plain of, 

Marco Polo, eastern travels of, 298, 317, 331, 349. 

Mary Queen of Scots, execution of, 46. 

Mechanics, schools for, in Bavaria, 139. 

Melrose Abbey, historical notice of, H41. 

Men of business, qualities of, 324. 

Metayer system in France, injurious effects of 
the, 259. 

Migration of fishes and birds, cause of the, 431. 

Military surgeons in the sixteenth century, 176. 

Milton, his sonnet on his blindness, 240. 

Mineral Kingdom :— Great Britain, 10 ; outline 
of geological system, 19; rocks, 5tf, 86. 142, 
154; animals classified, 101 ; organic remains, 
178. 221, 244, 347, 362, 38/, 394 j coal, 4iU, 476, 

Minerals, natural alliance of vegetables with, 176. 

Mineral waters, natural and artificial, 211. 

Mint, description of the, 73. 

Misers, the, picture of, at Windsor Castle, s97. 

Mocking-bird, account of the, 443. 

Moncontour and Ivry, battles of, 147. 

Montfaucon, flaying establishments at, 354. 

Montgomery, his poem on the death of a friend. 

Moon, astronomical appearances of the, 236. 

, her motions described, 262. 

, her influence on the weather, 270. 

, calculations relative to the, 2b6. 

Moore, his poem on '• My Birth-day," 23. 

Mouse, singular account of a, 54. 

Mozart, biographical sketch of, 31. 

Mummy in ttelzoui'a exhibition, address to, 48. 

Mutual instruction, recommeuded by a forcible 
example, 50. 

Mycense, ruins of. the, 159. 

Natural Wondbr, curious account of a, 216. 
Neapolitans, their pride and love of luxury shown 

by the general use of carriages, 329. 
Netley Abbey, historical notice of, 137. 
New Hiver, benefits derived from the, 30. 
Newspapers, application of machine-printing to, 

Newspapers, introduction of, In England, 71 j 

numbers published at different periods, 71 f 

written, 12*1. 
Niobe, story of, 41. 

North Road, the great, description of, 289. 
Norwich city, historical notice of, ,H99. 
Notre Dame, cathedral of, at Paris, 65. 

Observatory, a public one suggested for Lou- 
don, 371. 

Opossum, account of the, 431. 

Oppression, its ruinous effects on the character 
of a people, 240. 

Orangoutang, description of the, 156. 

Organic remains, principal species of, 409. 

Orphans, story relating to, 66. 

Ostrich of South Africa, notice of, 8. 

Palmyra, historical notice of, 462, 481. 
Palermo, population of, 134 — kind of life peculiar 

to the nobles, 134. 
Paper, consumption of, for the ' Penny Magasine,* 

Paper, invention of, 152. 

Digitized by 



Paper-making, by hand, explanatory account of 

Pariah dof . attachment of a, 469. 
Parrots, rations species of, 494. 
Pascal, biographical notice of, 931. 
Passenger-pigeon, account of the, 401. 
Passion, the blindness of, ludicrously shown, 462* 
Pearl fishery of Ceylon, 174. 
Pelican, account of the, 979. 
Penn, William, his first treaty with the Indiana, 


Penny Magazine, Commercial history of a, 377* 
417. 465. 50*. 

Peter Botte mountain, aacent of the, 995. 

Peterborough cathedral, historical notice of, 177* 

Peter the wild boy. notice of, 170. 

Peter's, St., at Rome, historical notice of, 353, 
457. 479. 

Physician, anecdote relating to an eminent, 911. 

Plum-pudding, a foreigner's description of, 173. 

Polar bears, description of. 100. 

Poor, the, domestic Improvidence of. 971. 

Portugal, the common people compared with 
those of Spain, 3— rural dwellings 3— neglected 
agriculture of. 4— population of, 4. 

, opposite methods of educating the, 436. 

Post Office, London, business of the, 6. 

Press-printing, explanatory account of, 506. 

Pringle, Mr., his poem " Afar in the Desert, M 91. 

Printing, happy effects of, 431. 

Pronouns, personal, use of in different countries, 

Pronunciation, as It relates to hard words, re- 
marks on, 45,83. 

Proverbs, 307. 

Public walks, projected extension of, 340. 

Pulque, preparation and use of, 440. 

Quackbrt, ludicrous Instances of. 135. 

Rabbits, maternal solicitude of, 144. 
Railway from Liverpool to Manchester, 161. 
Rainbow, reflections on the, 359. 
Regln, bnsaltic rocks and cascade of, 393. 
Rein-deer, Lapland, account of, 149 
Remembrance, poem on, by Southey, 4W. 
Richard, the lion-hearted, captivity of, 407. 

Richmond castle, Yorkshire, historical notice of, 

Rochester, cathedral of, 388. 

, castle of, 419. 

, city of 367. 

Rocks, singular resemblances of, 60. 
Rome, style of horse-racing in, 425. 

Sabbath, In the wilds of Africa. 51. 

Salisbury cathedral, historical notice of, 933. 

Salt, its scarcity in Africa, 67. 

Salt lake, account of one, in Africa, 2. 

Saxe-Weimar, national education of, 96. 

Sea- weed banks, prodigious growth of, 978. 

Secretary-bird, account of the, 988. 

Selborne, White's natural history of, 36. 

Sennacherib, poem on, 31. 

Serpent charming, by Indian Jugglers, 49, 131. 

Servants, duties of, 396. 

Sheep, heedlessness of, 139. 

She-goats, children suckled by, 900. 

Sicily, description of, 133— vineyarde of, 133. 

Slmorre. the living statue, 134. 

Singing, judgment of an ass as to, 144. 

Small-pox, hUtory of the, 149. 

Smut balls, account of the, 196. 

Smut or dust brand, 180. 

Somers, Lord, biographical notice of, 87. 

Southampton bar-gate, notice of, 185. 

Spring, beauty of, 239. 

Statistical notes, British Imports, 11.1. 

, corn trade. 115. 

Stays, ill effects of tight, on female health and 

beauty, 77. 
Steam-engine, novel exhibition of a, 876. 

engines, power and cost of, 104. 

Stereotype process, explanatory account of, 470. 
Strasburg cathedral, historical notice of, 313. 
St. Stephen's church, at Vienna, historical notice 

of, 345. 
Sweden, bread used by the poor in, 454. 

, summer evening and night in, 948. 

Talipot-trkk of Ceylon, 557. 

Tantallon castle, historical notice of, 3v9. 

TaK«o, historical notice of. 95. 

Temple-bar, notice of, 2 4 23. 

Theory and practice, respective power of, 99. 

Tintern abbey, historical notice of, 970. 
Toad, opinions respecting the, 911. 
Tortoises, food of. 315. 
Toucans, description of the, 103. 
Trading, gambling, and robbing, difference of. 
478. ' 

Trajan 'a Column, historical notice of, 385. 
Tranquillity, advantages of, 160. 
Travelling a century ago, 99. 
Trolhatta. account of the falls of, 975. 
Trout, various species of the, 939. 
Type-founding, explanatory account of, 491. 

United Statbs ov America, review of Mr. 

Stuart's work on the, 38. 
Upas tree, erroneous belief as to the, 391. 
Ursine baboon, account of the. 19. 
Vtility, real, illustrated, 44. 

Vink, the, its cultivation In the Tyrol, 967. 
Vintage, Redding's remarks on the, 41 1. 
Violet, various colours and uses of the. 173. 
Virginia Water, description of, 52. 

Wabtow, Dr. his •* Hamlet,*' 975. 
Water, capacity of different bodies for, 438. 
Waves, velocity and magnitude of, 469. 
Weaving, Cingalese process of, 326. 
Wells cathedral, historical notice of, 433. 
Whale fishery, account of the, 201. 
Wild turkey, the, account of. 390. 
Winchester cathedral, historical notice of. 339. 
Windsor Castle, description and account of, 949. 
Windsor and Eton Public Library, establishment 

of, 37a • • 
Wolf, affection of a, 416. 
Wolf doga, Italian, 900. 
Wolfe, hia poem on the death of General Moore, 

16. • 
Wolvea, destrucliveneaa of, 396. 
Wood-cutting, explanatory account of, 4\?. 
Woolwich, royal arsenal at, 346. 
Wordsworth, his - first mild day of March,* 104. 
, hia " Banks of the Wye," 985. 

Yore, historical notice of, 316. 
York Minster, historical notice of, S3. 
Ypres, historical notice of, 446, 

Digitized by 




Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. % 



[January 5, 1833. 


[Tree Leopard at Bay.] 

The leopard of Southern Africa is known among the 
Cape colonists by the name of tiger ; but is, in fact, the 
real leopard, the felis jubata of naturalists. It differs 
from the panther of Northern Africa in the form of its 
spots, in the more slender structure of its body, and in 
the legs not being so long in proportion to its size. In 
watching for his prey the leopard crouches on the 
ground, with his fore-paws stretched out and his head 
between them, his eyes rather directed upwards. His 
appearance in his wild state is exceedingly beautiful, his 
motions in the highest degree easy and graceful, and 
his agility in bounding among the rocks and woods quite 
amazing. Of this activity no person can have any idea 
by seeing these animals in the cages in which they are 
usually exhibited in Europe, humbled and tamed as they 
are by confinement and the damp cold of our climate. 

The leopard is chiefly found in the mountainous dis- 
tricts of South Africa, where he preys on such of the 
antelopes as he can surprise, on young baboons, and on 
the rock badgers or rabbits. He is very much dreaded 
by the Cape farmers also, for his ravages among the 
flocks, and among the young foals and calves in the 
breeding season. 

The leopard is often seen at night in the villages of 
the negroes on the west coast ; and being considered a 
sacred animal, is never hunted, though children and 

Vol. II. 

women are not unfrequently destroyed by him. In the 
Cape Colony, where no such respect is paid him, he is 
shyer and much more in awe of man. But though in 
South Africa he seldom or never ventures to attack man- 
kind, except when driven to extremity (unless it be 
some poor Hottentot child now and then that he finds 
unguarded), yet in remote places, his low, half-smo- 
thered growl is frequently heard at night, as he prowls 
around the cottage or the kraal, as the writer of this 
notice has a hundred times heard it His purpose on 
such occasions is to break into the sheep-fold, and in 
this purpose he not unfrequently succeeds, in spite of 
the troops of fierce watch-dogs which every farmer keeps 
to protect his flocks. 

The leopard, like the hysna, is often caught in traps 
constructed of large stones and timber, but upon the 
same principle as a common mouse-trap. When thus 
caught, he is usually baited with dogs, in order to train 
them to contend with him, and seldom dies without 
killing one or two of his canine antagonists. When 
hunted in the fields, he instinctively betakes himself 
to a tree, if one should be within reach. In this situa- 
tion it is exceedingly perilous to approach within reach 
of his spring ; but at the same time, from his exposed 
position, he becomes an easy prey to the shot of the 

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[January h* 

The South African leopard, though far inferior to 
the lion or Bengal tiger in strength and intrepidity, and 
though he usually shuns a conflict with man, is never- 
theless an exceedingly active and furious animal, and 
when driven to desperation becomes a truly formidable 
antagonist. The Cape colonists relate mamxinstances 
of frightful and sometimes fatal encounters between 
the hunted leopard and his pursuers. The following is 
a specimen of these adventures. It occurred in 1822, 
when the present writer was in the interior of the colony, 
and is here given as it was related to him by an indivi- 
dual who knew the parties engaged in it. 

Two African farmers, returning from hunting the 
hartebeest (antilope bubalis), roused a leopard in a 
mountain ravine, and immediately gave chase to him. 
The leopard at first endeavoured to escape by clambering 
up a precipice ; but being hotly pressed, and wounded 
by a musket-ball, he turned upon his pursuers with that 
frantic ferocity peculiar to this animal on such emergen- 
cies, and springing on the WW who Jjad fired at him, 
tore him from his horse tp the grpund, bjUng \\itn at the 
same time on the shoulder, anft tearing one pf his cheeks 
severely with his claws. The other h u ?»t e F seeing tlie 
danger of his comrade, pprapg from \\\s horse ana* 
attempted to shoot the jeopard through the head » but, 
whether owing to trepidation, pr the fpar pf wounding 
his friend, or the Quick motions of the animal, he unfor- 
tunately missed. The leopard, abandoning his prostrate 
enemy, darted with redoubled f urv upon pis second an- 
tagonist, and so fierce and sudden was his onset, that 
before the boor could stab him with his hunting-knife, 
the savage beast struck him pp the head with his claws, 
and actually tore the scalp over his eyes. In this fright- 
ful condition the hunter grappled with the Jeopard ; and, 
struggling for life, they rolled together down a steep de- 
clivity. All this passed far more rapidly than it can be 
described in words. Before the man who had been first 
attacked could start to his feet and seize his gun, they 
were rolling one over the other down the bank. In a 
minute or two he had reloaded hjs gun, and rushed for- 
ward to save the life of his friend. But it was too late. 
The leopard had seized the unfortunate man by the 
throat, and mangled him so dreadfully, that death was 
inevitable; and his comrade (himself severely wounded) 
had only the melancholy satisfaction of completing the 
destruction of the savage beast, already exhausted with 
the loss of blood from several deep wounds by the 
desperate knife of the expiring huntsman. 


This lake, which lies in the midst of an extensive plain, 
elevated considerably above the level of the sea, is of an 
oval form, about three miles in circumference, and has 
on one side a sloping margin of green turf; on other 
parts, banks of greater elevation and abruptness are co- 
vered with continuous thickets of arboreous and succulent 
plants. At the time of our visit the whole of the lake 
round the margin, and a considerable portion of its 
entire surface, was covered with a thick rind of salt 
sprinkled over with small snow-white crystals, giving the 
whole basin the aspect of a pond partially frozen and 
powdered over with hoar frost or flakes of snow. This 
wintry appearance of the lake formed a singular contrast 
with the exuberant vegetation which embowered its mar- 
gins, where woods of beautiful evergreens and elegant 
acacias were richly intermingled with flowering shrubs 
and succulent plants of lofty size and strange exotic 
aspect, — such as the portulacaria afra (favourite food 
of the elephant), the tree crassula, the scarlet cotelydon, 
many species of the aloe, some throwing out their clus- 
ters of flowers over the brink of the lake, others elevat- 
ing their superb tiaras of blood-red blossoms to the 
height of twelve or fifteen feet; and, high over all, 

gigantic groves of euphorbia, extending their leafless 
arms above the far-spread forest of shrubbery. The 
effect of the whole, flushed with a rosy tinge by the setting 
sun, was singularly striking and beautiful. 

J did pot attempt to examine tte saline incrustation 
which, according to Mr. Barrow's account, is said to ex- 
tend over the whole bottom of the lake ; but I tasted the 
water, and found ft as salt as brine. Of the various 
theories suggested by naturalists to account for the for- 
mation of this and similar lakes in South Africa, that 
which ascribes their origin to salt springs appears the 
most probable. 

The subject pf the Prometheus Bound of jEschylus is 
one of the noblest conceptions of the Athenian drama, 
expressed ip a language that will always give delight, and 
excitp a sympathy in every congenial breast. Prome- 
theus, hjipself a fipd. the gjver of the gift of fire to mor- 
tals,— the friepd Pf man t Who taught the shivering, starv- 
ing wretch the useful arts of life, — js bound down by the 
command pf Jupiter to the snow-clad rocks of Scythia, as 
a pupjshmept for hi? bepeficent intentions. But though 
copouerc'd, the spirit of the friend of humanity is not 
subdued- Sterp, unyielding, ppfearipg, his noble nature 
braves the cruelty of his tyrant ; W*d, far from bending to 
sue for merpy, he is ready tP endure till, in the full- 
ness pf time* the decrees pf fate shall be accomplished, 
and Jupiter shall yield hi* throne to one mightier than 

Old Oceap, who comes to console him in his misfor- 
tunes, and offers to be the bearer of a petition to Jupiter 
in his favour, is apswered thus : 

Prometheus. — f commend thy gpod intentions, and I 
will never cease to do so ; for in zeal thou art not lack- 
ing. But trouble pot thyself, for all in vain, and all 
bootless to me, will thy labour be, — labour thou ever so 
much. Qe quiet, and keep thyself out of harm's way ; 
for if I am wretched, J do pot therefore wish to have 
others to share my miseries. No : already 1 grieve 
enough for the sorrows of njy brother Atlas, who stands 
in the regions of the west, the pillar of heaven and earth, 
bearing on his shoulders no easy weight. I have seen, 
and pitied too, the earth-born dweller in the caverns of 
Cilicia, the prodigious giant, hundred-head impetuous 
Typhon, by force subdued, who opposed all the Gods, 
spouting forth blood with horrid mouth ; and from his 
eyes he flashed a terrific ligty, as if he would overturn 
the sovereignty of Jupiter. But Jove's sleepless bolt 
descended on him — the down-rushing lightning breathing 
forth flame — and beat him from his high-flown boastings. 
Struck to the innermost seat of life, his strength was re- 
duced to ashes, and his power was destroyed by the 
thunder. And now he lies a withered and outstretched 
carcase, near the narrow straits of the sea, baked beneath 
the roots of iEtna. On the summit Vulcan sits, and 
forms the glowing mass : and hence shall streams of 
fire hereafter burst, eating up with devouring mouth the 
level plains of fertile Sicily *. Such fury 6hall Typhon 
breathe forth in warm showers of unceasing fiery hail, 
though reduced to a cinder by the bolt of Jupiter. But 
thou, Ocean, art not without experience, and wan test 
not me as a teacher. Save thyself as thou best can. But 
as for me I will bear my present sufferings till the mind 
of Jupiter shall relent from its wrath. 

Prometheus addresses the Chorus who are sympa- 
thizing with his misfortunes. 

Prometheus. — Think not that I am silent through 

» JEschylus is here evidently alluding to an eruption pfjEtoa, 
which took place B.C. 476, wme time before he went to Sicily, and if 
mentioned by Thucydides in the last chapter of his third book. 
Though the Prometheus may have been written before the eruption, 
this passage may alto- hare been inserted afterwards. ASfcnyloa 
was bom ». c. M5. 

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pride Or stubbornness, but I am wasting my heart With 
thought, at seeing myself thus shamefully treated. Who 
but myself securely fixed for these new Gods their seve- 
ral privileges ? but I say no more about this, for I should 
tell the tale to you who know it well. But as to the 
once wretched state of man, hear while I relate how I 
gave understanding to him who was ignorant as an 
infant, and made him the possessor of knowledge. And 
1 shall say this, not that I have aught for which to blame 
mankind, but to show the goodwill with which I helped 
them. Seeing they saw not, and hearing they heard not, 
but like the phantoms of a dream they had long jumbled 
all things in utter confusion. They knew not how to 
raise brick-built houses turned to receive the sun, — they 
knew not the art of fashioning wood ; but like ants in the 
sunless recesses of caves, they dwelled deep-burrowing in 
the earth. And they knew not the signs of winter, nor 
of flower-bringing spring, nor of fruit-bearing autumn ; 
but they did every thing without forethought, till 1 
pointed out to them the risings of the stars, and their 
settings, difficult to discern. And I invented for them 
Number, the first of arts, and the putting together 
of letters, and Memory the mother of the Muses, the 
parent of all things. And I first bound animals to 
the yoke obedient to the collar ; and that he might re- 
lieve man from his greatest toils, I brought under the 
chariot the horse obedient to the rein, an ornament of 
luxurious wealth. And none before me invented the 
sea-beaten, flaxen-winged chariot of the sailor. Such 
inventions, wretch as I am, I have devised for mor- 
tals ; and now I have none left by which I may escape 
from the sorrows that I suffer. 


The Portuguese labourers and peasants differ consider- 
ably in their appearance and manners from their neigh- 
bours of Spain, and especially from the Castilians. They 
have neither the pride nor the sternness of the latter. 
Their bearing is less solemn, their language less senten- 
tious, as it is also less sonorous in its sounds. Most 
travellers who have visited both countries, prefer the 
Portuguese peasant : he is more sociable, manageable, 
and good-humoured than the Spanish. " In Portugal," 
says Costigan, " the lower you descend in rank, the 
higher the personal character of the people rises upon 
you. The higher classes are as inferior to the Spanish 
ones, as the common people excel the corresponding class 
in Spain." Mr. Liuk says, u The civility, the easy, gay, 
and friendly manners of the common people prepos- 
sess a stranger in favour of the Portuguese rather than 
the Spaniards, but it is quite the reverse with the higher 
orders." Notwithstanding these favourable testimonies, 
which are grounded upon casual intercourse, we think, 
upon the whole, the national character stands higher in 
Spain, and that even the peasantry of the latter country 
have in them more elements of a great and independent 
people than the Portuguese. The latter, however, are 
certainly very patient under privations, generally honest, 
attached to their country, and courageous. 

The Portuguese peasant in general lives very poorly. 
His bread is made of mil ho or Indian corn flour ; it is 
sweetish to the taste, heavy, and crumbles to pieces on 
breaking it. Bacalhao, which is a sort of salted ling or 
stockfish, sardines, which are fished in great quantities 
off the coast of Portugal, garlic, onions, lupines, a few 
olives, — these form his common food. Wheaten bread is 
an article of luxury ; meat is seldom tasted by the vil- 
lagers. Portugal, with the exception of the province of 
Alemtejo, produces but little wheat and barley, less rye, 
and hardly any oats. The Indian corn is usually sown 
m March and April. When the sprout is about an inch 
high, the earth round it is moved with a hoe in order 
that the root may spread and acquire vigour. Its growth 

is greatly assisted by moderate showers ; but a too rainy 
season is injurious to the harvest When the cane or 
Stalk has attained several inches in height, the ground 
about requires to be thrown up again ; and a thint 
trenching is required when the plant has risen one fo*^: 
aboVe the ground. The leaves of the Indian cogfr 
serve to feed the cattle, as very little hay is made in 

The olive crop, which is another important produce of 
Portugal, is ripe in December or January. The olives 
are beaten off the trees with poles, and not plucked with 
the hand as in the south of France, or at Genoa and 
Lucca; this is one reason why Portuguese oil is in- 
ferior. Some farmers press the olives immediately, 
others shoot them down in heaps, throwing salt on them, 
and suffering them to ferment, by which they obtain 
more oil but of inferior quality. An absurd old privilege 
is mentioned by Mr. Kinsey* as still existing, by which the 
Jidalgos or nobles, and the religious corporations, have 
alone the right of keeping oil-presses, so that the farmers 
or small proprietors must wait until they can borrow the 
use of them after the others have done. In consequence 
of this, they are obliged to keep their crops sometimes 
till May or June, when the fruit has become spoilt. The 
presses are worked by oxen, and the corn in most places 
is also trodden by oxen on a temporary floor made in 
the field. 

The houses in the Portuguese villages have a very 
primitive appearance. They consist in general of the 
ground floor only. The walls are of extreme thickness, 
built of large rough stones, and the beams and frame- 
work of the roof are proportionally massive ; the roof is 
covered with tiles. The outer walls are whitewashed, the 
windows are not gla2ed, and the shutters, which close 
badly, are not painted any more than the doors. The low- 
ness of the houses, and their dingy colour, prevent them 
from being discernible at a distance from among the sur- 
rounding trees and garden walls ; and the traveller often 
stumbles, as it were, upon a Portuguese village before he 
is aware of being near one. The interior of most villages, 
as well as the inside of the houses, presents a scene of squa- 
lid ness and filth unequalled perhaps in any other coun- 
try of Europe, Poland excepted. The contrast on the 
frontiers, between Spain and Portugal, is decidedly to 
the advantage of the former. As you pass from the 
Portuguese province of Beira into the Spanish province 
or " Kingdom" of Leon, which is by no means one of 
the most favoured divisions of Spain, the villages of the 
latter, only a few miles beyond the border, are clean, 
decent, and comfortable, compared to those of their 
neighbours. There is also a glow of healthiness and a 
manly look and bearing in the Spanish villagers, very 
superior to the dejected appearance and mean attire of 
the others. There are, however, districts in Portugal 
which form an exception to these remarks. The fine pro- 
vince of E litre Douro e Minho, with its numerous towns 
and villages, five hundred parishes, and a population of 
nearly a million of inhabitants, although the smallest in 
extent, is the most fertile and best cultivated in the kiug- 
dom, and that in which the inhabitants appear most in- 
dustrious and comfortable. This is the great country 
for wine which is shipped at Oporto. The neighbour- 
hood of Lisbon also presents some fine districts, as well 
as the valley of the Mondego above Coimbra. There 
you meet with better built villages, and some pretty 
quintas or country-houses. But a great part of the 
country is barren, rocky, or uncultivated ; the Jidalgos 
or great landed proprietors reside in the towns, and leave 
the management of their estates to agents or speculators 
who have advanced them money on the rent, and who 
oppress the tenants. The crown lands are in a state of 
neglect; the convent lands are better cultivated. The 
farmers are poor and cannot afford to make improve- 

* Portugal illustrated in a Series of Letters.— London, 1828. 


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[January 5, 

ments. They consult the aimanac for directions in 
their rural labours, and sow the same sort of seed year 
after year on the same field as their fathers did before 
them. The plough and harrow are very heavy, and 
drawn by bullocks. The Portuguese carts are remark- 
able for their clumsiness. The wheels are of a solid 
piece about three feet in diameter, and are fixed to the 
axletree which moves* round with them, producing a 
grating noise peculiarly offensive to the ear. The car- 
man walks by the side of the bullocks, pricking them with 
his goad to urge them on. In this manner the pon- 
derous machine rolls heavily forward, jolting dreadfully on 
the wretched roads which are impassable for any other sort 
of vehicle. The wounded soldiers during the late war, 
who were conveyed away in these carts after an action, 
sorely felt the misery of this mode of conveyance. In the 
wine districts of the Douro it requires a whole day for two 
bullocks to drag a pipe of wine six or seven miles, and 
two men to prevent the cart from being overturned. 
Donkeys and mules, but chiefly the former, constitute the 
other means of conveyance. The donkeys are fine and 
strong, and extremely useful to the country people. The 
gentry travel in liteiras, a sort of sedan chairs carried 
by two horses or mules. 

The Portuguese peasant always goes armed with his 
Cajado, a staff about seven feet long, having a heavy knob 
6r leaden charge at one end, which he uses with great 
dexterity. It is, in truth, a formidable weapon in his hands. 
The capote or cloak is of universal use as in Spain. 

The population of Portugal is stated by Balbi at three 
millions and a half, of which Lisbon and its comarca or 
surrounding territory contain above half a million. 



The statues of Theseus and the Ilissus given in our 
last article on the Elgin Marbles, although much dilapi- 
dated, have suffered less than most of the other figures 
which ornamented the pediments of the Parthenon. The 
subjects of these sculptures were, the Birth of Minerva, 
on the eastern pediment ; and on the western, the Contest 
between Minerva and Neptune for the honour of giving 
birth to the city of Athens. The whole arrangement of 
those groups may be seen in Stuart's celebrated work 
on Athens, The figures which are in the best preserva- 
tion, after the two above-mentioned, are those of the two 
goddesses (No. 94), probably Ceres and her daughter 
Proserpine, and a group (No. 97) of the three Fates. 
Tins last is placed immediately opposite the door of the 
new apartment in the Museum which is appropriated to 
those works ; and the length of the passage which leads 
to it affords an opportunity of viewing this group at a 
distance, sufficient to perceive and appreciate its entire 
effect. When seen near at hand, there appears, in these 
figures particularly, to be something small and wiry in 
the execution of the draperies, differing essentially from 
the general breadth and largeness of style which cha- 
racterizes the Elgin Marbles. But the sculptor's inten- 
tion becomes apparent when the group is seen in its 
present situation ; the figures form into the finest masses, 
and the sharp and multiplied lines give an air of light- 
ness and delicacy proper to female drapery. 

Our attention is next engaged by the Metopes, a series 
of figures in very high relief, which, alternately with the 
triglyphs, ornamented the frieze of the entablature sur- 
mounting the colonnade of the Parthenon ; the subjects are 
the same throughout : the contests of the Centaurs and 
Lapithoe, of rather between the Centaurs and Athenians, 
who, under Theseus, became the allies of the Lapithae. 
These groups exhibit great spirit and variety of action ; 
their fine contours, however, are never disfigured by vio- 
lent and extravagant contortions. Victory seems doubtful : 
here an Athenian, and there a Centaur seems to triumph ; 

and the compositions are occasionally varied by the intro- 
duction of female figures Whom the Centaurs are endea- 
vouring to bear away. These alto-relievos are executed 
with great boldness and vigour. We have selected two 
from the series, which are numbered from 1 to 16. 

There is no portion of the Elgin Marbles by which 
our attention is more strongly arrested, or which more 
strikingly evinces the high excellence which art had at- 
tained at the epoch in which they were executed, than 
the sculptures which compose the exterior frieze of the 
Cella of the Parthenon. This series was continued in an 
uninterrupted succession entirely round the temple. 1% 
is in very low relief, and represents the sacred proces- 
sion which took place at the great Panathenaa, a fes- 
tival which was celebrated every fifth year, at Athens, in 
honour of Minerva, the patroness of the city. Those 
sculptures which occupied the principal front of the 
temple, namely, the east, commence on the leu hand of 
the visitor as he enters the room of the Museum, then 
follow those of the north, and lastly, those of the west 
and south. The arrangement has been made, as nearly 
as could be ascertained, according to the original order 
in which they stood in the Parthenon. 

In that portion of the frieze which ornamented the 
east end of the temple are representations of divinities 
and deified heroes : Castor and Pollux, Ceres and Trip- 
tolemus, Jupiter and Juno, and iEsculapius and Hygeia, 
On the right and left of these sacred characters are trains 
of females bearing offerings to the gods. At intervals, 
officers appear whose duty it was to superintend and 
regulate the solemnity, (No. 23). These females led 
the procession, both on the north and south side of the 
temple, and were followed by the charioteers, horsemen, 
victims, &c, which formed a procession up to the same 
point in two separate columns. 

The subjects comprised in the frieze taken from the 
north side of the temple are chiefly composed of cha- 
rioteers and horsemen. Some among these are consi- 
dered pre-eminently excellent. The two groups (Nos. 
39 and 42), given in the wood-cut, will afford a general 
idea of the style and arrangement of these figures. 
Those from the western frieze appear to be rather pre- 
paring for the procession than engaged in it; and the 
subjects on the southern side are diversified by the intro- 
duction of victims, chiefly oxen, which are led on for 
the purpose of sacrifice. 

These fine performances have suffered so much from 
time and violence, that the visitor may not perhaps at 
a first view be struck with their extraordinary excel- 
lence; but we are certain that no one possessing a 
tolerable natural taste will repeat his inspection of thern 
frequently, without becoming sensible of their beauties. 
For the due appreciation of those works, no technical 
acquaintance with art is necessary : they are executed in 
that style of consummate mastery which discards the 
parade of recondite knowledge, and addresses itself to the 
spectator in the broad and general language of nature. 
It is not only in the human figure that the profound skill 
of these works is evinced. When we look at the horses 
in the frieze, we are almost tempted to think that beau- 
tiful animal has never elsewhere been adequately repre- 
sented, either in sculpture or in the more tractable ma- 
terial of painting. Even the horses of Rubens, admi- 
rable as they are, are individual ; but those of the Elgin 
Marbles exhibit throughout the generic character of the 
animal : and it is impossible to look on the succession 
of groups here represented, in every variety of action, 
without feeling animated and exhilarated as if the pro- 
cession were really passing before us. The most casual 
observer must be struck with the grace and elegance of 
the riders, who seem formed indeed " to witch the world 
with noble horsemanship. 1 ' The fire and vivacity of those 
figures are finely contrasted with the devout and reveren- 
tial air of the females who lead the procession. 

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(83) [But tide of th» Frieze 1 


[North side of the Frieze.] 


Digitized by 




[Januikt IS 



All dead and silent was the earth, 

In deepest night it lay, 
The Eternal spoke Creation's word, 
And called to being, Day. 

Char. It streamed from on high, 
All reddening and bright, 
And angels' songs welcomM 
The new-born light. 

God spake : the murmuring waters fled. 

They left their deep repose, 
Wide over-arching heaven's blue vault 
The firmament arose. 

Chor. Now sparkles above 

Heaven's glorious blue, 
It sends to the earth 
The light and the dew. 

God spake : he bode the waves divide; 

The earth uprears her head ; 
From hill, from rock, the gushing stream* 
In bubbling torrents spread. 
Chor. The earth rested quiet, 
And, poised in the air, 
In heaven's blue bosom 
Lay naked and bare. 
God spake: the hills and plains put on 

Their robe of freshest green ; 
Dark forests in the valleys wave, 
And budding trees are seen. 
Chor. The word of his breath 

Clothes the forest with leaves, 
The high gift of beauty 
The spring-tide receives. 
God spake : and on the new-dres9*d earth 

Soft smiled the glowing Sun, 
Then full of joy he sprung aloft, 
His heavenly course to run. 
Chor. Loud shouted the stars 
As they shone in the sky, 
The Moon with mild aspect 
Ascended on high. 
God spake : the waters teem with life* 

The tenants of the floods ; 
The many-colour'd winged birds 
Dart quickly thro' the woods. 
Chor. High rushes the eagle 
On fiery wings, 
Low hid in the valley 
The nightingale sings. 
God spake : the lion, steer, and horse 

Spnng from the moisten'd clay, 
While round the breast of mother earthy 
Bees hum, and lambkins play. 
* Chor. They give life to the mountain. 
They swarm on the plain, 
But their eyes fix'd on earth 
Must for ever remain. 
God spake : he look'd on earth and heaven 

With mild and gracious eye : 
In his own image man he made, 
And gave him dignity. 

Chor. He springs from the dust, 
The Lord of the earth, 
The chorus of heaven 
Exult at his birth. 
And now Creation's work was ended, 

Man raised his head, he spoke : 
The day of rest by God ordained, 
The Sabbath morning broke. 

TnB ordinary business of each day is, in letters in the 
bland office alone, 35,000 letters received, and 40,000 
sent (23,4-75,000 annually), exclusive of the numbers 
in the foreign office department and the ship-letter office, 
and altogether independent of the two-penny post. The 
number of newspapers daily varies from 25,000 to 60,000 
(on Saturday 40,000, and on Monday 50,000), of which 
number about 20,000 are put into the office ten minutes 
before six o'clock. After that hour each newspaper is 
charged one halfpenny, Which yields a revenue of fully 
£500 a year, and of which 240,000 newspapers are 
annually put into the office from six to a quarter before 

eight o'clock. The revenue derived from charges for 
early delivery in London is £4,000, and the sum ob- 
tained by the charge of one penny on each letter given 
to the postmen, who go round with bells to collect the 
letters, is £3,000 a year, giving 720,000, or nearly 
2,000 daily. The revenue of London is £6,000 a week, 
above £300,000 a year ; and yet of all this vast annual 
revenue there has only been lost by defaulters £200 
in twenty-five years. The franks amount in a morning 
to 4,000 or 5,000, or more. Newspapers can only be 
franked for foreign parts to tlie first port at which the 
mail arrives ; after this they are charged postage accord- 
ing to their weight, in consequence of which an English 
daily paper costs in St. Petersburgh £40 sterling per 


The 6th of January is said to be the birth-day of 
Jeanne d'ARC, commonly called the Maid of Orleans. 
This extraordinary person, whose exploits form one of 
the most brilliant adventures in modern history, was the 
daughter of Jacques d'Arc, a peasant residing in the 
village of Domremy, then situated on the western border 
of the territory of Lorraine, but now comprehended 
within the department of the Meuse, in the north-eastern 
corner of France. Here she was born, according to one 
account in 1402, according to another in 1412, while 
other authorities give 1410 as the year. She was one of 
a family of three sons and two daughters, all of whom 
were bred to the humble or menial occupations suitable 
to the condition of their parents. Joan, whose education 
did not enable her even to write her own name, adopted 
at first the business of a seamstress and spinster ; but 
after some time she left her father's house and hired her- 
self as servant at an inn in the neighbouring town of 
Neufchateau. Here she remained for five years. From 
her childhood she had been a girl of a remarkably ardent 
and imaginative cast of mind. Possessed of great beauty, 
and formed, both by her personal attractions and by the 
gentleness of her disposition and manners, to be the 
delight of all with whom she associated, she yet took but 
little interest either in the amusements of those of her 
own age, or in any of the ordinary occurrences of life. 
Her first, and for many years the all-absorbing passion 
was religion. Before she left her native village most of 
her leisure hours were spent in the recesses of a forest 
in the neighbourhood. Here she conversed not only 
with her own spirit, but in imagination also with the 
saints and the angels, till the dreams of her excited 
fancy assumed the distinctness of reality. She believed 
that she heard with her ears voices from heaven ; the 
archangel Michael, the angel Gabriel, Saint Catherine 
and Saint Margaret — all seemed at different times to 
address her audibly. In all this there is nothing inex- 
plicable, or even uncommon. The state of mind described 
has been in every age a frequent result of devotional 

After some time another strong sentiment came to 
share her affections with religion — that of patriotism. 
The state of France, with which Lorraine, though not 
incorporated, was intimately connected, was at this period 
deplorable in the extreme. A foreign power, England, 
claimed the sovereignty of the kingdom, was in actual 
possession of the greater part of it, and had garrisons' 
established in nearly all the considerable towns. The 
Duke of Bedford, one of the uncles of Henry VI. the 
King of England, resided in Paris, and there governed 
the country as regent in the name of his young nephew 
The Duke of Burgundy, the most powerful vassal of the 
crown, had become the ally and supporter of this foreign 
domination. Charles VII., the legitimate heir of the 
throne, and decidedly the object of the national attach- 
ment, was a fugitive, confined to a narrow corner of the 
kingdom, and losing every day some portion of his re* 
maiuing resources. These events made a great impred* 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 



•ion upon Jeanne. The village of Pomremy, It appears, 
was almost universally attached to the cause of Charles. 
In her eyes especially it was the cause of Heaven as well 
as of France. While she lived at Neufchateau she en- 
joyed better opportunities of learning the progress of 
public affairs. Martial feelings here began to mix them- 
selves with her religious enthusiasm — a union common 
and natural in those times, however incongruous it may 
appear in ours. Her sex, which excluded her from the 
profession of arms, seemed to her almost a degrading 
yoke, which it became her to disregard and to throw off. 
She applied herself accordingly to manly exercises, which 
at once invigorated her frame, and added a glow of 
finer animation to her beauty. In particular she acquired 
the art of managing her horse with the boldness and skill 
of the most accomplished cavalier. 

It was on the 24th of February, 1429, that Jeanne 
first presented herself before King Charles at Chinon, a 
town lying a considerable distance below Orleans on fne 
south side of the Loire. She was dressed in male attire, 
and armed from head to foot ; and in this disguise she 
had travelled in company with a few individuals whom 
she had persuaded to attend her one hundred and fifty 
leagues through a country in possession of the enemy. 
She told his Majesty that she came, commissioned by 
Heaven, to restore him to the throne of his ancestors. 
There can be little doubt that Charles himself, or some 
of his advisers, in the desperate state to which his affairs 
were reduced, conceived the plan of turning the preten- 
sions of the enthusiast, wild as they might be deemed, to 
some account Such a scheme was not nearly so unlikely 
to suggest itself, or so unpromising, in that age, as it 
would be in ours ; — as the result which followed in the 
present instance abundantly proves. At this time the 
town of Orleans, the principal place of strength which 
still held out for Charles, and which formed the key to 
the only portion of the kingdom where his sway was 
acknowledged, was pressed by the besieging forces of the 
English, and reduced to the most hopeless extremity. 
Some weeks were spent in various proceedings intended 
to throw a rotund the enterprise of the Maid such show of 
divine protection as might give the requisite effect to her 
appearance. At last, on the 29th of April, mounted on 
her white steed, and with her standard carried before 
her, she dashed forward at the head of a convoy with pro- 
visions, and in spke of all the opposition of the enemy 
forced her way into the beleaguered city. This was the 
beginning of a rapid succession of exploits which assumed 
the character of miracles. In a few sallies she drove the 
besiegers from every post. Nothing could stand before 
her gallantry, and the enthusiasm of those who in fol- 
lowing her standard believed that the invincible might of 
Heaven itself was leading them on. On the 8th of May 
the enemy, who had encompassed the place since the 
12th of the preceding October, raised the siege, and 
retired in terror and disorder. From this date the 
English domination in France withered like an uprooted 
tree. In a few days after followed the battle of Patay, 
when a great victory was won by the French forces under 
the command of the Maid over the enemy, conducted by 
the brave and able Talbot Two thousand five hundred 
of the English were left dead on the field ; and twelve 
hundred were taken prisoners, among whom was the 
General himself. Town after town now opened its gates 
to the victors, the English garrison retiring in general 
without a blow. On the 16th of July Rheims sur- 
rendered ; and the following day Charles was solemnly 
consecrated and crowned in the cathedral there. Having 
now, as she said, fulfilled her mission, the Maid of 
Orleans petitioned her royal master to suffer her to return 
to the quiet and obscurity of her native village and her 
former condition. Charles's entreaties and commands 
unfortunately prevailed upon her to forego this resolution. 
Honours were now lavishly bestowed upon her. A 
medal was ttruck in celebration of her achievements, 

and letters of nobility- were granted to herself and to 
every member of her family. Many gallant and suc- 
cessful exploits illustrate her subsequent history ; but 
these we cannot stop to enumerate. Her end was 
lamentable — indelibly disgraceful to England, and hardly 
less so to France. On the 24th of May, 1430, while 
heroically fighting against the army of the Duke or 
Burgundy under the walls of Compeigne, she was shame- 
fully shut out from the city which she was defending, 
through the contrivance of the governor; and being 
left almost alone, was, after performing prodigies of 
valour, compelled to surrender to the enemy. John of 
Luxembourg, into whose hands she fell, some time after 
sold her for a sum of ten thousand livres to the Duke of 
Bedford. She was then brought to Rouen, and tried on 
an accusation of sorcery. The contrivances which were 
resorted to in order to procure evidence of her guilt 
exhibit a course of proceedings as cruel and infamous as 
any recorded in the annals of judicial iniquity ; and on 
the 30th of May, 1431, she was sentenced to be burned 
at the stake. During all this time no attempt had been 
made by the ungrateful and worthless prince, whom she 
had restored to a throne, to effect her liberation. In the 
midst of her calamities the feminine softness of her 
nature resumed its sway, and she pleaded hard that she 
might be allowed to live. But her protestations and 
entreaties were alike in vain ; on the following day the 
horrid sentence was carried into execution in the market- 
place of Rouen. The poor unhappy victim died cou- 
rageously and nobly as she had lived ; and the name of 
her Redeemer was the last sound her lips were heard to 
Utter from amidst the flames. 

Thus was perpetrated by the rancour of national ani- 
mosity another deed as dishonourable to the fair fame of 
England as the murder of Wallace in the preceding 
century. How sadly does this act of croelty, vengeance, 
and foul injustice tarnish the glory of Cressy, Poitiers, 
and Agincourt ! But the contest in which these great 
victories were won was from the beginning a work of 
injustice and folly. As waged between the Kings of 
England and France, jt was, to say the least, com- 
menced and carried on by the former on grounds of very 
dubious right. Edward III. even acquiesced for several 
years without a murmur, in the succession of Philip of 
Valois to the French throne, before he took up arms to 
endeavour to displace him. But surely such a contro- 
versy did not concern merely these two sovereigns as 
individuals. If there was a doubt as to which was best 
entitled by descent to the vacant crown, the unquestion- 
able preference of the nation for Philip ought to have 
been considered at once decisive as to their conflicting 
pretensions. Regarded in another point of view, these 
attempts of England to conquer France were still more 
objectionable and absurd. If they had succeeded, no 
greater calamity could have befallen this island, which 
in that case would have been reduced to a mere province 
of the larger country. But although this catastrophe 
was fortunately prevented, and, to all appearance, by the 
instrumentality of the Maid of Orleans, other results of the 
most disastrous description followed to both nations. The 
waste of resources occasioned by these wars, the quan- 
tity of blood that was shed on both sides* the misery and 
demoralization that were spread over the fairest portion 
of Europe, are such as cannot be thought of without 
horror. Above all, however, and forming perhaps their 
most serious consequence, because an evil of the longest 
duration, was the bitter national hatred which they en- 
gendered between the inhabitants of two countries 
placed in the most favourable relation for friendly inter- 
course, and formed by nature to strive together in the 
race of civilization, instead of thus to waste their ener- 
gies for each other's annoyance and destruction. The 
feelings of rancorous hostility left by these old wars have 
undoubtedly had a powerful influence down even to our 
own day in arraying France and England against each 

Digitized by 




[January ^ 16«*. 

other in the opposite ranks of almost every contest that 
has since raged in Europe. Let us hope that a wiser 
and more Christian spirit has now taken the place of 
these anti-social and almost savage prejudices ; and that 

their future history will exhibit' them, not as heretofore}, 
opposed foot to foot and breast to breast in the clash of 
swords, but moving forward together, and leading, as it 
were, hand in hand, the march of human improvement. 

[Statue of the Maid of Orleans at Rouen.] 

Barberinx Vase. — We are informed that the Barberini 
Vase, according to the opinion of Dr. Wollaston, was formed 
by making an artificial opal, which was then blown out as is 
now done with glass vessels ; after which part of the outer 
layer was cut away, leaving the figures in relief. 

Ostrich of South Africa, — A correspondent states, that to 
the general truth of the account of the ostrich of South 
Africa, given in the ' Penny Magazine* of December 8, he 
can bear testimony, having been some years in the interior 
of the Cape, principally engaged in collecting ostrich feathers. 
He adds, however, that it is there stated that the fine feathers 
so much prized, are from the tail of the bird, which is not 
the fact, although that opinion is very general. The prin- 
cipal white feathers are from the wings; which, in a bird in 
full plumage, contain forty. The tail feathers seldom exceed 
nine inches in length, and are of so little value that thev are 
seldom exported from the Cape, as the birds, when killed, 
are generally found with the tails worn to the stumps, from 
working in the sand, especially during the season of incu- 
bation, That this is {he case, persons may satisfy them* 

selves by examining any of the living specimens in the 
Zoological Gardens, or the preserved specimen in the British 

V The QJBca o( the Society for the Ditu.ion of Useful Knowledge is at 

59, Lincoln's- Inn Fields. 

^— ■— — — "^ 


Shopkeepers and Hawkers may be supplied tFholesale by the following 

Booksellers, of whom, alto, amy of the previous Numbers may be had:— 
Tendon, Groom bhi doe Paayer Alley. 
Bath, Simms. 
Birmingham, Drake* 
Bristol, Wkbtley and Co. 
Carlisle, Thurnam; and Scott. 
Derby, Wilkiks and Sow. 
Devouport, Btebs. 
Doncaster, Brooks and Co. 
Exeter. Balt.e. 
Falmouth, Phil*. 
Hull, Stephenson. 
Kendal, Hudson and Nicholson. 
Leeds, Bainss and Newsome. 
Lincoln, Brooke and Sows. 
Liverpool t Willmes and Smite. 

Manchester, Kouiunou; and Webb aaJ 

Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Chabnlet. 
Norwich, Jabrold and Son. 
Nottingham, Wriout. 
Oxford, Slatter. 
Plymouth, Nettleton. 
Portsea, Horsey, Jur. 
Sheffield. Ridojc. 

Staffordshire, J*ne End, C. Watts. 
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Printed by William, Clowes, Stamford Street, 

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Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



[January 12, 1833. 


This celebrated statue, which is now at Rome, has 
given rise to much discussion, and it is at least doubtful 
whether it bears its right name. It is. thus described by 
Winkelmann (vol. iL p. 241, French ed.): — «• It repre- 
sents a man of toil, who has lived a laborious life, as we 
may see from the countenance, from one of the hands, 
winch b genuine, and from the soles of the feet. He 
has a cord round his neck, which is knotted under the 
chin; he is lying on an oval buckler, on which we see 
a kind of broken horn* " The rest of Winkelmann "s 
remarks are little to the purpose. • . 

Pliny, in along chapter of his thirty fourth book, 
wherein he enumerates the most famous statuaries who 
worked in metal, mentions one called Ctesilaus, who 
appears to have lived near, or shortly after, the time of 
Phidias. " He made," says Pliny, *' a wounded man 
expiring (or fainting), and he succeeded in expressing 
exactly how much vitality still remained." It is possi- 
ble that this bronze or metal figure may be the original 
of the marble figure now in Rome, to which we give 
the name of the Dying Gladiator. As far as we can 
judge from the attitude, the armour, the general cha- 
racter of the figure, and the deep expression of pain 
and intense agony, the whole composition may very 
possibly be intended to represent the death of one of 
those wretched beings, who were compelled to slaughter 
each other for the amusement of the Roman capital. 
The broken horn is, however, considered by some critics 
as an objection to this statue being a representation of a 
gladiator; the signal. for the combat, they say, might 
be given with a horn, but what had the fighter to do 
with one? This seems to us a small objection. The 
presence of the horn does not necessarily imply that it 
belonged to the gladiator; it is a symbol, a kind of 

•This horn, which was broken, has been restored, and that near 
tat right hand is entiitly modem. 
Vol. IX 

short-hand, which brings to recollection the crowded 
amphitheatre, the eager populace, the devoted victims, 
the signal for attack ; and the sad contrast to all tin's is 
exhibited in the figure of the dying man. As to any 
difficulty that may be raised about the kind of armour, 
or the cord round the neck, this may be removed by 
considering that the Romans had gladiators from all 
countries, and that these men often fought with their 
native weapons, and after the fashion of their own 
country. The savage directors of these spectacles knew 
full well the feelings of animosity with which uncivilized 
nations are apt to regard one another, and they found 
no way so ready for exhibiting to the populace all the 
bloody circumstances of a real battle, as to match 
together people of different nations. 

Whether this figure be that of a dying gladiajor or 
not, it is pretty certain it will long retain the name, at 
least in the popular opinion in this country, as it has 
furnished the subject for some of the noblest lines that 
one of the first of modern poets ever penned : — 

" I see before me the gladiator lie 
He leans upon his hand—his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low— 
And through his aide the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
Like the first of a thunder-snower ; and now 
The arena swims around him— he is «me, 
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won, 

« He heard it, but he heeded not— his eyes 
Were with his heart, and that was fax away ; 
He reck*d not of the life he lost, nor prise, 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
Thtrt were his young barbarians all at play, 
Titer* was their Dacian mother— he, their sire, 
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday— 
AH this rosh'd with nil blood.— Shall he aspire, 
And unavenged P— Arise, yeGvths, and glut your ire! 11 

Digitized by UR30gle 



k J*IfWbIt¥ 13. 

Had the poet always felt arid Written ki the same 
strain, he might have claimed the higher rank of one of 
the first of moralists. What must we think of the state 
of degradation in which the Roman people were sunk, 
when the sight of human blood was necessary to gratify 
their passion for novelty, and to preserve to their rulers 
a temporary popularity? Cruelty, ferocity, cowardice, 
and laziness were the vices necessarily cherished by such 
odious sights ; and it is a fact that ought never to be 
lost sight of by those who wish to improve the character 
of society, that to be taught to look with indifference on 
the sufferings of any living object, is the first lesson ''a 

With the extension of the Roman empire by conquest, 
and the increase of private wealth obtained from the 
plunder of provinces, and by every species of extortion 
that could be devised, the practice of giving public exhi- 
bitions on a splendid scale became one of the duties of 
a great man, who wished to attain or secure popularity. 
But under the Emperors the games of the amphitheatre 
were carried to a pitch of extravagant expenditure, that 
far surpassed any thing that had been witnessed in the f 
latter days of the Republic. From every part of the then 
known world, from the forests of Germany, the moun- 
tains and deserts of Africa and Asia, was brought, at 
enormous expense, every animal thai could minister to 
the sports of the arena ; and the Roman populace beheld, 
without knowing how to appreciate, the wondrous came- 
lopard and the two-horned rhinoceros, which half a cen- 
tury ago European naturalists ware scarcely able to 
describe with precision. 

The enormous buildings erected to gratify the popular 
taste, were all surpassed by the huge Colosseum of Ves- 
pasian, which has been already described in this Maga- 
zine. It was opened by his son Titus, who exhibited at 
once five thousand wild animals. But the following 
extract from Tacitus will show that one of Vespasian's 
predecessors had ventured to try an exhibition, different 
indeed from any thing that the Colosseum could present, 
but not inferior in extravagance and cruelty. About 
fifty miles due east of Rome, in a wide valley enclosed 
by lofty mountains, lies the broad expanse of the Lake 
Celano (formerly called Fucinus) ; its greatest length is 
about fifteen miles, and its breadth from four to six and 
eight miles. The Emperor at immense cost had made a 
tunnel through a mountain, which bordered on the west 
bank of the lake, and to celebrate the opening of the 
tunnel with due splendour, he exhibited a naval battle on 
the waters. " About this time, after the mountain which 
separated the Purine* lake from the river Liris had been 
cut through, a sea-fight was got up on the lake itself for 
the purpose of attracting a crowd to witness the magnifi- 
cent work just completed. The Emperor Augustus once 
made an exhibition of this kind near the banks of the 
Tiber, by constructing an artificial pond ; but his ships 
were of inferior size, and but few in number. Claudius 
equipped a hundred triremes and quadriremes, and 
19,000 men ; he also placed floats or rafts in such a 
position as to enclose a large part of the lake, so that the 
combatants might not have any chance of escape. He 
allowed space enough, however, for the full working of 
the oars, the skill of the helmsman, the driving of the 
ships against one another, and other manoeuvres usual 
in a sea-fight. On the raits were stationed companies 
and bands of the praetorian cohorts* with breastworks 
before them, from which thiy could manage the engines 
for discharging missiles. The rest of the lake was occu- 
pied by the adverse fleets, whose ships were all provided 
with decks. The shores' of the lake, the hille around it, 
and the tops of the mountains, were like a vast amphi- 
theatre, crowded with a countless multitude from the 
nearest towns, and some from the capital itself, who were 
attracted by tie novelty of the sight, or came out of cora- 
* ladtus, Annals, *Lto. 

pftnent (o the Eotf*ro& Till Emftoof hfeaett in a 
magnificent cloak, and his wife Agrippina. at a short 
distance from him, dressed in a robe embroidered with 
gold, presided at the spectacle. The combatants, though 
criminals condemned to death, fought with all the courage 
of brave men ; after many had been wounded, they were 
excused from completing the work of destruction on one 
another. At the close of the games, the passage for 
the waters was opened ; but the incompleteness of the 
work was soon evident, for the canal, so far from being 
deep enough to drain the lake to the bottom* did not 
carry off the waters to half their depth." 

The traces of this subterranean canal or tunnel are 
still visible at one extremity. 

The** is perhaps no portion of the earth's surface, of 
the same extent, which contains so great a variety of 
those mineral substances winch minister to the necessities 
and comforts of life, as the island of Great Britain ; and 
it would almost seem, from its internal structure, as if 
Providence had pre-ordained that it should be the seat of 
an opulent and powerful people, and one of its chief 
instruments for the civilization and advancement of the 
human race. That this is no extravagant overstrained 
expression of national vanity, may, we think, be very 
easily made apparent, by a few reflections on the vast 
advantages which the British Empire itself, and, through 
it, the civilized world have derived, from the circumstance 
of our possessing an abundance of one particular mineral 
under the surface of our soil. The almost inexhaustible 
femes of coal, which are found in so many different 
parts of our island, have uuqnestionably been one of the 
chief sourees of our wealth, and of our influence among 
the other nations of Europe, All our great manufac- 
turing towns, — Birmingham, Leeds, Sheffield, Man- 
chester, Glasgow, Paisley, are not only situated in the 
immediate vicinity of coal, but never would have existed 
without it. If we had had no coal we should have lost 
the greater part of the wealth we derive from our me- 
tallic ores, for they could neither have been drawn from 
the depths where they lie concealed, nor, if found near 
the surface, could they have been profitably refined 
Without coal the steam-engiae would probably have 
remained among the apparatus of the natural phi- 
losopher: not only did the fuel supply the means of 
working the machine, but the demand for artificial power, 
in order to raise that same fuel from the bowels of the 
earth, more immediately led to the practical application 
of the great discovery made by Watt, while repairing 
the philosophical instrument of Dr. Black. Before the 
invention of the steam-engine, the power required to 
move machinery was confined to the impelling force of 
running water, of wind, of animal and human strength) — 
all too weak, unsteady, irregular, and costly to admit of 
the possibility of their extensive application. But the 
steam-engine gave a giant power to the human race, 
capable of being applied to every purpose, and in every 
situation where fuel can be found. Thus manufactures 
arose, and from the cheapness with which labour could 
be commanded, and the prodigious increase of work done 
in the same space of time, their produce was so reduced 
in price, as to bring luxuries and comforts within the 
reach of thousands who never tasted them before. New 
tastes thus excited and increasing consumption multiplied 
manufacturing establishments, and their demands led to 
great manufactures of machinery; competition led to 
improvement in the steam-engine itself, and thus, by the 
reciprocal action of Improvement cad demand, our ma- 
chinery and manufactures gradually acquired that higb 
degree of perfection to which they are now *******' 
With the improvement of the steauvengme, cauic the 
wonderful application of it to tokvtgntion, which *** 
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already, in a few yean, produced such extraordinary 
results ; and which, when combined with its farther ap- 
plication to wheel carriages, must at no great distance of 
time occasion a revolution in the whole state of society. 
At this moment a steam-vessel is exploring lands in the 
interior of Africa, never before visited by civilized man ; 
the harbinger, we may confidently hope, of future civili- 
zation, prosperity, and happiness to that vast portion of 
the earth's surface. Are we not then fully justified in 
saying that these great results, involving the future 
destinies of the human race, H*ay be traced to the dis- 
covery of the beds of coal placed by nature in our little 

Next to coal eur iron is the roost important of our 
mincraJ treasures ; and k is a remarkable circumstance, 
that the ore of that metal, which is so essential to the 
wants of man that civilization has never been known to 
exist without it, should in Great Britain be placed in 
greatest abundance, not only in the vicinity of, but ac- 
tually associated with the coal necessary to separate the 
metal from the impurities of the ore, so as to render it fit 
for our use. In Sweden, and most other countries 
where iron mines exist, the ore is refined by means of 
wood ; but no space on the surface of our island eould 
have been spared to grow timber for such a purpose ; 
and thus, without coal, in place of being, as we are now, 
great exporters of wrought and un wrought iron to distant 
nations, we must have depended on other countries for 
this metal ; to the vast detriment of many of our manu- 
factures, which mainly owe their improvement an4 
extension to the abundance and consequent cheapness 
of iron. 

There are extensive mines of leap in Derbyshire, 
Yorkshire, Northumberland, Lanarkshire, Dumfriesshire, 
and several other places in Great Britain, sufficient not 
only for the internal demand for that metal, but yielding 
a considerable amount for exportation. Copper is pro- 
duced in large quantities in Cornwall, and the same 
county has been celebrated for its tin mines for nearly 
two thousand years. 

Coal, iron, lead, copper, and tin, are the principal mi- 
nerals of our country, which, in common language, are 
usually associated with the idea of the produce of mines. 
Silver and gold we have none, with the exception of a 
little of the former contained in some of the ores o/ lead, 
and which is separated by refining, when in sufficient 
qnantity to yield a profit beyond the expense of the 
process ; but we have some other metals, highly useful 
in the arts, such as zinc, antimony, and manganese. 

Besides the substances above mentioned, we have 
many other mineral treasures of great importance still 
to be noticed. Of these the most valuable perhaps is 
limestone, from its use in agriculture, to ameliorate and 
increase the fertility of the soil, and from its being an 
indispensable ingredient in mortar for building; and 
there are not many parts of the island far distant from 
a supply of this material. Building stone is found in 
most parts of the country; and although we must go to 
Italy for the material for the art of sculpture to be em- 
ployed upon, we have freestones applicable to all the 
purposes of ornamental architecture, and we have many 
marbles of great beauty. If stones be far -off, day is 
never wanting to supply a substitute; and the most 
distant nations have their daily food served up in vessels, 
the materials of which, dug from our clay-pits, have 
given occupation to thousands of our industrious popu- 
lation in our potteries and china manufactures. For 
our supply of salt, that essential part of the daily sus- 
tenance of almost every human being, we are not 
dependent on the brine which encircles our island, for 
we have in the mines and salt-springs of Cheshire and 
Worcestershire almost inexhaustible stores of the purest 
quality, unmixed with those earthy and other ingre- 
dients which must be separated by an expensive process, 

before a culinary salt can be obtained from the water 
of the sea. 

Familiar as axe almost every one of the mineral sub- 
stances we have named, in the common business of life, 
there are many persons who have but a very imperfect 
idea from whence they are derived, and what previous 
processes they undergo before they can be made appli- 
cable to our use. Wo do not doubt, therefore, that we 
shall contribute to the instruction and entertainment of 
many of our readers, by devoting a portion of our Ma* 
gazine to a series of articles, in which we propose to 
make them acquainted with the natural history of our 
mineral treasures, with the mode in which they are ob- 
tained from the mines, and with the operations they are 
subjected to, before they can be brought forward as 
marketable commodities. To do this, however, in a 
clear and intelligible manner, some preliminary informa- 
tion is indispensable; without this, the terms we must, 
necessarily employ* in our descriptions of the mode in 
which the substances exist under the surface of the 
earth, would not be understood. This introductory 
matter, however, we are persuaded will not be found the 
least instructive or the least entertaining part of the 
information we shall lay before our readers ; on the con- 
trary, we feel assured that it will disclose to many of 
them wonders of nature, of which they had previously 
no conception. It will embrace a popular sketch of the 
leading doctrines in geology, that department of science, 
whose object is to investigate the nature and properties 
of the substances of which the solid crust of the earth 
is composed ; the laws of their combinations, as consti- 
tuting the elements of rooks, and other stony masses ; 
the arrangement of these different masses, and their 
relations to each other ; the changes which they appear 
to have undergone at various successive periods ; and, 
finally, to establish a just theory of the construction ot 
that solid crust In the formation of organized bodies, 
that is, in the structure of animals and plants, the most 
superficial observer cannot fail to discover a beautiful 
and refined mechanism ; but if we cast our eyes upon 
the ground, and look at heaps of gravel, sand, clay, and 
stone, it seems as if chance only had brought them 
together, and that neither symmetry nor order can be 
discovered in their nature. But a closer examination 
soon convinces us of that which, reasoning from the 
wisdom and designs manifested by other parts of crea- 
tion, we might beforehand have very naturally been led 
to expect, viz. that in ail the varieties of form,. and; 
structure, arid change, which the study of 4 the mineral 
kingdom displays, laws as fixed fmd immutable prevail, 
as in the most complicated mechanism of the human 
frame, or in the motions of the heavenly bodies ; and if 
astronomy has discovered how beautifully " the heavens 
declare the glory of God," as certainly do we feel assured, 
by the investigations of geology, that the earth "showeth 
his handy work." 

In our next article, therefore, we slull commence that 
brief outline of geology, which we consider to be a 
necessary introduction to our proposed description of the 
chief mineral productions of our island. 


The act of flying is performed in the following manner :— 
The bird first launches itself in the air either by dropping 
from a height or leaping from the ground : it raises up 
at the same time the wings, the bones of which corre- 
spond very closely to those of the human arm, the place 
of the hand, however, being occupied by only one finger. 
It then spreads out the wings to their full extent in a 
horizontal direction, and presses them down upon the 
air ; and by a succession of these strokes the bird rises 
up in the air with a velocity proportioned to the quick- 
ness with which they succeed each other. As the inter- 

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13 THE WftOnr MAGAZINE. [January 12, 

other. The only regularly formed quadruped that has 
the power of flying is the Flying Squirrel. The substi- 

tute for wings in this animal is a broad fold of the inte- 
gument spread out on each side of the body, and attached 
to the fore and hind legs, reaching as far is the feet ; so 
that by stretching out its feet it spreads this fold and 
keeps it in an extended state, in which it has a nearer 
resemblance to a parachute than a wing. Some species 
of lizards and fishes are also furnished with substitutes 
for wings, by which they are enabled to support them- 
selves in the air, and fly for short distances. In the 
Flying Fish the substitute consists of a simple elongation 

of the pectoral fins to a sufficient extent to support the 
animal's weight, in this respect corresponding with the 
wings of birds, since the pectoral fin of fishes is ana- 
logous to the anterior extremity of the other classes. 


[From a Correspondent.] 

M With shattered rocks loose sprinkled o'er, 
Ascends abrupt the mountain hoar, 
Whose crags overhang the Bushman's cave, 
(His fortress once, and now his grave,) 
Where the grim satyr-faced baboon 
Sits railing to the rising moon. 
Or chiding, with hoarse angry cry, 
The herdsman as he wanders by." 

The Ursine Baboon of South Africa (Cercopithtnu 
Ursinna, or SimiaCynocephalus) is known to naturalists 
from the descriptions of Sparrman, Vaillant, Burchell, 
in4 other scientific travellers. It is an animal of very 

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considerable strength, and attains, when full grown, the 
size of a very large Newfoundland dog. It resembles 
the dog in the shape of its head, and is covered with 
shaggy hair, of a brownish colour, except on the face and 
paws, w^hich are bare and black. On level ground it 
always goes on all-fours ; but among the rocks and pre- 
cipices, which are its natural refuge and habitation, it 
uses its hihder feet and hands somewhat as a human 
being would do, only with inconceivably greater bold- 
ness and agility, in clambering up the crags, or in spring- 
ing from cliff to cliff. 

The ursine baboon is not believed to be in any degree 
carnivorous, but subsists on wild fruits, and principally on 
the numerous variety ofvintjei (edible roots and bulbs), 
which abound in the districts it inhabits. These roots 
it digs out of the earth with its paws, the nails of which, 
from this cause, are generally short, as if worn down by 
constant use ; in other respects they nearly resemble 
those of the human hand. 

For defence against its enemies, such as the leopard, 
hyena, wild-dog (kyecna venatica), &c. the ursine 
baboon is armed with formidable canine teeth about half 
an inch long ; and, when driven to extremity, will defend 
itself successfully against the fiercest wolfhound. It 
has a mode of grappling its antagonist by the throat 
with its fore-paws, or hands, while it tears open the 
jugular vein with its tusks. In this manner I have 
known a stout baboon despatch several dogs before he 
was overpowered; and I have been assured by the 
natives that even the leopard is sometimes defeated and 
worried to death by a troop of these animals. It is only 
collectively, however, and in large bands, that they can 
successfully oppose this powerful enemy. In many of 
the mountainous districts the leopard, it is said, subsists 
chiefly by preying upon baboons and monkeys; lying 
in wait and pouncing upon them suddenly, precisely as 
the domestic cat deals with rats. 

Though well armed for conflict, the ursine baboon, 
except in self-defence, appears to be a harmless and 
inoffensive animal. They are, it is true, occasionally 
troublesome to mankind, by robbing gardens, orchards, 
and corn-fields ; but I never heard of any body being 
attacked by them, although I resided for some years in a 
spot where they are so numerous that the district takes 
its name from them, viz. Bav loans Rivier, or River of 
Baboons. There is, indeed, one remarkable story told 
at the Cape of a party of these animals carrying off an 
infant from the vicinity of Wynberg, a village about 
seven miles from Cape Town, and, on the alarm being 
given by the distracted mother, retreating with it to the 
summit of the precipitous mountains 3000 feet in height, 
which overhang that pleasant village. My informants, 
persons of respectability, assured me that this incident 
had occurred within their own recollection ; and that the 
shild was recovered by a party of the inhabitants, after 
a long, anxious, and perilous pursuit, without having 
sustained any material injury. This singular abduction, 
the only instance of the kind I ever heard of, may, after 
all, have been prompted possibly by the erratic maternal 
feeling of some female baboon, bereaved of her own 
offspring, rather than by any ferocious or mischievous 

Be this as it may, the strong attachment of these crea- 
tures to their own young is an interesting trait of their 
character. I have frequently witnessed very affecting 
t»«*owM*— of their attachment, when a band of them 
happened to be discovered by some of the African 
Colonists in their orchards or corn-fields." On such 
occasions, when hunted back to the mountains with dogs 
and guns, the females, if accidentally separated from 
their young ones, would often, reckless of their safety, 
return to search for them through the very midst of 
their fierce pursuers. 

On more peaceful occasions, also, I have very often 
foalawnlilciri thtm with great pleasure and interest It 

is the practice of tnese animals to descend from their 
rocky fastnesses, in order to enjoy themselves on the 
banks of the mountain rivulets, and to feed on the 
nutritious bulbs which grow in the rich alluvial soil of 
the valleys. While thus occupied, they usually take care 
to be within reach of some steep crag or precipice, to 
which they may fly for refuge on the appearance of an 
enemy ; and some of their number are always stationed 
as sentinels on large stones or other elevated situations, 
in order to give timely warning to the rest of the ap- 
proach of danger. It has frequently been my lot, when 
riding through these secluded valleys, to come suddenly, 
on turning the corner of a rock, upon a troop of forty or 
fifty baboons thus quietly congregated. Instantly on 
my appearance, a loud cry of alarm would be raised by 
the sentinels ; and then the whole band would scamper 
off with the utmost precipitation. Off they would go, 
hobbling on all-fours, after their awkward fashion, on 
level ground; then splashing through the stream, if 
they had it to cross ; then scrambling, with most mar- 
vellous agility up the rocky cliffs, often many hundred 
feet in height, and where certainly no other creature 
without wings could possibly follow them; the large 
males bringing up the rear-guard, ready to turn with 
fury upon my hounds if they attempted to molest them ; 
the females, with their young ones in their arms, or 
clinging to their backs. Thus, climbing, and chattering, 
and squalling, they would ascend the perpendicular and 
perilous-looking crags, while I looked on and watched 
them, interested by the almost human affection which they 
evinced for their mates and their offspring ; and some- 
times not a little amused, also, by the angry vociferation 
with which the old satyr-like leaders would scold me, 
when they had got fairly upon the rocks, and felt them 
selves secure from pursuit, t. p 


Thb history of manufactures affords few parallels to the 
rapid and marked improvements made in the art of silk- 
weaving in this country during the last six years. 

The invention by which these improvements have been 
principally accomplished is a loom contrived by M. Jac- 
quard, and which, bearing his name, will probably prove 
a lasting record of his mechanical talents. 

Scarcely ten years have elapsed since the first intro- 
duction of the machine into this country, yet its superiority 
over the looms formerly used for figure silk-weaving is so 
decided, that it has entirely superseded all these, and has 
been in no small degree instrumental in bringing that 
curious and beautiful art to its present state of advance- 
ment Through its means time is importantly economised 
in the preliminary steps, while the most difficult part of 
the labour is so simplified that this branch of silk-weaving 
is no longer, as heretofore, confined to the most skilful 
of the craft. It is no small proof of the enterprising and 
intelligent spirit of this country that several alterations, 
by which this machine has been materially simplified 
and improved, have been already made by our working 
artisans, and are in advantageous operation ; "while in 
Lyons, the city of its birth, it still remains unaltered, 
either in form or arrangement, from the original con- 
ception of the first ingenious inventor*." 

From the evidence given by Dr. Bowring before the 
Committee of the House of Commons appointed to 
inquire into the state of the Silk Trade, we obtain the 
following interesting particulars of M. Jacquard as related 
to Dr. Bowring by himself: — 

He was originally a manufacturer of straw-hats, and 
it was not until the peace of Amiens that his attention 
was first attracted to the subject of mechanism. The 
communication between France and England being then 
open, an English newspaper fell into his hands. ^ In 
this he met with a paragraph stating that a premium 

_• Urines Cabinet Cnkfadia, Silk Msanfccturs, p. 254, 




[Januiwt if, 

would be awarded by a society in this country to any 
person who should weave a net by machinery. The 
perusal of this extract awakened his latent mechanical 
powers, and induced him to turn his thoughts to the dis- 
covery of the required contrivance. He succeeded, and 
produced a net woven by machinery of his own invention. 
It seems, however, that the pleasure of success was the 
only reward which he coveted, for as soon as accomplished 
Le became indifferent to the work of his ingenuity — 
threw it aside for some time, and subsequently gave it to 
a friend as a matter in which he no longer took any 
interest The net was by some means at length exhibited 
to some persons in authority, and by them sent to Paris. 
After a period had elapsed in which M. Jacquard de- 
clares that he had entirely forgotten his production, he 
was sent for by the prefect of Lyons, who asked him if 
he had not directed his attention to the making of nets 
by machinery. He did not immediately recollect the 
circumstance to which the prefect alluded ; the net was 
however produced, and this recalled the fact to his mind. 
The prefect then rather peremptorily desired him to pro- 
duce the machine by which this result had been effected. 
M. Jacquard asked three weeks for its completion ; at 
the end of which time he brought his invention to the 
prefect, and directing him to strike some part of the 
machine with his foot, a knot was added to the net The 
ingenious contrivance was sent to Paris, and an order was 
thence despatched for the arrest of the inventor. Under 
Napoleon's arbitrary government even the desire for the 
diffusion of improvements was evinced in a most uncon- 
ciliatory manner; and white inventions in the useful 
arts were sufficiently prized, no respect was paid to those 
persons by whom they were originated. Accordingly 
M. Jacquard found himself under the keeping of a 
gens-d'arme, by whom he was to be conducted to Paris 
in all haste, so that he was not permitted even to go home 
to provide himself with the requisites for his sudden 
journey, % When arrived in Paris he was required to pro- 
duce his machine at the Conservatory of Arts, and sub- 
mit it to the examination of inspectors. After this ordeal 
he was introduced to Bonaparte and to Car not, the 
latter of whom said to him, with a look of incredulity, 
" Are you the man who pretends to this impossibility — 
who professes to tie a knot in a stretched string ?" In 
answer to this inquiry the machine was produced and its 
operation exhibited and explained. Thus strangely was 
M. Jacquard's first mechanical experiment brought into 
notice and patronised. He was afterwards required to 
examine a loom on which from twenty to thirty thousand 
francs had been expended, and which was employed in 
the production of articles for the use of Bonaparte. 
M. Jacquard offered to effect the same object by a simple 
machine, instead of the complicated one by which the 
work was sought to be performed, — and improving on a 
model of Vaucanson, produced the mechanism which 
bears his name. A pension of a thousand crowns was 
granted to him by the government as a reward for his 
discoveries, and he returned to Lyons, his native town. 
So violent, however, was the opposition made to the intro- 
duction of his loom, and so great was the enmity he 
excited in consequence of his invention, that three times 
he with the greatest difficulty escaped with his life. The 
Conseil des Prud? hommes, who are appointed to watch 
over the interests of the Lyonese trade, broke up his 
machine in the public place ; " the iron (to use his 
own expression) was sold for iron— the wood for wood, 
and he, its inventor, was delivered oner to universal igno- 
miny." The ignorance and prejudice Which caused the 
silk-weavers of Lyons to destroy a means of assistance to 
their labours, capable of being made a source of great 
benefit to themselves, was not dispelled till the French 
began to feel the effects of foreign competition in their, 
silk manufacture. They then were forced to adopt the 
Jacquard loom, which led to snch great improvement in 
ibejr silk weaving, and tim nwfrne i* mm m*n m f*\y I 

employed through the whole of the silk inanufiiotunnf 
districts of France as well as of England. 

Burns and scalds are probably the most common inju- 
ries to which the people of England are exposed. In our 
mines and manufactories they are constantly occurring. 
Even in ordinary life we hear almost daily of such acci- 
dents. It often happens that females, by standing in- 
cautiously too near a grate, set fire to their cotton dresses* 
and the flames spreading rapidly along the soft texture 
of the cotton, soon envelope the whole of their persons* 
Reading in bed by candle-light is a frequent source ot 
similar disasters. Servants again, while engaged in the 
removal of boiling water for domestic purposes, are often, 
through carelessness or accident, the subjects of scalds. 

Burns and scalds are exactly of the same nature. It 
is the intolerable heat of the liquid or of the solid sub* 
stance inflicting the injury, which is the cause of both. 
In looking, therefore, for the means of cure, we should 
try to discover some remedial agent which will favour, 
in the highest degree, the restoration to a healthy state 
of those parts of the body that have been impaired or 
destroyed by the action of heat 

The plans of treatment which have been introduced 
from time to time are various ; but they may he included 
under two heads,— namely, those of a soothing and those 
of a stimulating character. Of the stimulating class 
are spirits of turpentine, spirits of wine, whisky, brandy; 
&c., with any of which the burned parts are kept moist 
until immediate pain is subdued, and the process of 
restoration is begun. After these changes have taken 
place, ointments or poultices are usually had recourse to. 
Heat has been also tried as a stimulating remedy for 
burns ; and, however singular it may seem, many per* 
sons hold the parts burned near to a fire in order to re* 
move the effects of heat The soothing class of remedies 
includes the application of cold water, of ice, of oils, and 

Cotton wool bids fair to supersede many of the com- 
mon remedies in the treatment of burns. It is said that 
cotton wool was first used with this intention in America. 
There is nothing improbable in this, for the practice is of 
recent origin, and cotton is both grown and manufac- 
tured in that country. The discovery of its sanative 
virtues has been attributed to accident As the story 
goes, — the child of a woman who was engaged in the 
preparation of cotton, happened, in some way or other, 
to get itself extensively burned with boiling water. The 
mother, in her agony, having no person with her at the 
time, laid the child down in some cotton on the floor, 
which promised to be the safest and softest position, and 
hastened away to procure medical assistance. The me- 
dical man of the village, however, was from home. The 
poor woman, on her return, found that the child had 
rolled about in the cotton and had become covered in 
the burned parts with a thick coating of it The cotton 
appeared to have produced great relief of pain ; the 
child had now ceased to cry and was actually cheerful. 
Some hours elapsed before the medical attendant arrived, 
but as the child continued cheerful and the cotton had 
become pretty firmly adheoent to the sores, the mother 
would not allow of its being removed. Within the 
period of ten or twelve days the cotton began to drop 
off spontaneously; and in a fortnight from the receipt 
of the injury, the whole of it was detached, leaving a 
perfect cure, — the skin being without mark or con- 
traction, and, in short, quite natural. 

The cotton treatment has since had a pretty extensive 
trial in different parts of England and Scotiand. As 
might have been expected, scientific observation has 
enabled medical men to point out the way in which the 
cotton may be most advantageously applied, and it has 
also enabled them to define the limits of its utilit; 
Digitized by 




In relation to fhefr degrees of severity, burns may be 
divided into four kinds, — 1st, When the injury is of the 
slightest nature, the skin remains of its natural colour 
and without blisters. 2d, When the injury is somewhat 
greater, the superficial skin becomes elevated, and blisters 
are formed. 3d, When the injury is still more severe, 
the deep-seated skin is burned brown and dry, and it feels 
like leather. 4th, When the injury is of the most vio- 
lent kind, not only the deep-seated skin is scorched, but 
the parts beneath it, to a greater or less extent, are 
burned to dryness and are consequently dead. The 
cotton treatment is little applicable to burns coming 
under the fourth division, we shall therefore, in this place, 
speak only of its application to those of the 1st, 2d, and 
3d kinds, and more particularly to the 2d and 3d. We 
must impress upon our readers here, as we are anxious 
to do in all other cases of medical treatment, that the 
safest plan, wherever practicable, is to apply for pro- 
fessional aid. The difficulty which an unprofessional 
person must always feel, is that of distinguishing between 
one class of injuries or diseases, and another class. 
However, as burns and scalds require immediate atten- 
tion, we proceed to state the mode in which cotton may 
be employed, when no medical man is at hand. 

The cotton should be applied to the burned parts as 
soon after the injury as is possible ; and, if blisters 
have formed, they should not be opened. Where it 
can be done without incurring considerable delay, the 
cotton should be carded before its application into thin 
flakes. These flakes should be laid on the injured part, 
and piled one on the other until they form a soft cover- 
ing, which, under light pressure, should be about an inch 
in thickness. A bandage should then be passed around 
the patient to prevent the cotton from falling off, but 
care must be taken not to draw the bandage tight or 
allow it to press the body. Its object is simply to retain 
the cotton in its place. 

After this, the first step, is taken, nothing remains to 
be done while the cotton is observed to aftdfc to the sur- 
face of the injured part and to remain dry. Should any 
portion of the cotton, however, become wet, either 
through the discharge of water from the blisters, or the 
formation of purulent matter, and continue wet for a day 
or two, the attendant should, at the end of that time, pick 
the wetted cotton gently away, and supply its place with 
dry cotton. The general rule, consequently, is very plain. 
While the patient is free from pain, and the cotton 
dry and adherent to the surface of the burn, no change 
should be made ; but should the cotton become wet at 
any part, and continue so for a day or two, the wetted 
portion is to be removed, and its place supplied with dry 
cotton. The treatment is to be conducted thus until the 
cure is completed. 

The manner in which cotton acts in the cure of bums 
is very evident It excludes the air and forms a warm 
and toft covering for the injured parts. Under this pro- 
tection, the restorative powers of nature quickly repair 
the injury. Every day's experience tends to prove that 
the less we interfere with those powers, or permit them 
to be interfered with, in the medical treatment of super- 
ficial burns occurring amongst persons of healthy con- 
stitutions, the more successful will be the practice. 


The 16th of January is the anniversary of the battle 
of Corunna, and the death of the gallant Sir John 
Moore. The French invasion of Spain and Portugal in 
the beginning of the year 1808 was one of the most 
unprovoked and indefensible aggressions ever perpe- 
trated. The scheme for the conquest and partition of 
the latter kingdom is supposed to have been arranged in 
October, 1807, between Bonaparte and Oodoy, called the 
Prince of Urn Fwm*, tbs iafeiaous mamm of the Spanish 

Queen and her imbeefltaed degraded miabandC harks IV. 
In March, 1808, the national spirit of the Spaniards, 
fired at the weakness with which their Sovereign was 
surrendering the independence of the country into the 
hands of the French Emperor, broke out at Aranjuez 
and Madrid into tumultuous insurrection, and compelled 
Charles to abdicate in favour of his eldest son, Ferdinand, 
Prince of Asturias. Soon after this, however, Bona- 
parte contrived to inveigle both Ferdinand and his father 
to Bayonne in France, where he induced them in the 
beginning of May to surrender all their claims upon the 
Spanmh crown in favour of himself or his uominee ; and 
then, luring shut up his prisoners, with the other 
branches c r the royal family whom he had contrived to 
get into his hands, in an old castle in Champagne, he 
caused his brother Joseph, then King of Naples, to be 
proclaimed on the 24th of July the successor to the 
vacant throne. In exchange he sent his brother-in-law 
Murat to the Neapolitans. Before this, however, the 
indignation of the people of Spain had organized a 
formidable resistance to the foreign usurper; patriotic 
associations had been formed in many of the principal 
towns, which were under the direction of a presiding 
junta at Seville ; and deputies had been despatched from 
Asturia to request the assistance of England, where 
they arrived on the 6th of June. The required aid was 
rendered by this country liberally, and as it were by 
acclamation : on the 12th of July Sir Arthur Wellesley 
set sail from Cork in command of a large force ; on the 
21st of August he beat the French General Junot at 
Vimiera, and on the 30th of the same month, by what 
was called the Convention of Cintra, the French troops 
agreed to evacuate Portugal. The next expedition de- 
spatched to the Peninsula was that commanded by Sir 
John Moore. This officer, who was the eldest son of 
Dr. John Moore, the well-known author of ' Zeluco/ 
and other able works, was born at Glasgow on the 13th 
of November, 1761, and had served with distinction in 
various quarters of the globe. He was appointed Com* 
mander-in-Chief of the Forces in Spain and Portugal 
on the 6th of October. Soon after this he commenced 
his advance into the interior of the Peninsula, in which 
he persevered till he reached Salamanca, The force, 
however, which he had under his command was utterly 
insufficient to cope with the gigantic armament which 
Bonaparte had by this time collected to maintain his 
brother's throne. According to Colonel Napier, Moore 
had only 24,000 men to oppose 830,000 of the enemy. 
In these circumstances nothing could be done by the 
English without the most general and most zealous 
co-operation on the part of the natives. This co-opera- 
tion, or any cordial disposition to afford it, Sir John 
Moore could not perceive to exist; and it must be con- 
fessed that his situation was extremely difficult, embar- 
rassing, and discouraging. Meantime, while he was de- 
liberating as to the prudence of continuing his advance, 
intelligence reached him of an important advantage 
gained by the enemy. This at once determined htm to 
commence his retreat to the coast, as his only chance of 
preserving his troops. Accordingly, on the 26th of De- 
cember, he began his route towards Vigo, in the north- 
west corner of Spain, but was soon after induced to alter 
his course for the port of Corunna, still farther to the 
north. This march of two hundred and fifty miles, over 
a country almost without roads, in the depth of winter, 
with an army dispirited and disorganized, and pursued 
by superior numbers flushed with recent triumph, must 
ever rank with the ablest military achievements of ancient 
or modern times. It was effected amidst terrible priva- 
tion, suffering, and loss of life ; but at length, on the 
16th of January, 1809, about 14,500 of the troops 
reached the neighbourhood of the place of embarkation. 
Marshal Soult, however, with a body of not less than 
20,000 men under his command, was close upon them, 
and ready to attack them Wort they could complete 




tJuroiEY If, IMS 

their preparations for going on board the ships. It was 
resolved, therefore, to ofler battle to the enemy. The 
French made the attack about two o'clock in the after- 
noon, and for a time had the advantage ; but Moore 
then ordered an advance of a part of his troops, who 
soon turned the tide of the contest. The French 
were repulsed at every point; and the English were 
allowed to embark without molestation. But the life of 
their gallant commander paid for the victory. " Sir 
John Moore," says Colonel Napier, " while earnestly 
watching the result of the fight about the village of 
Elvina, was struck on the left breast by a cannon shot ; 
the shock threw him from his horse with violence ; he 
rose again in a sitting posture ; his countenance un- 
changed, and his steadfast eye still fixed upon the regi- 
ments engaged in his front; no sigh betrayed a sensation 
of pain ; but, in a few moments, when he was satisfied 
that the troops were gaining ground, his countenance 
brightened, and he suffered himself to be taken to the 
rear. Then was seen the dreadful nature of his hurt ; 
the shoulder was shattered to pieces, the arm was 
hanging by a piece of skin, the ribs over the heart 
broken and bared of flesh, and the muscles of the 
breast torn into long strips, which were interlaced 
by their recoil from the dragging of the shot As the 
soldiers placed him in a blanket his sword got entangled, 
and the hilt entered the wound. Captain Hardinge, a 
staff officer, who was near, attempted to take it off but 
the dying man stopped him, saying, • It is as well as it 
is. 1 had rather it should go out of the field with me.' 
And in that manner, so becoming a soldier, Moore was 
borne from the fight * * * The blood flowed fast, and 
the torture of his wound increased ; but such was the 
unshaken firmness of his mind, that those about him, 
judging from the resolution of his countenance that his 
hurt was not mortal, expressed a hope of his recovery. 
Hearing this, he looked steadfastly at the injury for a 
moment, and then said, ' No ; I feel that to be impos- 
sible.' Several times he caused his attendants to stop 
and turn him round, that he might behold the field of 
battle ; and when the firing indicated the advance of the 
British, he discovered his satisfaction, and permitted the 
bearers to proceed. Being brought to his lodgings the 
surgeons examined his wound, but there was no hope ; 
the pain increased, and he spoke with great difficulty. 
At intervals he asked if the French were beaten, and, 
addressing his old friend Colonel Anderson, he said, 
* You know that I always wished to die this way.' 
Again he asked if the enemy were defeated, and being 
told they were, observed, • It is a great satisfaction to 
me to know we have beaten the French.' His counte- 
nance continued firm, and his thoughts clear ; once only, 
when he spoke of his mother, he became agitated. He 
inquired after the safety of his friends and the officers 
of his staff; and he did not even in this moment forget 
to recommend those whose merit had given them claims 
to promotion. His strength was failing fast, and life 
was just extinct, when, with an unsubdued spirit, as if 
anticipating the baseness of his posthumous calumniators, 
he exclaimed, * I hope the people of England will be 
satisfied. I hope my country will do me justice/ The 
battle was scarcely ended when his corpse, wrapped in a 
military cloak, was interred by the officers of his staff in 
the citadel of Corunna. The guns of the enemy paid 
his funeral honours, and Soult, with a noble feeling of re- 
spect for his valour, raised a monument to his memory." 
The death of Sir John Moore has furnished the sub- 
ject of a poem of extraordinary beauty, the author of 
which was long unknown. It is now ascertained to be 
the production of one whose compositions were few, and 
who died young — Wolfe. 

" Not a drum wot heard, not a funeral-note, 
As hit corie to the ramnart we hurried j 
Not a soldier discharged his farewell-shot 
O'sr tk# grave where our hero we bmried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 

The sods with our bayonets turning, 
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 

And the lantern dimly burning. 
No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him j 
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 

With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 

And we bitterly thought of the 1 

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Bath, Sxmms. 

Birmingham, Drake. 

Bristol, Westley sod Co. 

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■ ■■ I I i ii i ■' » ■ ■ ■ » I ■■<■■— ipi ■■ i ■■ 





voun. " 

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t tJtbt MsActfnta it Ami 
Onb of the leading excellences of Raffi — ~ .„ mmm%f ^.™ 
and perspicuous arrangement of his subject Even 
Michael Angelo, notwithstanding his astonishing power 
in the invention of single groups, is comparatively defi- 
cient in the conduct or a whole composition; and this 
remark will apply more or less to all the masters of the 
Roman school, if put in competition with Raffaelle. 
The Venetian painters, with the exception of Titian, 
jxacrificed, without scruple, sentiment, propriety, and 
character, for the sake of dazzling the eye. We are 
enabled by this species of comparison to appreciate more 
fully the excellence of Raffaelle, whose compositions, 
although he never sacrifices the higher to the more 
superficial qualities of art, present us with the richest 
and most picturesque combinations. A fine example of 
this excellence is furnished in the Cartoon of Paul preach- 
ing at Athens, engraved in t 
work, regarded merely as a coi 
out adverting to the sentimen 
of laborious and beautiful a 
consider it in reference to cha 
manner in which the story is 
to think that it holds the first 
ductions of Raffaelle himself. 
St Paul, having been chal 
of Athens to a' public declarai 
Areopagus, has ascended th 
with uplifted hands he makes 
Ye men of Athens ! I have see 
Unknown God, ttfm t declar< 
involves in its general tenor t 
Christian dispensation, — the 
resurrection, and the redempl 
on his auditory is such as mi£ 

promulgation of a doctrine so new and so important. 
Hlhe persons who surround* him are not fo be considered 
a mere promiscuous assemblage 6f individiials. Among 
them, several figures ma^ each be said fo personify a 
class; and the different sects of Grecian philosophy may 
be easily distinguished. Here the Cynic, revolving 
deeply, and fabricating objections; there the Stoic, lean- 
ing on his staff, giving a steady but scornful attention, 
and fixed in obstinate incredulity ; there the disciples of 
Plato, not conceding a full belief, but! pleased at least 
with the beauty of the doctrine, atkct iistehnig with grati- 
fied attention. Farther 6n fa a promiscuous group of 
disputants, sophists, and free -thinners, engaged in vehe- 
ment discussion, but apparently more bent on exhibiting 
then- own ingenuity than anxious to elicit truth or ac- 
knowledge conviction. At a considerable distance in the 
back-ground are seen two doctors of the Jewish law, 
who have listened to the discourse, rejected the mission, 
and turned their backs on the speaker and the place. 
On the first glance at the cartoon the eye is arrested by 
the figure of St. Paul, which the painter has invested 
with every circumstance Which can give it dignity and 
importance. We learn from the Apostle himself that 
his exterior was riot imposing j but Raffaelle, knowing 
that painting Can express its meaning only through the 
medium of form, has departed from the literal fact, and 
given him an appearance corresponding to the sacredness 
of his character. He stands in front, on an elevated 
site, and considerably apart from his audience. His 
action unites the almost incompatible qualities of sedate- 
ness and energy. It is simple and majestic, but kindled 
by divine enthusiasm; and we are at once impressed with 
the idea that he is pouring forth a torrent of eloquence 
overwhelming and irresistible. The immediate effect, as 
well as the eventual triumph of his doctrine, is intimated 
by the conversion of Damaris, and of LJionysius the Areo- 
pagite, the foremost persons in the picture, who announce, 
with impassioned looks and gestures, their renuncia- 
tion of idolatry, and acceptance of the Christian faith. 

[January 19, 

«*> jmiui. vi aiwur— 

tectural style) are in themselves beautiful objects ; but 
they are immediately connected with the subject, being 
the temples of the Pa^an deities, whose idolatrous wor- 
ship the Apostle is denouncing. These AdJnces may be 
considered also, together with the statues which surround 
them, to characterize the city of Athens, the mother of 
arts, and the seat of taste, wealth, and splendour* 
Throughout the Works of Raffaelle, in the subotdmate 
as well as the principal parts, we perceive the same 
penetrating intelligence ; and these Cartoons especially, 
beyond any works of art extant, may be pronounced to 
be abstractions of pure intellect We cannot forbear 
repeating a wish which we have already expressed, that 
when the new National Gallery is finished, these noble 
works may be removed to it : if it may be honed that a 

III, UQU leiiS UlC swrj. nwoao, ure uwn»i ui aciao, wiiiic 

waiting in the royal palace of Susa (the Shushan of the 
Scriptures) in anxious expectation fo hear something 1 
about her son, receives the intelligence of the total 
destruction of the Persian armament by the combined 
Grecian fleet. After this announcement the messenger 
proceeds to describe that memorable conflict in which 
iEschytuS himself was engaged. 

Messenger. The cause of all the mischief, O Queen, 
was an evil-minded spfrit or d«mxm coming, nobody 
knows wherefrom. For a ©reek from the army of the 
Athenians told ^otfr sow Xerxes, that as soon as the 
darkness of black n%ht came, the Greeks would not 
stay, but springing on the benches * of their ships would 
seek to save' theft Sves try stealthy flight, each as he 
best could. As soon a's Xerxes heard this, not discover- 
ing the guile of the Greek, riot the malevolence of the 
God, he gives* these orders to all the Commanders of 
ships: — When the stin has ceased to burn the earth 
with his ray*, and datkness has filled the circuit of the 
heavens, place a compact body of ships in three lines to 
watch the bullets and the narrow passes in which the 
waters roar. — And other ships he bade them place around 
the island of Ajax (Saiamis) ; arid should the Greeks 
avoid a wretched fate by a stealthy flight in their ships, 
the sentence was that every captain should* lose his head. 
Thus he spake with £ heart full of pride, for he knew 
not what was coming from the Gods. Not reluctant, 
but with obedient spirit, they got ready their evening 
meal, and every seaman strung his oar to the well- 
fitted peg. vThen the light of the sun had faded, and 
night had come on, every master of an oar stepped on 
shipboard, and ever? man at arms. And each line of 
ships called to its neighbour, and they sailed each in his 
station ; and all night long the commanders of the ships 
kept the naval force cruising about. Night passed on ; 
but the Grecian armament were making no preparation to 
escape in secret. For soon as Day with his white horses 
• The ihips, or rather longboat*, were worked by oana 

Digitized by 





spread over the white earth, gloriously bright to behold, 
with a loud noise sprung a joyful shout like a song from 
&e Greeks, and at the same time Echo called out in 
reply from the island rocks. Fear fell on the barbarians 
who were balked in their hopes, for the Greeks sung 
men the sacred peon, not as if they thought of flight, 
but like men rushing to the battle with courageous 
daring. And the trumpet with its vefee urged them on. 
With the well-timed stroke of the dashing oar they beat 
the roaring sea to the word of command, and quickly 
the whole fleet was full in view. First came the right 
wing m good array ; behind followed all the fleet, and 
now we heard the sound of many voices : Sons of the 
Greeks, advance, save your native land, and save your 
children and your wives, and the temples of your fathers' 
gods, and your fathers* tombs : now you fight for all. 
On our part a shout in the Persian tongue replied ; 
and the moment of action was no longer delayed. 
Straightway ship dashed against ship with its brazen 
beak : a Grecian ship began the conflict and broke off 
the head of a Phoenician galley ; and each drove his 
ship against his adversary. At first the tide of the 
Persian array resisted ; but when the ships were crowded 
in a narrow space, and there was no help from one 
another, then were they struck by the brazen-armed 
beaks of friendly ships, their oars were broken and swept 
away, while the Grecian ships skilfully attacked them on 
ell sides. And the hulls of ships were turned bottom 
upward, and the sea could no longer be seen, so full 
was it of wrecks and human bodies. The shores too and 
the rocks that heaved their backs above the waves were 
full of the dead, and every ship of the barbarian army 
was urged along by the rowers in unseemly flight But 
the Greeks, as the fishermen do with tunnies or a cast of 
fish, struck the floating wretches with fragments of oars, 
and pieces of wreck, and cleft them in twain; and groans 
with shrieks overspread the surface of the sea, till the eye 
of dark night took them away. But the fulness of our 
evHs, even were I to go on telling for ten days in succes- 
sion, I could not measure out to thee ; for be well assured 
that never before did so many men die on one day. 


[Tlie ninth number of the * Quarterly Journal of Education' contains 
the following statements, in illustration of the principle upon which 
books in large demand may be sold at a very low price.] 

It has been well observed in the posthumous work of an 
acute thinker, Chenevix, that "the bent of civilization is to 
make good things ©heap." We will endeavour to explain 
this as regaxfls printing, by a few facts, to show that the 
extension of the market, whilst it diminishes price, does not 
deteriorate quality. 

There are certain expenses of a book which are perma- 
nent, whatever number oa sold* These expenses ape— 

1. Authorship. 

2. Embelhshments. 

3. Composition of types, including stereotype plates, 

if that process he employed. 

4. Advertising. 

Now, it must be evident, if 1000 purchasers co-operate 
to pay those permanent expenses, the proportion to each 
purchaser eon only be half as much as if there were only 500 
purchasers. Take an octavo volume, for example, and assume 
the following items of expense : — 

Author £200 

Artist 60 

Composition of types 75 

Advertising ,50 

If 500 copies only of this octavo volume be estimated to 
be sold, the price which the publisher must fix upon it must 
be such as to cover an outlay, to be incurred in such per- 
manent expenses alone, of 155. per copy;— if 1000 copies 
be estimated so be sold, the expense of these items upon 
each copy is reduced to IS. 6d. ; if 2000, to 3*. 9cL ; if 3000, 
to 2#. 6fL The greater, therefore, the probable number of 
purchasers, the cneaper the book can be sold. It is the pro- 

vince of the publisher rightly to calculate these chances. If 
he fix a high price, and have a large sale, there are great 
profits to the publisher, and in many cases to the author ; if 
the high price so fixed, or any other cause, prevent a large 
sale, the profits are small, or there is a loss ; — if a low price 
is fixed, and the sale be at the same time small, the losses 
are considerable. It is this uncertainty which renders the 
business of publishing so much a matter of speculation ; and 
in this respect it is a very unsatisfactory business to those 
who follow it 

Let us apply this principle to such a work as the Penny 
Magazine. We will take the permanent expenses at 40/., 
for a single number. These are the expenses, be it remem- 
bered, which are incurred whether 200 or 200,000 copies are 
sold—the expenses previous to the employment of a single 
sheet of paper or a single hour's labour m printing off the 
copies. Forty pounds contain 9600 pence ; so that if 10,000 
copies only were sold, the publisher would give away his 
paper and print, and pay the profit of the retailer. At that 
rate of sale a penny magazine must of necessity be a two 
penny magazine, or the work could not go on without the sub 
scrrpuons of individuals. But if 20,000 purchasers co-ope 
rate to pay the 9600 pence, the penny that formerly bore 
upon each copy is reduced to a halfpenny ; if 40,000 co-ope- 
rate, it is reduced to a farthing. But the sheet of paper and 
the printing off sull cost somewhat more than a half- 
penny—ana as the various wholesale and retail dealers 
who manage the sale are allowed about forty per cent., the 
paying point is not yet reached ;— it begins at about 60,000 
or 70,000; and after that sale there is a profit. A sale of 
60,000 or 70,000 is therefore essential to the commercial 
existence of such a work as the Penny Magazine; — that is, 
that number of purchasers must co-operate to pay the ex- 
penses which are absolutely necessary to be incurred before 
a single copy is sold. 

In furtherance of the design expressed in our last num- 
ber, we now proceed to lay before our readers a brief 
general outline of the leading doctrines of geology, such as 
they are now generally received. The term is derived from 
two Greek words meaning a discourse (logos), respecting 
the earth (gea), and we have already explained the 
objects of inquiry which this department of science com- 
prehends. In giving this outline it must be borne in 
mind that it is not our purpose to give even an elemen 
tary treatise on geology, but solely to render our descrip- 
tions of some of the principal mineral productions that 
we meet with in common life more intelligible. We mean 
to confine ourselves to the great general truths which 
have been discovered, and that, too, without entering 
upon any detail of the proofs and reasonings upon which 
these have been established : to have gone into these, 
so as to serve any useful purpose, would have required 
us to enter into discussions inconsistent with the plan of 
our publication. If, therefore, some of our statements 
shall seem startling, and even improbable, as they are 
very likely to do to such of our readers as come new to 
the consideration of the subject, they must either give us 
credit tor advancing nothing but what is admitted by 
men of science as an established truth, or they must 
take the trouble to investigate the subject for themselves, 
and satisfy their doubts by applying at the original 
sources of information. We shall avoid, as much as 
possible, the employment of terms that are not likely to 
be understood by the generality of readers; but we may 
be sometimes unable entirely to fulfil our wish in that 
respect, especially in naming rocks and minerals. To 
give by words alone such a description of a stone that a 
true image of it can be presented to the mind of the 
reader, is impossible ; the substance itself must be seen : 
but it is not necessary for our present purpose that more 
should be known about mineral bodies, than what it is 
in the power of every one who will look a little about 
him in the ordinary course of life. 

It may be necessary to remind our readers that the 
earth is a round body of a somewhat flattened shape, the 
diar vter from pole to pole being about twenty-seven 

Digitized by VjOOQIC 



[January 19, 

miles less than that passing through the equator; that 
more than three-fifths of its surface is covered by the 
ocean ; that the land rises from the surface of the sea in 
the form of islands and of great continuous masses called 
continents, without any regularity of outline, either where 
it comes in contact with the water, or in vertical elevation, — 
its surface being diversified by plains, valleys, hills, and 
mountains, which sometimes rise to the height of twenty- 
six thousand feet above the level of the sea. Numerous 
soundings in different parts of the world have shown 
that the bottom of the ocean is as diversified by inequa- 
lities as the surface of the land : a great part of it is 
unfathomable to us, and the islands and continents 
which rise above its surface, are the summits of 
mountains, the intervening valleys lying in the deepest 

Different climates produce different races of animals, 
and different families of plants ; but the mineral king- 
dom, as far as the navare of stone is concerned, is inde- 
pendent of the influence of climate, the same rocks 
being found in the polar and in the equatorial regions. 
Although there is considerable diversity in the struc- 
ture of the earth, it is not in any degree connected 
with particular zones, as far as relates to circumstances 
which are external to it ; nor can we say that the 
wonderful action which burning mountains tell us is 
going on in its interior, is confined to any part of the 
sphere, for the volcanic fires of Iceland burn as fiercely 
as those that burst forth under the line. From all the 
observations hitherto made, there is no reason to suppose 
that any unexplored country contains mineral bodies 
with which we are not already acquainted ; and although 
we cannot say beforehand of what rocks an unexamined 
land is likely to be composed, it is extremely improbable 
that any extensive series of rocks should be found, con- 
stituting a class different from any which have been 
already met with in other parts of the globe- 
When we dig through the vegetable soil, we usually 
come to clay, sand, or gravel, or to a mixture of these 
unconsolidated materials ; and, in some countries, we 
shall probably find nothing else, at the greatest depths 
to which we are able to penetrate. But in most places, 
after getting through the clay and gravel, we should 
come upon a hard stone, lying in layers or beds parallel 
to each otheT, either of one kind or of different kinds ac- 
cording to the depth ; and which would vary in different 
countries, and in different places in the same country, 
as well in its constituent parts, as in the thickness, alte- 
ration, and position of its beds or layers. It has been 
ascertained by the observations of geologists, in various 
parts of the world, that the crust of the earth is composed 
of a series of such layers, distinguishable from each other 
by very marked characters in their internal structure. 
The elements of which they are composed are not very 
numerous, being for the most part the hard substance 
called quartz by mineralogists, of which gun-flints may 
be cited as a familiar example, these being wholly com- 
posed of it, and the well-known substances, clay and 
limestone ; but these elements are aggregated or mixed 
up together in so many proportions and forms, as to 
produce a considerable variety of rocks. Besides this 
elementary composition, or what may be termed their 
simple structure, the greatest proportion of the rocks that 
are so arranged in layers contain foreign bodies, such as 
fragments of other rocks, shells, bones of land and am- 
phibious animals and of fishes, and portions of trees and 
plants. It has further been found that these different 
layers or strata, as they are scientifically called (from the 
plural of the Latin word stratum, signifying a bed), lie 
upon each other in a certain determinate order, which is 
never* in any degree, inverted. Suppose the series of 
strata to be represented by the letters of the alphabet, A 
being the stratum nearest the surface, and Z the lowest : 
A is never found below Z nor under any other of the 

intervening letters ; nor is Z ever found above any of the 
letters that stand before it in the alphabet ; and so it is 
with all the strata represented by the other letters. This 
will be rendered more clear by the annexed diagram, 
which is an imaginary section of the crust of the globe, 
representing a series of different strata. On one side 
there is a general description of the nature of the stone ; 
on the other the name of some particular place where that 
stratum is to be seen. It must not however be imagined, 
although this regularity in the order of superposition 
exists, that all the different members of the series always 
occur together ; on the contrary, there is no instance 
where they have all been found in one place. It possibly 
may happen that where C is found in a horizontal position, 
by going deeper all the rest would follow in succession, 
but this we can never know, as the thickness would be 
infinitely beyond our means of penetrating ; and there 
are reasons which render the existence of such an unin 
terrupted series extremely improbable. It very seldom 
happens that more than three or four members of the 
series can be seen together ; — we say of the series, because 
each member is composed of an almost infinite number 
of subordinate layers. This order of succession, estab- 
lished by geologists, has been determined by the combi- 
nation of many observations made in different countries 
at distant points. The order of three or four members 
was ascertained in one place ; the vpper stratum in that 
place was found to be the lowest member of a second 
series in another place, and the lowest stratum at the 
first station was observed to be the uppermost at a third 
point; and in like manner the order of superposition was 
discovered throughout the whole range. Neither is it to 
be supposed that the strata which lie next each other in 
the diagram are always so in nature ; as for instance, 
that wherever G is found associated with another mem- 
ber it is always either with F above it or H below it 
it very often happens that F lies upon H, G being alto- 
gether absent ; and C may even be seen lying on R, the 
whole of the intervening members of the series being 
wanting. Very frequently one of the lowest members 
of the series appears at the surface. Every one knows 
that sometimes chalk, sometimes slate, lies immediately 
beneath the vegetable soil, or even at the surface with- 
out that scanty covering ; but if a lower member of the 
series represented in the diagram be seen at the sur- 
face, however deep we might go, we should never find 
any one of those rocks that belong to the higher mem- 
•bers of that series. The immense practical advantage of 
this knowledge of the determinate order of succession 
will be seen at once ; for if O, or any of the lower mem- 
bers of the series, were found to occupy the surface of 
the country, it would be at once known that all search 
for coal in that spot would be fruitless. 

Our readers will doubtless be curious to know by 
what means geologists have been enabled so decidedly to 
fix the above order of succession. If they had had nothing 
to depend upon but the mineral composition of the rock, 
(what we have termed its simple structure), they would 
never have arrived at this knowledge ; for as far as that 
is concerned, rocks are met with among the upper mem- 
bers of the series, which cannot be distinguished from 
those in the lower beds. They have arrived at the im- 
portant conclusion by a far less fallible guide ; for every 
stratum contains, within its own domain, records of its 
past history, written in characters intelligible to all 
nations, which no possible events can falsify or destroy, 
and which have enabled the geologists to arrive at some 
conclusions possessing all the certainty of mathematical 
demonstration. But to keep within our prescribed 
limits, and at the same time avoid the inconvenience of 
breaking off in the midst of this subject, we must defer to 
our next paper on the Mineral Kingdom the account of 
these curious documents of the ancient history of the 

Digitized by 



(DIAGRAM, No. 1.) 



^ I I ~~wll ~I7"i T " IZr- 7 ' '"* T "7.""*' I ir^I^^r^/^tSr*^*"^ many places round London, ereat Dart of Eras. 

| F J bed. of hmertone-remain. of extinct | r*>&&>fr*&>>ZX ™d north-east of Kant, iaW Ihepp^y . 

Woolwich, Cliffli at Harwich, Isle of Wight. 
Dover Cliffs, Brighton, Hertfordshire. 

sh rag. 

Neighbourhood of Hastings and Isle of Purbeck. 
Flat pavement of London, very often. 
Portland building stone. 
Kimmeridge, on coast of Dorsetshire. 
Neighbourhood of Oxford. 
Extensively in Lincolnshire fen clay. 
Bath building stone. 
Whitby, Gloucester, Lyme Regis. 

Grea* part of East Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, 
Stafford, Warwick, Worcester, Cheshire, and 
neighbourhood of Carlisle. 

Sunderland, Ferrybridge in Yorkshire, Mansfield. 

Newcastle, many parts of Yorkshire, Lancashire*, 
Staffordshire, Somersetshire, vale iu which 
Edinburgh and Glasgow are situated. South 
Wales. p 

Millstones of Newcastle and Derbyshire. 

Deposits of the lead ore of Derbyshire, Yorkshire, 
Northumberland Cumberland. High Peak of 
Derbyshire, mountains in Yorkshire, Mcndip* 
Hills, Somerset. 

Great part of Herefordshire, and south-east part 
of South Wales, Banks of the Wye, south of 

Cumberland and Westmorland Mountains, groat 
part of Wales, north of Devon, South JX-von, 
and Cornwall, great part of south of Scotland,. 

Chief part of the Highlands of Scotland. 

Digitized by 




[January 19, 

In the year 1820, about 5000 British emigrants were 
conveyed to South Africa, under the patronage of 
Government, with a view to colonize certain tracts of 
unoccupied territory near the frontier of Caflerkad, «n 
the eastern extremity of the Cape Colony. The emi- 
grants were disembarked at Algoa Bay, about 600 miles 
from Cape Town; and there encamped under their 
respective leaders, until they could be furnished with 
waggons to convey them and their goods into the inte- 
rior. None of the parties consisted of fewer than ten 
adult males, besides women and children; and some 
amounted to as many as a hundred families or upwards, 
associated for mutual support, and accompanied by their 
respective clergymen, or other religious instructors/ A 
considerable number of gentlemen of education and in- 
telligence, (chiefly military and naval officers on half 
pay,) were also among the leaders ; so that the new set- 
tlement comprised within its own body suitable mate- 
rials for the immediate formation of a well-organized 
community. The history of this settlement, however, 
though neither uninteresting nor uninstructive, is not 
our present object. We mean merely to give the reader 
a sketch of one of those parties journeying through the 
wilds of Africa to their remote location in the interior. 

The writer of this notice happened to be the leader 
of the band now referred to, which was one of the 
smallest of that body of emigrants. It consisted of a 
few families of Scottish farmers, amounting altogether 
to twenty-three persons, including children and ser- 

We struck our tents at Algoa Bay on the 18th of June, 
which is about the middle of winter in the southern 
hemisphere. The weather was serene and pleasant, 
though chill at night — somewhat like fine September 
weather in England. Our travelling train consisted of 
seven waggons, hired from Dutch- African colonists, and 
driven by the owners or their native servants — slaves 
and Hottentots. These vehicles appeared to be admi- 
rably adapted for the country, which is rugged and 
mountainous, and generally destitute of any other roads 
than the rude tracks originally struck across the wilder- 
ness by the first European adventurers. Each waggon 
was provided with a raised canvas tilt to protect the 
traveller from sun and rain ; and was drawn by a team 
of ten or twelve oxen, fastened with wooden yokes to a 
strong central trace, or trek-tow, framed of twisted 
thongs of bullock's or buffalo's hide. The driver sat in 
front to guide and stimulate the oxen, armed with a whip 
of enormous length; while a Hottentot or Bushman 
boy, running before, led the team by a thong attached 
to the horns of the foremost pair of bullocks. Where 
the road was bad and crooked, or when we travelled at 
a rapid rate, as we frequently did on more favourable 
ground, these poor leaders had a very toilsome task ; 
and if they made any mistake, or in aught displeased 
the lordly baas (the gruff boor who sat behind), his for- 
midable lash was not unfrequently applied to their naked 
limbs. These African whips are truly tremendous im- 
plements. In ascending some of the mountain passes, 
when the whole strength of the oxen, and occasionally 
of two or three teams yoked together, was required to 
drag up our heavy-loaded waggons, the lash was used 
with such unsparing vigour that the flanks of the bul- 
locks were sometimes actually streaming with blood. 

These rude African farmers, however, have their 
good points. Their faults and vices, so far as they are 
peculiar, are evidently the effect of their unfortunate 
situation in being slave-holders. When not crossed in 
their humour, they are usually civil and obliging ; and 
we continued on friendly terms with them to the end of 
our journey. 

At the close of the first day, we encamped in tho midst 

of an immense forest, or jungle, of shrubbery, at the dis 
taace of a few miles from a remarkable salt lake which 
has been described in a previous number. This we 
visited in order to provide oonetot with a supply of salt 
for culinary purposes. Our encampment this night was 
to our yet un e x per ien ced eyes rather a singular scene. 
Some families pitched their tents, and spread their mat- 
tresses on the dry ground; others, more vividly im- 
pressed with the terror of snakes, scorpions, tarantulas, 
and other noxious creatures of the African clime, resolved 
to sleep as they had travelled— above their baggage in 
the waggons. Meanwhile our native attendants adopted 
due precautions to avert surprise from the more formi- 
dable denizens of the forest. Elephants and lions had 
formerly been numerous in this part of the country, and 
were still occasionally met with. Two or three large 
fires were th er efo re kindled to scare away such visitants ; 
and the oxen, for greater security, were fastened by their 
horns to t^e wheels of the waggons. The boors unslung 
their huge guns (or roers, as they called them) from the 
tilts of the waggons, and placed them against a magni- 
ficent evergreen bush, in whose shelter, with a fire at 
their feet, they had fixed their place of repose. Here, 
untying each his leathern scrip, they produced .their pro- 
visions for supper, consisting chiefly of dried bullock s 
flesh, which they washed down with a moderate sopic, 
or dram, of colonial brandwyn, from a huge horn slung 
by each man in his waggon beside his powder-flask. 
The slaves and Hottentots, congregated apart round one 
of the watch-fires, made their frugal meal, without the 
brandy, but with much more merriment than their 
phlegmatic masters. In the meanwhile our frying-pans 
and tea-kettles were also actively employed ; and by a 
seasonable liberality in the beverage " which cheers but 
not inebriates " we ingratiated ourselves not a little with 
both classes of our escort, especially with the coloured 
caste, who prized "tea- water" as a rare and precious 

It was npt a little amusing after supper to contemplate 
the characteristic groups which our rustic camp ex- 
hibited. The Dutch- African boors, most of them men 
of almost gigantic size, sat apart in their bushy bield, 
in aristocratic exclusiveness, smoking their huge pipes 
with self-satisfied complacency. Some of the graver 
emigrants were seated on the trunk of a decayed tree, 
conversing in broad Scotch on subjects connected with 
our settlement, and on the comparative merits of long 
and short-horned cattle (the horns of the native oxen 
are enormous) : and the livelier young men and ser- 
vant lads were standing near the Hottentots, observing 
their merry pranks, or practising with them a lesson of 
mutual tuition in iheir respective dialects; while the 
awkward essays at pronunciation, on either side, sup- 
plied a fund of ceaseless jocularity. Conversation ap- 
peared to go on with alacrity, though neither understood 
scarcely a syllable of the other's language ; and a sly 
rogue of a Bushman sat behind, all the while, mimicking, 
to the very life, each of us in succession. These groups, 
with all their variety of mien and attitude, character 
and complexion, — now dimly discovered, now distinctly 
lighted up by the fitful blaze of the watch-fires; the 
exotic aspect of the clumps of aloes and euphorbias, 
peering out amidst the surrounding jungle, in the wan 
light of the rising moon, seeming to the excited fancy 
like bands of Caffer warriors crested with plumes and 
bristling with assagais ; these appearances, together with 
the uncouth chuckling gibberish of the Hottentots and 
Bushmen, and their loud bursts of wild laughter, had 
altogether a very strange and striking effect, and made 
son* of us feel far more impressively than we had yet 
felt, that we were now indeed houseless pilgrims in the 
wilds of savage Africa. 

By degrees, the motley groups became hushed, under 
the influence of slumber. The settlers retired to their 

Digitized by 





tents or their waggons ; the boors, sticking their pipes 
in their broad-brimmed hats, wrapt themselves in their 
great coats, and fearless of snake or scorpion, stretched 
their huge bodies on the bare ground ; and the Hot- 
tentots, drawing themselves each under his sheep-skin 
carott, lay coiled up, with their feet to the fire and their 
faces to the ground, like so many hedgehogs. Over the 
wide-stretching wilderness, now reposing under the bright 
midnight moon, profound silence reigned, — unbroken 
save by the deep breathing of the oxen round the wag- 
gons* and, at times, by the far-off melancholy howl of 
a hyaena, the first voice of a beast of prey we had heard 
since our landing. With the nightly serenade of the 
jackal and hyaena we soon became familiar; nor did any 
more formidable visitants disturb our repose during our 


[To be continued.] 


" Mr btrth-Aiy I"— What a different sound 

Thai word had in my youthful ears ! 
And how, each time the day comes round, 

Less and less white its mark appears ' 
When first our scanty years are told, 
It seems like pastime to grow old , 
And, aa youth counts the shining links 

That Tune around him binds so fast, 
Pleased with the task, he little thinks 

How hard that chain will press at last. 

Vain was the man, and false as vain, 

Who said, " wero he ordained to run 
Bis long career of life again, 

fie would do all that he had done."— 
Ah ! tis not thus (he voice that dwells 

In sober birth-fays speaks to me; 
Far otherwise — of time it tells 

Lavished unwisely, carelessly — 
Of counsel mock'd— of talents, m*4o 

Haply for high and pure designs, 
But oft, Hke Israel's incense laid 

Upon unholy, earthly shrines — 
Of nursing many a wrong desire— 

Of wandering after Love too to, 
And taking every meteor fire 

Thai croesM ray path-way for his star ! 
AH this H tells, and could I trace 

The imp erfec t picture o'er again* 
With power to atfa, retouch, efface 

The lights and shades, the joy /ad pain, 
How Kttfe of the past Would stay'! 
How quickly all should melt away— 
All— but that freedom of the mind 

Which hath been more than wealth to me : 
Those friendships in my boyhood twined! 

And kent till now unchangingly. 
And that dear home, that saving ark, 

Where Love's true light at last I've found,' 
Cheering within, when all grows dark. 

And cofflfbrtlestj and stormy round I 


The twenty-second of January is the birth-day of the 
illustrious Francis Bacon, whom we are here to regard 
principally as the founder of the Experimental or In- 
ductive Philosophy. There can be no doubt that the 
whole of men's knowledge of external nature must have 
been originally derived from observation. We are not 
born with any idea even of such simple truths as that a 
stone is hard, and that it will fall to the ground if drop- 
ped from the hand. These and all other facta must have 
been observed before they could be known. Observa- 
tion, then, and that alone, was the mother of natural 
philosophy. First, so many separate facts were col- 
lected ; then* they were arranged into different groups 
according to certain characters which were found to be 
common to all those that were placed together ; and in 
this way were obtained What we call the general truths 
of science, which are nothing more than expressions of 
such common principles. We need no historical evi- 
dence tc prove that this was the course actually followed ; 

for it evidently must have been so : there was no other 
way by which the general truths in question could have 
been arrived at. It is possible, however, that in a suc- 
ceeding age these general truths might in many cases 
be proclaimed without the particular instances on which 
they were founded. In this way philosophy would at 
length put oti the air of a body of broad and lofty 
abstractions, not resting upon any visible foundation of 
experience. It is easy to conceive how difficult and 
almost impossible it would be for the truths thus sepa- 
rated from their proper support to remain long un- 
mixed and unsophisticated. 

We may thus account for the form which the philo- 
sophy of the ancients eventually assumed. In its most 
matured state it was undeniably, to a considerable extent, 
under the dominion of certain preconceived opinions, 
some true, others false, and others partly true and partly 
false, but of all of which it may be said that the evidence 
which was to establish or refute them was seldom sought 
for where alone it was really to be found — in the facts 
of nature. It would be extremely incorrect, however, to 
suppose that the examination of nature was altogether 
neglected. Very far from it The most eminent of the 
Greek philosophers were most assiduous and most accu- 
rate observers. For proof of this, we need only refer to 
such works as Aristotle's History of Animals and the 
medical treatises of Hippocrates. The true distinction 
between them and the moderns is, that, although observers, 
they were not experimenters. They heard, and recorded 
correctly enough, what nature stated of her own accord, 
but they asked her no questions. 

It is a most remarkable fact, and one vividly illustra- 
tive of the weakness and inefficiency of a philosophy 
so constituted, that for the long space of nearly two 
thousand years it not only remained unproductive, but 
actually went back and decayed every day mere and 
more. From the age of Democritus, Hippocrates, and 
Aristotle, four hundred years before the birth of Christ, 
down to nearly the middle of the sixteenth century of our 
era, men, instead of making any progress in the method 
of prosecuting the study of nature, had been gradually 
sinking into deeper and deeper ignorance and blindness 
in regard to every thing appertaining to that branch of 
science. Accidental discoveries may have occasionally 
turned up to add a few items to their stock of facts, 
though not, there is reason to believe, to an extent suffi- 
cient to make up for those which were continually 
dropping away into forgetful ness ; but of philosophy 
itself, properly so called, there was nearly all the while 
a decline like that of the daylight after the sun has sunk 
below the horizon. Certain general principles, sanc- 
tioned by the authority of great names, or the tradition 
of* the schools, were considered as forming the necessary 
foundation of all truth. No attempt was made, or so 
much as thought of, to test these sacred affirmations by 
the actual investigation of nature : the aim was always 
to reconcile the fact to the doctrine, not the doctrine to 
the fact At last the explication, and we might almost 
say the worship of these principles became nearly the sole 
occupation of the professors of philosophy ; even the 
collecting of new facts by means of observation was 
entirely given up. This was the state of things during 
what are called the middle or the dark ages, which may 
be described as comprehending the thousand years from 
the taking of Rome by the Goths in the middle of the 
fifth century, to the taking of Constantinople by the 
Turks in the middle of the fifteenth. 

After this last-mentioned event, and the revival of let- 
ters in the west, which was brought about mainly by the 
learned exiles whom the destruction of the Grecian em 
pire forced to take refuge in Italy, the human intellect 
did indeed manifest a disposition, in almost all depart- 
ments of science, to throw off the yoke of prejudice and 
authority to which it had so long resigned itself. In 
natural philosophy, as well as in other studies, various 

Digitized by 




[January 19, 1833. 

intrepid and original thinkers arose, determined to make 
their way to the knowledge of truth by their own efforts, 
and to look into the realities of nature with their own 
eyes. These men well deserve to be accounted the pio- 
neers of Bacon. But it was not till he arose, that the war 
against the old despotic formalities of the schools was 
commenced on any thing like a grand scale, or carried 
on with adequate vigour and system. It was he who 
actually effected the conquest— who dispersed the dark- 
ness and brought in the light This he did by the pub- 
lication of his ' Novum Organon Scientiarum,' or New 
Instrument of the Sciences. 

Bacon was born in 1561, and was the son of Sir 
Nicholas Bacon, for more than twenty years keeper 
of the great seal. He was educated at Trinity Col- 
lege, Cambridge, after leaving which he entered himself 
a student of Gray's Inn, with the object of following his 
father's profession of the law. In this profession, and 
in public life, he rapidly rose to the highest eminence ; 
and in 1619 he was made Lord High Chancellor of 
England, and created Baron Verulam, to which .title 
was added, the following year, that of Viscount St. 
Albans. Bacon's political course, up to this time, had 
not been very remarkable for disinterestedness or inde- 
pendence ; and it was destined to terminate suddenly in 
disgrace and sorrow. In March, 1621, he was impeached 
by the House of Commons for corruption in his high 
office ; and his own confession soon after admitted the 
truth of the accusation in nearly all its force : on which 
he was immediately deprived of the seals, and sentenced 
to be fined, imprisoned during the King's pleasure, and 
for ever excluded from parliament and all public employ^ 
ments. He afterwards obtained a remission of the 
hardest parts of his sentence : but he only survived till 
the 9th of April, 1626, on which day he died suddenly 
at the Earl of Arundel's house at Highgate. Intellec- 
tually considered, he was so great a man, that his cha- 
racter and conduct, as an historical personage, are com- 
monly, as it were by general consent, in a very singular 
degree overlooked and forgotten when we mention the 
name of Bacon. It is worthy of notice, as-^a curious 
evidence of how little the delinquencies and misfortunes 
of the politician, memorable as they were, were some 
time after his death known or noted in those parts of the 
world which were most filled with the feme of the philo- 
sopher, that Bayle, in his Dictionary, published in 1695, 
and again in 1702, has given us an article, on Bacon, in 
which he does not so much as allude to his lamentable 
fall, being evidently ignorant that such an event had 
ever taken place. 

The method of philosophy recommended and taught 
in the ' Novum Organon ' is that of experiment and 
induction. Experimenting was a favourite employment 
of philosophers even in the dark ages. The chemists 
or alchemists, for instance, of those days, were conti- 
nually making experiments. But their experiments 
were all made simply for the purpose of obtaining a 
particular material result ; never with the object of de- 
tecting or testing a principle. Thus, they mixed or fused 
two or more substances together, in the hope that the 
combination might yield them the elixir vita, or the uni- 
versal tincture ; but they never resorted to a course of 
experiments to ascertain whether nature, as was asserted 
in the schools, really abhorred a vacuum, .or .to try the 
alleged incompressibility of water, or to bring to the proof i 
any of the other commonly received dogmas of a similar 
description. It may be safely affirmed, that they never 
dreamed of experimental philosophy in this sense. Now 
this was the method of experiment to which Bacon 
called the attention of philosophical inquirers, and of 
which he first fully laid open the character, the uses, and 
the rules. By induction, again, he meant merely the 
bringing in or collecting of facts, and the assorting of 
them according to their bearings, for the purpose of 
thence deducing those inferences which properly consti- 

tute philosophy. Although the Baconian philosophy has 
been called the philosophy of induction, the phrase is to 
be taken as referring merely to the foundation on which 
it rests. Induction is not its object, but only one of its 
instruments ; not its end, but its beginning. Its great 
author sufficiently expressed his sense of the true place 
which mere induction held in philosophy, when he used, 
as we are informed by his chaplain, Dr. Rawley, in his 
Preface to Bacon's * Sylva Sylvarum,' to complain, in 
allusion to his task of collecting the facts in that work, 
that he, who deserved " to be* an architect in this build- 
ing, should be forced to be a workman and a labourer, 
and to dig the clay and burn the brick." But on the 
other hand, he held it to be essential that this work 
should be performed by some one. He maintained that 
no philosophical truth or general principle could be ob- 
tained by any other method than by the induction of 
facts, or was entitled to acceptance, except in so far as it 
was supported by that testimony. The fundamental 
tenet, in short, of his philosophy is announced in the 
opening sentence of the ' Novum Organon :'— " Man, 
the servant and interpreter of Nature, understands and 
reduces to practice just so much as he has actually ex 
perienced of Nature's laws ; more he can neither know 
nor achieve," 

[Portrait of Bacon.] 

•-• The Offlce of the Society for the Diffusion of Uiefel Knowledge i* at 
59, XineolnV-lnn yield*. 


Shopkeepers and Eawhert may be supplied *rh»l"*}* *V t **JX &0 " im * 
^^Booksellers, of wham, aleo, any of the previous Numbers may be had?— 

Manchester, Roenreow; and Win 

London, Gboombbidox, Pan yer Alley, 
Bath, Si mm*. 
Birmingham, Dm axe. 
Bristpl, WtBTLit and Oo. 
Carlisle, Thotnam ; and Boott. 
Derly, Wilxikb and Sow. 
'Devonport, Byibs. ■ 

' Doncaster, Brook* and Co. 
Exeter, Balls. 
Falmouth, PhiLf. 
Hull, SxxPHnireoir. • 
Jersey, John Caxbx, Job. 
Ketidal, HuDaoH and NioHOLeow. 
I*eds, Baikm and Niweonx. 
Lincoln, Bnooici and Sow*. 
JjwerpooK Willmbb and Smith. 
Lynn, J. R, Smith. 

Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Cuabwlxt. 
Norwich, Jabrolb and Sow; and 

Wilxivs and Be*. 
Nottingham, Wmoht. 
Oxford, 8J.ATTEIU 
Plymouth, Nkttlbtow. 
Pertsea, Hobbkt, Jan. 

Staffordshire, Las* End, 0. Watts. 
Worcester, Dxiohtox. 
Dublin, Waxxmam. 
Edinburgh, Olxvsb and BoTO. 
Glasgow, Atkxxbox and Co. 
New York, Jaokbov. 

Feinted by Wiluam Clowe*, Stamford Street. 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 


or TIM 

Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



[January 26, 1833. 


[Church of St. Martin, Cologne.] 

Cologne, called by the Germans Coin, is situated in a 
district of the same name, which is one of the two divi- 
sions of the Prussian province of Julich-Cleve-Benr, so 
called from its containing the three old duchies of Julich 
or Juliers, Cleve, and Berg. Cologne is the capital of 
the whole province, and stands on the left or west bank 
of the Rhine, N. L. 50° 55', E. L. 6° 45', forming a kind 
Vol. II. 

of semicircle. The city is fortified, and with its numerous 
spires and large buildings makes a good show from the 
opposite side of the river. It is about one hundred and 
seven miles east by north from Brussels. Cologne was 
an old Roman station often mentioned in Tacitus, and 
took its name of Colonia Claudia Agrippinensis, or " the 
Colony of Claudius and Axrrippina," from Agrippina the 


Digitized by 




[ January tt, 

daughter of deftnanicus Cssar, Who was some time in 
these parte at the head of the Roman army. Agrippina, 
at the time when her name was given to the colony, was 
the fourth wife of her uncle, the feeble and worthless 
Emperor Claudius * ; and was born at this place while 
her illustrious father commanded in Germany. The 
Roman word " colonia," colony, has been corrupted by 
the French into Cologne, and by the Germans into 

Under the Germanic Empire, Cologne was a free 
Imperial city, and had both a seat and voice as well in 
the Diets or Assemblies of Westphalia as in those of the 
Empire. At this time the Elector of Cologne occa- 
sionally resided here, as well as the Chapter of the Arch- 
bishop of Cologne and a Nuncio of the Pope. Urban 
VII. established a university here in 1388, to which 
succeeding Popes granted privileges. it is still the 
seat of a Catholic Archbishopric, out the university as 
such no longer exists. 

Cologne cannot on the whole be called ft handsome 
city, its streets being crooked, narrow, and dirty ; but it 
has a great number of public buildings, and among them 
thirty-three churches and chapels. The population in 
1830 was 65,145. The cathedral is a noble building, 
400 feet long and 1$0 wide, which, owing- to its magni- 
tude, is a conspicuous object from a distance, overtopping 
every other edifice in the city. The body of the cathe- 
dral is supported by 100 pillars. Two high towers 
were designed for this building, one of which is raised 
to only about half the height intended, and the other is 
hardly begun. Were the cathedral completed, it is 
generally allowed it would be one of the finest Gothic 
buildings in Europe. Behind the high altar is the 
chapel of the three holy kings, or three wise mens as 
they are sometimes called, made of marble ; the shrine 
which contains the bodies is remarkable for the curious 
and elaborate ornaments with which it ft decorated. 
The names of the three wise men, according to some 
accounts, are Gaspar, Melehior, and Balthasar, whose 
bones, as the story £oe>. Were first taken to Constan- 
tinople by tne Emperor Coristantihe's mother; thence 
they were transferred to Milan; and finally obtained a 
sumptuous mausoleum in CotogYie. What the precise 
merits of Gaspar, Melehior, and Balthasar Were, we 
have not been able to make out satisfactorily. The 
parish church <#St. Peter contains the Crucifixion of the 
Apostle, one of ftubens' finest pictures, which lie gave 
as a present to trie church in Which he received the rite 
of baptism, l^ris distinguished painter was A native tof 
Cologne. TTVe. picture travelled to Paris during the 
time when thfe rYerich frer£ s6 busy in appropriating to 
themselves all the valuable works of this kind which they 
could lay theft famds Oh : after the downfall of bona- 
parte it returVfM horrre. 

In the church V# St. tXrs'ida we see the tomb of this 
holy Virgin, awL a* 'the legend would have us believe, 
the bones of Act \ S. \tKMl virgin companions and martyrs: 
the church ao$s in fact con tarn an immense number of 
bones, and fh a eV^aui chamber, some accounts say, 
there are, or weVfc, Several 'thousand skulls, arranged in 
good order aWd Adorned with garlands and coronets. 
The fact of tfre rWrtes Wing. 'there se^ms undoubted ; the 
proof of their toetang?n£ 'to the hofy Virgins does not seem 
quite so cleafr. 

Besides the** %m tf% WiaYty vfchcr handsome churches 
in Cologne, one of which, the church of St Martin, is 
represented in the wood-cut This view is given, not so 
much for the beauty of the church, as to exhibit the 
general style of architecture m this old city. 

"Ine W'h-houSe has a fine portal formed by a double 
i*6w of rriarble piftars. The old Jesuits' college, ah 
extensive building, now contains a gymnasium or high 

* Tnis iinperial simpleton had ma<le two engagements of marriage 
before he actually entered into the matrimonial fctate. In fact he 

had fa wivet, Wee our Henry Vill. 

school, with a library, a seminary for priests, fend k 
valuable collection of old German paintings. 

The situation of Cologne makes it a place of consider- 
able trade, particularlv with the German town of Frank- 
fort-on-the-AlnihahdilolIand. In 1622, 4415 Vessels of 
various sizes arrived at the town, and 2832 left it. The 
manufactures of Cologne are considerable ; twenty-five 
tobacco manufactories, cotton, silk, and woollen wares, 
earthenware, soap, candles, &c. ; and Cologne water, or 
Eau de Cologne^ as it is commonly called, which is said 
to be made at twenty-four different establishments. The 
virtues of this water must be well known to all our readers; 
but if they have still any doubts on the subject, it is only 
necessary to read the printed French advertisement, 
which generally accompanies the bottle, and it is impos- 
sible to dispute the virtues of the commodity Which the 
manufacturers extol so highly. A great deal of brandy 
is marte at Cologne. The book manufactory of the town 
employs eighteen establishments and forty-two presses. 

The public library of 60,000 volumes, the botanic 
garden, the schriol for the deaf and dumb, the various 
collections and cabinets, the hospitals, &c. are such 
appentla^es as we usually find in an oM continental 
town. Inhere is a bridge of boats over the river, which 
at Online is about 1^50 paces wide, connecting the 
city xvftn the opposite town of Deutz. 

%«* Hie Statistical facts in this notice ate from ' Cannabich*! 
Get»gTA£lwy* a late Gentian work. 

No. 1. 

Oua readers are aware that ell or most of the common 
rute$ of commercial arithmetic are intended to give exact 
results, true to the nearest fraction of a farthing, a grain, 
or an inch, as the case may be ; and it is very necessary 
that it should be so. But it is no less deferable to 
have other rules, more simple than those of the first 
class, to enable us to get near the result, when we do not 
require extreme accuracy. Without enlarging further 
upon the advantage of such rules, we Will prOctfied to give 
one, intending in future papers to entet upon Others. 

Having given the price of one article^ we often want 
to know nearly how much ten, a hundred, or a thousand 
of the same will cost, at the same rate. Or* knowing 
how much ten, a hundred, or a thousand toul cost, we 
wish to know the price of one. The rule we are going 
to give will tell within three-pence hbW mueh ten will 
cost, within two shillings how much a hundred will cost, 
and within a pound how much a thousand will cost. 
The reverse rule is nYuch more correct, for when we 
know how much a thousand cost, we may tell within a 
rarthmg how much one Will cost We will explain it by 
art example, as follows : — 

If a gallon costs £3. 17*. frf &. % how much will ten, a 
hundred, and a thousand gallons Cost respectively? 

1. Write down the pounds, and by the sicle of them 
write down the half of the shillings, after Which write a 5, 
tff dividing thfc shilling's fty 2 gave a remainder, that is, 
if the shillings were odd hi number. In the present 
instance this gives 385 ; the pounds 3, half the shillings 
8, and 5 because of the remainder. Annex h. cipher to 
this, which gives 3950. 

2. 1\irn the pence and farthings Tnto farthings only, 
adding 1 if the 'number of farthmgs thus obtained be 24 
or upwards. In the present instance this gives 32 ; 
the number of farthings in 7}rf. is 31, and 1 is added 
because 31 is greater than 24. 

3. Add the two last results together, which gives in 
this instance 3882, the sum of 3850 and 32. 

To find the price of ten gallons nearly, annex a cipher 
to this, and cut off the three last places ; this gives 
The 38 is the number of pounds in tie price of tea 

Digitized by 





gallons i to find tha shillings and pence, as near as this 
rule can do it, we must deal with the 820 in such a 
manner as to reverse the process in (1) and (2) ; that 
is, we must ask what number of shillings and pence 
would have given us 820, if we had done with them 
what is directed to be done in (1) and (2). The reverse 
rule is ; — 

1. Double the first figure, and add 1 if the second 
figure be 5 or upwards ; this is the number of shillings. 
It is 16 in this instance, since the second figure is not so 
great as 5. 

2. Take away five from the second figure, if that can 
be done, and with the remainder and the third figure, 
or with the second and third figures form a number ; 
which number diminish by 1 if it be 25 or upwards. 
In the present instance this gives simply 20, for the 
second figure is not so great as 5, nor is 20 so great as 
25. If the number had been 887 instead of 820, we 
should have had 36 ; the 3 left from the 8 after 5 has 
been taken away giving 37, which is diminished by 1 , 
because 37 is greater than 25. 

3. Turn the last number, considered as farthings, into 
pence and farthings ; which gives, in this case, 5 pence. 

Hence the price of ten gallons by our rule is ^38. 1 6s. bd. 
The real price is £38. 16s. b\d. 

To find the price of a hundred gallons annex two 
ciphers to 3882 and cut off three places. This gives 
3S8/200, which, treated in the same way, gives 
£388. 4*. Od. The real price is £388. 4s. Id. 

To find the price of a thousand gallons annex three 
ciphers to 3882 and cut off three places, or, which is the 
same thing, annex no ciphers. This gives £3882. 0*. Od. ; 
the real price is £3882. 5s. lOd. 

This rule, though it takes some time in the descrip- 
tion, may be done after a little practice by the head 
alone ; but with great facility by writing down only as 
much as is in the following example : — 

If 1 gallon costs £42. 6s. 3jd 
10 gallons cost £423. 2s. 9$ a\ 
100 „ £4231. 8s. Or/. 

1000 „ £42314. 0s. 0<J. 

which are respectively too small by l£d f| 14(j-, and 
lis. 8* 

We write down the following examples, which the 
eader may verify by the rule : — 

If \ costs £2. 0*. ll£d. 

10 cast £20. 9s. hd. 

100 „ £204. Ms. Od. 

1000 „ £2047. Qs. Od. 

In this case, and in that where there is only one shil- 
ling, a cipher must be placed after the pounds. Thus 
the number from which these are deduced is 2047. 

If 1 costs £31. 9s. lftf. 

lOcosi £314. 1U bd. 

100 „ £3145. 14s. Od. 

1P00 „ #31457. 0s. Od. 

If 1 costs 




10 cost 



100 „ 




1000 „ 




The rule always gives too little, except in the case 
•here the number of pence is exactly 6d„ in which case 
the answer is accurately true. For example, 

If 1 costs £2. 18s. 6d. 

10 cost £29. 5s. Od. 

100 „ £292. 10s. Od. 

1000 „ £2925. 0s. Od. 

As it is very uncommon, when the price is above five 
lUluigs, to sail goods, except fur an exact number of 

shillings and sixpence** this case will foe found very con- 

We may now describe t}ie reverse rule, Knowing 
how many 10, 100, 1000, &c. cost, convert the siira in,to 
one number, by the first rule, strike oft* three places, and 
as many more as there are ciphers in \\\e number named. 
For example, if 100 cost £4936. 18s. 7fd., how inuch, 
does one cost? The number is 4936932, from which I 
stride off Jive places ; viz., the three which ana struck off ia 
evpry case, and tyoo for the 2 ciphers in 100? TJ"s gives 

Retain only three figures on the right, °T 

which gives, treated according to the second rule, 
£49. 7s. 4£d. for the price of one. This is within a 
farthing of the truth. 

We have put the rule in such a way that those who 
do not understand decimal fractions may avail them- 
selves of it Those who understand decimals may be 
told that this process is a short one for converting any 
number of shillings and pence into the corresponding 
decimal of a pound. Thus £1. 15*. 6§d. is £1*778 

Our coinage might be altered so as to make this rule 
exact, without altering the quantity of copper which is now 
coined into a pound sterling. It would require that the 
copper which now goes to 960 farthings or 240 pence, 
should be divided into a thousand farthings or 250 pence, 
the penny being four farthings, as at present Of these 
farthings 50 would go to a shilling, instead of 48 as at 
present; so that the shilling would be twelve- pence half- 
penny. This would be inconvenient, but not very much 
so ; and the silver and gold coinage would remain 
entirely untouched. The difference between the old and 
new farthing would be only one twenty-fiflh part of the 
old farthing ; so that if goods were sold at the same nomi- 
nal price, the loss to the seller would be about a farthing 
in sixpence ; or if the same real price were to be kept, 
the old price might be turned into the new, with ex- 
ceeding accuracy, by adding a farthing for every six-* 
pence. This would be very useful in the period of conr 
fusion which would elapse between the establishment of 
the new coinage and the death of the generation which 
was brought up under the old. It would become usual 
to sell goods by tens instead of dozens, which would 
very much facilitate arithmetical operations. 

We are not advocates of any such change, but rather 
the contrary ; but we arc convinced that if any alteration 
ever take place, this should be the one. 

We will only add that even at present a simple 
table, small enough to be engraved on wood or bone, 
which could be carried in the waistcoat pocket, is all that 
is necessary to work by this rule with perfect exactness 
to any extent. 


Tub guana, or iguana, of the West Indies, of wfyich a 
description and wood-cut were given in a recent number 
of this Magazine, appears to be the living type or repre* 
sentative of one of the largest and most extraordinary 
reptiles of a former world that has hitherto been found 
in a foshil state. The discovery of this animal, and ot 
its structure and character, we owe to the scientific 
researches of Gideon Mantell, Esq., F.R.S., of Lewes in 
Sussex ; and a detailed account of its osteology, with 
plates, was given by that gentleman in the PhilosophicaJ 
Transactions, 1825 ; and subsequently in an interesting 
work published in 1827, entitled 'Illustrations of the 
Geology of Tilgate Forest/ From the close resem- 
blance of the bones and teeth to those of the guana, 
Mr. Mantell has named the fossil animal the iguanodon ; 
but though there is a resemblance in structure between 
the living and the fossil animal, they differ enormously 

E2 O 



[January 26, 

in bulk. The living guana seldom exceeds the length 
. of five feet: that of the iguanodon, estimated by (he 
magnitude of the bones, must have been about seventy 
feet ; the circumference of the body fourteen feet and a 
half; the length of the thigh and leg eight feet tyvo 
inches ; the foot, from the heel to the point of the claw, 
six feet ; the height, from the ground to the top of the 
head, nine feet. Let the reader refer to the figure of the 
guana, No. 41, p. 332, and if he can, let him imagine 
it to be amplified to the dimensions here given, and he 
will form a better idea of the iguanodon than a verbal 
description could convey. The bones of the iguanodon 
are found imbedded in sandstone, in the quarries nerr 
Cuck field in Sussex; they have also been found in 
similar strata in other parts of the county. In the same 
quarries are also found the bones of other large saurian 
or lizard-shaped animals, together with remains of 
turtles and fresh-water shells. No entire skeleton of 
the iguanodon has hitherto been discovered; but Mr. 
Mantell, from his knowledge of comparative anatomy, 
has been enabled to trace the connection of the different 
parts in a satisfactory manner. This was a labour 
of some years ; nor was it until several of the teeth 
were found that he could determine the true character 
of the animal, which was an herbivorous masticating 
reptile. On comparing the teeth with those of various 
species of crocodiles and lizards, he discovered an iden- 
tity of form with those of the living guana* as may be 
seen in the annexed drawings, which are correct repre- 
sentations of both. The reader may be surprised to 
find the teeth of the iguanodon, which are here given of 
the natural size, to be so apparently disproportionate to 
the bulk of the animal, but this is the case with the 
living guana; its length is f\\e feet, but its teeth are not 
larger than those of mice. 

The living guana bites off the buds of vegetables, and 
swallows them without mastication ; but from the worn- 
down state of some of the teeth, Mr. Mantell is decidedly 
of opinion that the iguanodon masticated its food : such 
was also the opinion of Baron Cuvier, who pronounced 
this animal to be " the most extraordinary creature that 
had ever been discovered." From the nature of its 
food it must have been a terrestrial reptile like the 
guana. The iguanodon, like one species of guana in 
St. Domingo, (J guana corhuta,) had a bony protube- 
rance or horn placed near the eyes: a fossil horn has 
been discovered; it is about the size of the lesser horn of 
the rhinoceros. The principal bones of the iguanodon col- 
lected in Mr. M an tell 's Museum at Lewes, are immense 
vertebra?, ribs, thigh-bones of prodigious size, one mea- 
suring twenty-three inches in circumference, bones of 
the feet and toes,: and enormous sharp-pointed claws. 
Mr. Mantell, describing the thigh-bone of such vast 
circumference, justly observes, ** Were it clothed with 
muscles and integuments of suitable proportions, where 
is the living animal with a thigh that could rival this 
extremity of a lizard of the primitive ages of the world ?" 

It was for some time beiieved that the remains of the 
iguanodon were not to be found beyond the wealds of 
Sussex and Kent; but recently, teeth nearly resembling 
those of this animal have been discovered by Dr. Jager 
in Germany. 

During the last summer Mr. Mantell discovered the 
remains of another species of fossil reptile, less than the 
iguanodon, but resembling it in part of its structure, 
though differing from it and from all other known reptiles 
in other parts. It appears to have, had a range of 
enormous scales or spines upon its back, resembling in 
form those of the guana, as represented in the drawing 
of that animal before referred to. Mr. Mantell read a 
description of the parts of this reptile, and exhibited its 
remains, at a meeting of the Geological Society in 
December last. He is now of opinion, that from the 
dislocated and broken bones being still placed in a 
f$rt*in rthuiaa to each Qtb&r, Iter must have been 

injured and subsequently disjointed while covered by 
muscles and integuments. 

From the extreme hardness of the stone in which the 
bones are imbedded, great skill and care were required 
in removing the stone. The strata of Tilgate Forest, in 
which these organic remains are found, contain ex- 
clusively the shells of fresh-witer animals and terrestrial 
plants. The chalk, which nearly surrounds the strata of 
the weald, contains the remains of marine animals only. 

[Teeth of the Fossil Iguanodon and of the Guana.] 

1. Crown of a tooth of the Iguanodon not worn by use, and in 
this state closely resembling /^. 2. 

2. A magnified view of a. tooth of the recent Guana. 

3. Portion of the upper jaw of the recent Guana, with eight teeth 
highly magnified. 

4. Front vie f a tooth of the Iguanodon, natural «se, the point 
worn off by grinding its food. 

5. Back view of a similar tooth ; the worn surface marked H. 

6. Front and back vi*»w of a tooth of the Iguanodon worn down 
by use. a the worn surface, h the cavity formed by the pressure of 
a new tooth, as in the recent jaw, Jig. .1, c. 

AFRICA— {Concluded from No. 51). 

In the mode described in a former number we tra- 
velled for ten days ; the features of the country changing 
from dark jungle to the open champaign, and from that 
again to the desolate sterility of savage mountain scenery, 
or of parched and desert plains, scattered over with huge 
ant hillocks and flocks of springboks. Here and there a 
solitary farm-house appeared near some permanent foun- 
tain, or willow-margined river ; and then again the wil- 
derness, though clothed perhaps with verdant pasturage 
and bedecked with magnificent shrubbery, extended from 
twenty or thirty miles, without a drop of water. It was 
consequently uninhabitable except after heavy rains. 

At length we reached Roodewal, a military post on the 
Great Fish River, 200 miles from Algoa Bay. and about 
50 miles distant from the spot allotted for our location. 
Here w# were most hospitably tatettftinad for » couple 





of days by the officers of the garrison and their ladies; 
after which we proceeded on our journey, accompanied 
by an additional escort of seven or eight armed boors on 
horseback. Having crossed the Great Fish River, the 
old boundary of the colony, we entered a region from 
which the CafFers and Ghonaquas had only been recently 
expelled ; and which was considered as still peculiarly 
exposed to their predatory inroads. The new colonial 
frontier had been advanced to the River Keissi, seventy' 
or eighty miles to the eastward ; and the intervening 
territory, now entirely destitute of human inhabitants, 
was literally €t a waste and howling wilderness" occupied 
only by herds of wild animals, — elephants, buffaloes, 
quaggas, and antelopes — and by the formidable beasts 
of prey, — lions, leopards, and hyaenas, which are always 
found when their victims are abundant. 

The upper or northern part of this territory consists of 
a chain of lofty and rugged mountains, partly clothed with 
forest, and intersected with deep and fertile glens, through 
which the Kat, the Koonap, the Mancazana, the Baviaau, 
and other streams issue forth to join the Great Fish 
River. At the source of the last of these streams, the 
Baviaan* Rivier, or River of Baboons, lay the lo- 
cation, or allotment, of our little party; distant a hun- 
dred miles, at least, from the nearest part of the English 
settlement. Our journey up this glen, from the spot 
where it issued from the mountains, about twenty miles 
above Roodewal, occupied rive days, and was by far the 
most arduous portion of our whole expedition. The dis- 
tance did not exceed thirty English miles; but after we 
had advanced a short way through a most picturesque 
defile, which wound, as it were, into the very bowels of 
the mountains, the road (which thus far was kept in 
tolerable repair for the conveyance of timber from a mag- 
nificent forest on the right) suddenly failed us ; and we 
were literally obliged to hew out our path up the Valley 
of Baboons, through jungles and gullies, and beds of 
torrents and rocky acclivities ; forming altogether a se- 
ries of obstructions which it required the utmost exertions 
of the whole party, and of our experienced African allies, 
to overcome. 

The scenery through which we passed was in many 
places of the most singular and imposing description. 
Sometimes the valley widened out, leaving space for fertile 
savannas along the river side, prettily sprinkled over with 
shrubbery and clumps of mimosa trees, and clothed with 
luxuriant pasturage, up to the bellies of our oxen. Fre- 
quently, the mountains, again converging, left only a 
narrow defile, just broad enough for the stream to find a 
passage; while precipices of naked rock rose abruptly, 
like the walls of a rampart, to the height of many hundred 
feet, and in some places appeared absolutely to overhang 
the savage-looking pass (or poort, as the boors called it), 
through which we and our waggons struggled below ; 
our only path being occasionally the rocky bed of the 
shallow river itself, encumbered with huge blocks of stone 
which had fallen from the cliffs, or worn smooth as a 
marble pavement by the sweep of the torrent floods. At 
this period the River of Baboons was a mere rill, 
gurgling gently along its rugged course, or gathered 
here and there into natural tanks, called in the language 
of the country Zeekoe-gals (hippopotamus pools) ; but 
the remains of water-wrack, heaved high on the clilfs, or 
hanging upon the taH willow trees, which in many places 
hinged the banks, afforded striking proof that at certain 
•easons this diminutive rill becomes a mighty and resist- 
less flood. The steep hills on either side often assumed 
v «ry peculiar and picturesque shapes, embattled, as it 
*ere, with natural ramparts of freestone rock ; and 
garrisoned with troops of large baboons, which in- 
habit these mountains in great numbers. The lower 
declivities were covered with good pasturage, and 
ftprinkled over with evergreens and .acacias;, while the 
cliffs that oveilmng the river had their wrinkled front* 
tnbcllMbtd with various *{*#* of mmte*t pU#l# ml 

flowering aloes. In other spots the freestone or basaltic 
rocks, partially worn away with the waste of years, had 
assumed shapes the most singular and grotesque ; so that, 
with a little aid from fancy, one might imagine them the 
ruins of Hindoo or Egyptian temples, with their half- 
decayed obelisks, columns, and statues of monster- 

It were tedious to relate the difficulties, perils, and 
adventures, which we encountered in our toilsome march 
of five days, up this African glen ; — to tell of our pioneer- 
ing labours with the hatchet, the pick-axe, the crow-bar, 
and the sledge-hammer, — and the lashing the poor oxen, 
to force them on (sometimes 20 or 30 in one team) 
through such a track as no English reader can form any 
adequate conception of. At length, after extraordinary 
exertions and hair-breadth escapes — the breaking down 
of two waggons, and the partial damage of others — 
we got through the last poort of the glen, and found 
ourselves on the summit of a stony ridge, commanding 
a view of the extremity of the valley. " And now, 
mynheer," said the Dutch- African field-cornet who com- 
manded our escort, 4I daar leg uwe veld — their lies your 
country." Looking in the direction where he pointed, 
we beheld, extending to the northward, a beautiful vale, 
about six or seven miles in length, and varying from 
one to two in breadth. It appeared like a verdant basin 
or ail de sac, surrounded on all sides by an amphitheatre 
of steep and sterile mountains, rising in the back-ground 
in sharp and serrated ridges of very considerable eleva- 
tion ; their summits being at this season covered with 
snow, and estimated to be from 6000 to 7000 feet above 
the level of the sea. The lower declivities were sprinkled 
over, though somewhat scantily, with grass and bushes. 
But the bottom of the valley, through which the infant 
river meandered, presented a warm, pleasant, and 
secluded aspect ; spreading itself into verdant meadows, 
sheltered and embellished, without being encumbered, 
with groves of mimosa trees, among which we observed 
in the distance herds of wild animals— antelopes and 
quaggas — pasturing in undisturbed quietude. 

(The Quagga.] 

" Sae that's the lot o' our inheritance, like?" quoth one 
of the party, a Scottish agriculturist. " Aweel, noo that 
we've really got till *t, 1 maun say the place looks no 
sae muckle amiss, and may suit our purpose no that ill, 
provided thae haughs turn out to be gude deep land for 
the pleugh, and we can but contrive to find a decent 
road out o' this queer hielaud glen into the lowlands- 
like ony Christian country." 

Descending into the middle of the valley, we unloaded 
the waggons and pitched our tents in a grove of mimosas, 
on the grassy margin of the river; and the next day our 
armed escort with the train of shattered vehicles set out 
on their return homeward, leaving us in our wild domain 
to 4ujr own m>\mq* and nMouiro, 

Digitized by 




["January 26, 

It was on the 1st of February, in the year 1608, that 
the cutting of the canal was begun for the admission of 
the New River, the bountiful source from which the 
greater part of London is now supplied with one of the 
first necessaries of existence. For a long period the in- 
habitants of this metropolis derived the water they re* 
quired for domestic purposes through the labour of 
water carriers, who fetched it from the Thames, and 
from various other open streams, such as the Fleet and 
its tributaries, which were earned in their natural course 
towards the hollow in which the city stands. The in- 
trepid drinkers do not seem to have given themselves 
much concern about the quality of the water, so long as 
the quantity was sufficient. The Londoners appear to 
have remained satisfied with their ditches, and with the 
different wells which were sunk in the gardens of the 
religious houses and in some other spots ; till on the one 
hand the increase of the city rendered the supply from 
these sources inadequate, while on the other the covering 
in of several of the formerly exposed streams, as houses 
and streets extended in various directions, deprived them 
of some of their ancient resorts. It was in the year 
1286 that water was first brought into the town in 
leaden pipes from the village of Tyburn (which stood 
not far from the present Stratford Place, in Oxford 
Road). Nine conduits, or fountains, which were then 
erected here, were retained by the city of London till 
the beginning of the last century. After this first at- 
tempt, water was brought in the same manner from 
Islington, Hackney, Hoxton, and various other places. 
It was not till towards the end of the sixteenth century 
that any water was raised by machinery from the 
Thames. The first work erected for that purpose was 
the construction of Peter Maurice, a German engineer. 
The supply obtained in these different ways was distri- 
buted to the public by means of conduits, or as M ait- 
land expresses it, " cisterns of lead, castellated with 
stone," which were raised in the middle of the principal 
streets. The largest and most ancient of these was that 
which stood in Westcheap, and which had been erected 
in the year 1285; but they at last amounted to above 
twenty in all. Many of these were not taken down till 
towards the middle of the last century. On the 18th 
of September, Stow informs us, it was the custom for 
the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, mounted on horse- 
back, to pay an annual visit to the head conduits at 
Tyburn ; on which occasion they hunted a hare before, 
and a fox after dinner, in the neighbouring fields. 

Notwithstanding, however, the supplies that had been 
obtained both from the Thames, and from the various 
other streams m the immediate neighbourhood, a con- 
siderable scarcity began to be felt towards the end of the 
reign of Elizabeth, which increased after her successor 
came to the throne. This may perhaps have, been one 
of the reasons which produced the series of prohibitions 
issued about this time against the further extension of the 
city by new buildings. In these circumstances different 
projects were suggested ; bu( although an act of parlia- 
ment was passed granting liberty to the city to make the 
necessary cut for bringing water from any part of Mid- 
dlesex or Hertfordshire, no one for some years could be 
found bold or patriotic enough to engage in the adven- 
ture. At last the speculation was undertaken by a 
public-spirited citizen, Mr. Hugh Myddleton, of whose 
origin and early history not much more, we believe, is 
known than that his father, Richard Myddleton, had 
from the reign of Edward VI. been Governor of Denbigh 
Castle. He himself had followed the business of a gold- 
smith ; but had amassed his fortune principally by some 
Welsh mines which he had taken a lease of and worked. 
The city having transferred to him all the powers, rights, 
and privileges conferred by the act, he prepared to cut 
bis canal from the height immediately north ci London 

fordshire,— a track of nearly forty miles in length. We 
cannot enter into a detail of the numerous obstacles of 
various kinds in the face of which this gigantic enter- 
prise was prosecuted and finally accomplished. In addi- 
tion to the difficulties arising from the nature of the 
ground, which presented great diversity of bottom as 
well as of level, others of a still more formidable and 
discouraging nature soon began to beset the progress of 
the undertaking. The envy of some, and the contempt 
and ridicule of others, aided the opposition by which 
interested and influential parties were enabled, under 
pretence of the public good, to seek their own ends. 
Then, worst of all, came the deficiency of Myddleton a 
means ; the expense of the works turned out so much 
greater than he had anticipated, that long before it was 
brought to a close it had swallowed up the whole of his 
large fortune. He was obliged to crave the assistance 
both of the King and of the city. It is said that the 
whole sum which he expended did not fall short of 
five hundred thousand pounds. At this cost, however, 
the work was at last finished in the autumn of 1618. 
On Michaelmas that year, the day on which Sir Thomas 
Myddleton, Mr. Myddkton's brother, was elected Lord 
Mayor, the water was admitted into the basin at Penton- 
ville, with much form and ceremony, in the presence of 
the Lord Mayor then in office, the Aldermen, the Re- 
corder, and many of the principal citizens. A body of 
about sixty of the labourers, tastefully dressed, having 
marched three times round the basin, preceded by drums 
and trumpets, the whole then stopped, when one of their 
number addressed the civic dignitaries and the company, 
who were seated on an eminence, in a rude metrical effu- 
sion of considerable length, which Stow has preserved, 
but of which we can only afford to quote a very few 
lines: — 

" Clerk of the work* reach me the hook, to •how- 
How many arts from such a labour flow- 
First, hero's tne Overseer, this tried man. 
An ancient soldier, and an artisan ; 
The Clerk next him, a mathematician. 
The Master of the Timber-work takes place 
Next after these ; the Measurer in like case ; 
Bricklayer and Engineer ; and after those 
The Borer and the Paviour ; then it shows 
The Labourers next ; Keeper of Am well Head ; 
The Walkers last ; so aU their names are read. 
Tet these but parcels of six hundred mora, 
That at one time Jiave been employed before." 

On the conclusion of this address, the sluices wece 
opened, and amidst the sound of drums and trumpets, 
the discharge of ordnance, and the acclamations of the 
multitude, the water rushed into the basin, which it has 
never since ceased to till. 

It is lamentable to reflect that Myddleton was entirely 
ruined by this speculation. This misfortune befell him, 
notwithstanding that the King resigned to him the 
share, being one half, of the profits to which he was 
entitled by their agreement, retaining only the right to 
an annual payment of £bOQ. The value of the shares 
thus relinquished, which are called the Kings shares, 
still remains somewhat lower in the market than that ot 
the others, or the Adventurers' shares, in consequence ot 
each holder being burdened with his proportion of this 
payment. Myddleton was knighted soon after the com- 
pletion of his great work, and he was made a baronet in 
1622. He was now, however, obliged to support him- 
self by taking employment as an engineer. He died in 
1681 in poor circumstances; and net long ago some of 
the descendants of this great national benefactor were 
found in a state of such destitution as to call for a* 
appeal in their behalf to the charity of the public. 

The undertaking, however* which thus brought ruin 
upon the man by whom it was projected and executed, 
has formed the source of great wealth to many other 
individuals. To the inhabitants of London and its 
riciaity in general, the New River has proved a 
timing of incalculable magnitude, According to tim 

y o 




report of a commission appointed under the great 
seal, in 1828, the number of tenants supplied by the 
New River Company was then between 66,000 and 
67 t OOO, and the quantity of Water daily supplied exceeded 
13,000,000 gallons, being about 2,000,000 cubic feet 
This Was a quantity rather exceeding the whole of that 
supplied by the other four water companies, the East 
London, the West Middlesex, the Chelsea, and the 
Grand Junction, upon which the northern portion of the 
metropolis is dependent Even including the large dis- 
tricts of Southwark and Lambeth, which are served 
by the Lambeth, the South London, and the Southwark 
works, the whole quantity consumed daily was about 
29,000,000 gallon** Of i-fibOfiW cubic feet, not a great 
deal more thttl twlee that supplied by the New River 
alone. The whole quantity of $9,000,000 gallons of 
water, daily supplied to the Inhabitants bf London, is 
distributed ttt about l25,(H)0 hdusw and other build- 
ings, whleh Is at the rate of above 900 gallons every day 
to each houses Thd sverarf* cost to each house for this 
wonderful supply is about two'periee a day{ which is a 
less price than the labour of an able-bodied man would 
be worth to fetch a stogie bucket from a spring half a 
mile from his UWn dw*Mug» 

The fbltmvlhg extract from Dr. Arnott's Element* of 
Phvsfd welt explains the general nature of the arrange- 
ments by which this immense distribution it effected, and 
places in a striking light the Inestimable importance of 
the blessing which London thus enjoys i— . 

" the supply and distribution of water In a large ttty, par- 
ticularly sihce the steam-engine has been added to the appa- 
ratus, approaches closely to the perfection of nature's own 
work in the circulation of Wood through the attimal oody. 
From the great pump*, or a high reservoirs a few main pipes 
issue to the ehtef divisions of the town \ these send suitable 
branches to the streets* Whteh branches again divide for the 
lanes and alleys* and fit last subdivide Until tflte tftery house 
a small leadeft Conduit rises, whfeh\ if required* carries its pre- 
cious freight into Vhe separate apartments, and yields it there 
to the turning of a cock. A corresponding arrangement of 
drains and sewers, most carefully constructed in obedience 
to the law of level, receives the water again when it has an- 
swered its purposes, and carries it to be purified in the gteat 
laboratory of the ocean. And so admirably complete and 
perfect is this counter-system of sloping chahwels, that a 
heavy shower may fall, and, after washing and purifym& 
every superficial spot of the citV, and Sweeping out all the 
subterranean passages, may, witnin the space of an hour, tie 
all collected again in the river passing by. It is the recur- 
rence of this almost miracle, of extensive, sudden, and per- 
fect purification, which has made London the most healthy, 
while it is the largest city in the world. English dtfteHS 
have now become so habituated to the blessing of a supply Of 
pure water, more than sufficient for all their purposes, that 
it no more surprises them than the regularly returning If £h% 
of day or warmth bf summer. But a retrospect into past times 
may still awaken them to a sense of their obligation to ad- 
vancing art How much of the anxiety and labour of itaen m 
former times had relation to the supply of tin's precious ele- 
ment ! How often, formerly, has periodical pestilence arisen 
from deficiency of water, and how often has fire devoured 
whole cities, which a trrttery Supply of water might have 
saved ! For these reasons kings nave received almost divine 
honours for constructing aqueducts, to lead the pure streams 
from the mountains into the peopled towns. In the present 
day, only he who has travelled on the sandy plains of Asia 
or Africa, where a well is more prised than mines of gold, or 
who has spent months on shsp-boai J, where the fresih water 
is doled owt with more caution than the most precitftis pro- 
coet of the stm\ w wtoe has vividly sympathized with the 
victims of siege or ship-wreekv spreading out theft- garments 
to catch the rain from heavtsn, and then, with mad eagerness, 
sucking the delidtras tnoisturt — only he can appreciate rally 
the blessing of that abundant supply which most of us now 
» thoughtlessly enjoy. The author will long remember the 
intense momentary regret with which, on once approaching a 
beautiful land, after months spent at sea, he saw a tittle 
stream of -fresh water stifling over a rock into the sett wave*— ' 
H appeared to him as a most precious essence, by some aeti 
(km pouring oat to — -*-" 


ThS Assyrian came down like the wolf da the Ibid, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears wee like stars on the sea ! 
When the blue wave rolls nightly ou deep Galilee. 
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen : 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown. 
That host on the morrow lay witherM and strown. 
For the angel of death Spread his wiugs On the blast, 
And breathed In the fece^f the foe as he pass'd ; 
And the eyes of the sleepers waxM deadly and chill, 
And their heart* but race heav'u^ and for ever grew still. 
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, 
But through it there rolTd not the breath of his pride ; 
And the foam oi* his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold, as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 
And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With the deW On his brow arid the rust on his mall ;— 
And the teuts were all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances uplifted* the trumpet unblown. 
And the Widows of Aihur are bud in their wail, 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; 
Aud the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, 
Hath melted like suow in the glance of the Lord ! 


Thb 27th of January is the anniversary of the birth of 
a wonderful being, the great musician Mozart. John 
Chrysostom Wol%ang Theophilus Mozart was the sob of 
Leopold Mosart, one of the musicians belonging to the 
chapel of the Prince Archbishop of Saitftburg, in which 
town he was born in 1756. He, and a sister four years 
older than himself* alone of a family of seven children 
survived the years of infancy. His father and mother 
were both remarkable for their good looks,— an advan- 
tage which their son did not inherit. But he was 
almost from the cradle a prodigy of musical genius. 
He was only three years old when his attention was 
excited in the most extraordinary manner by the 
lessons which his father then began to give his sister 
on the harpsichord ; and in another year fee was rapidly 
learning to play minuets and other pieces of music 
himself. At the age of five, he composed numerous 
pieces* which his father wrote down. Music now be- 
came the child's only passion ; the society of his little 
playmates was abandoned $ he would have willingly 
remained at his harpsichord almost from morning to 
nig ht Soon after this* his father determined to exhibit 
him at the different German courts. In the autumn of 
1?#2* accordingly, the whole family proceeded to Vienna* 
Here the boy played before the Emperor Francis I., 
when his performance excited the utmost astonishment 
among some of the first proficients in the art It was 
witti reluctance, indeed, that he ^rould consent to play 
except to those whom he believed to be judges of music. 
When he first sat down to his instrument with the 
Emperor by his side, «« Is not M. Wagenseil here ?" he 
said, addressing himself to his Majesty ; " we must send 
for him ; he understands the thing." That composer 
was accordingly brought forward to occupy the place of 
the Emperor ; and he turned over the leaves of one of 
his own concertos, while the piece was executed by his 
young brother artist Soon after this Mozart learned, 
nearly without instruction, to play on the violin. Next 
year he visited m succession Munich, Augsburg, Mann- 
heim, Francfbrtt GoWeota, Brussels, and lastly Paris ; 
m att of which oities his performances were listened to 
with universal deKght and .wonder. Nor did be produce 
less afreet Vrheli, in April 1764, he made his appearance 
in England. After playing the organ in the Royal 
Chapel, he and his sister gave a grand concert, all the 
symphonies of which Were of tois own composition. 
" Notwithstandrng their eontrnual removals," savs his 
litre by M* 6cnlittegroH, "they practised with the 
greatest regularity^ *rtd Welfgeng began to sing difi* 

Digitized by V^iOOgie 



26, 1833. 

cult airs, which he executed with great expression. Th< 
incredulous, at Paris and at London, had put him to th< 
trial with various difficult pieces of Bach, Handel, am 
other masters ; he played them immediately, at Mrs 
sight, and with the greatest possible correctness. H< 
played one day, before the King of England, a pieci 
full of melody, from the bass only. At another time 
Christian Bach, the Queen's music-master, took litth 
Mozart between his knees, and played a few bans 
Mozart then continued, and they thus played alternate 1; 
a whole sonata, with such precision, that those who di( 
not see them thought it was executed by the same per 
son. During his residence in England, that is, whei 
he was eight years old, Wolfgang composed six sonatas 
which were engraved at London, and dedicated to th< 

He remained in this country till July, 1765, and thei 
returning to the Continent, made a tour through th< 
principal towns of the Low Countries. After this he re 
visited Paris, and thence proceeded by the way of Lyon 
and Switzerland to his native place, which he reachec 
in November, 1766. He remained at home, assiduousl] 
engaged in the practice of his art, for above three years 
At length, in December 1769, he set out for Italy 
Though he had now reached his fourteenth year, th< 
additional skill he had acquired more than compensate 
for any diminution of the wonder that had at first beei 
excited by his extreme youth. He was now a perfectl; 
accomplished musician ; and his performances, being ii 
themselves nearly all that the most refined taste am 
science could desire, required no tale of the marvellous 
to set them off*. After visiting Milan, Bologna, am 
Florence, he reached Rome in the Passion week. Hen 
he performed the surprising feat of memory of taking 
down, after hearing it in the Sistine chapel, the famous 
Miserere of Gregorio Allegri, of which the perform en 
of the chapel are said to have been forbidden to giv< 
a copy, on pain of excommunication. A second oppor 
tunity of hearing it played a few days after, enabled Mo 
zart, who held his first sketch in the crown of his hat 
to make his copy more perfectly correct ; and next yeaj 
the music was published in London, under the super 
intendence of Dr. Burney. His progress through this 
land of music was a continued triumph. While he was 
playing at Naples, the audience suddenly took it into 
their heads that a ring which he wore on his finger was 
a talisman, and interrupted the performance until he 
consented to lay it aside, and to convince them that he 
was not indebted to the art of magic for his wonderful 
power. Returning to Milan, he there produced his first 
opera, the ' Mithridate.* It was played for twenty nights 
in succession. For some succeeding years his time was 
principally spent at Saltzburg, with occasional visits 
to Milan, Munich, and Vienna. At last, in September 
1777, he proceeded in company with his mother to Paris, 
with the intention of making that capital their residence. 
But soon after their arrival, his mother, to whom he was 
tenderly attached, died ; and that event, added to the 
strong contempt with which he regarded the then prevail- 
ing musical style of the French, determined him to return 
to his father. He left Saltzburg again in November, 1779, 
for Vienna ; and in this capital he remained till the close 
of his life. Here, at the age of twenty-five, he married 
Mademoiselle Constance Weber, who proved to him one 
of the best of wives ; and it was in the first glow of his 
passion for this lady, that he composed his celebrated 
opera of ' Idomeneo,' which he always regarded as 
the greatest of his works. After this he wrote his * Zau- 
ber^iOte, , his 4 Nozze di Figaro/ his * Don Giovanni,' 
and his ' Clemenza di Tito,' which all rank among the 
noblest triumphs of musical genius. 

Mozart's last work was his celebrated * Requiem,' which 
was undertaken at the order of a stranger. The circum- 
sta ces under which he received this commission being 
somewhat mysterious, as related by the German bio- 

aepenaenuy oi scnoois lor me eiememury instruction of 
children above the age of six, in the Duchy of Saxe Weimar, 
every village contains a district asylum for the reception of 
children below that age, who have hitherto been left without 
any superintendence at home, whilst their parents were 
absent at their work. This abandonment has been, and 
notoriously is, the prolific source of idle and vagabond habits, 
which it is extremely difficult to eradicate in after years. The 
asylums in question have, therefore, been opened for the 
purpose of remedying this crying evil: the parents send their 
children to them in the morning, and fetch them home in 
the evening. In the interim they are fed and taken care of, 
besides being taught to read and say their prayers. There 
is not a single village in the whole Grand-duchy, which is 
not provided with one of these excellent ' Asylum Schools, 
as they are termed ; and they are rapidly spreading all over 
Germany. — Quarterly Journal of Education, No. IX. 

•«• The Ofice of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge Ii ■» 
W, LtocolnVInn Fields. 


Shopkeepers and Hawkers may be supplied Wholetele by the following 

Booksellers, of whom, also* anu of Out previous Numbers stay be Ksd: — 

Iond»n, Oroombridok, Panyer Alley. 
Bath, StMMi. 

Birmingham, Draki. 
Bristol* Westley nnd Co, 
Canterbury. Marts*. 
Carlisle, Thurnam ; end Seen. 
Derby, Wilkin* and Son. 
Deronport, Byers. 
Doncaster. Broors and Co. 
Exeter, Balm. 
Falmouth, PniLF. 
Hull, Stephenson. 
Jersey, John Carre, Jan. 
Kendal, Hudson nnd Nicholson. 
Leeds, Baines and Newsomr. 
Lincoln. Broors nnd White. 
Liverpool, Willmrr and Smith. 

//•mm, J. R. Smith. 

Manchester, Robinson; and Webb sod 


Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Chabnlet. 
Norwich, Jar hold and Son; and 

Wtlrtns and Son. 
Nottingham. Weight 
Oxford, 8LATTER. 
Plymouth, Nettlbton. 
Portsea, Horset, Jan. 
Sheffield. Ridoe. 

Staffordshire, Iamc End, C. Watts. 
Worcester, Deiohton. 
Dublin, Wakeman. 
Edinburgh. Oliver and Boyd. 
Glasgow, Atkinson and Co. 
New York, Jackson. 

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December 31, 1832, to January 31, 1333. 


[West Front of York Minster.] 

The term Minster, which was used by our Saxon 
ancestors, is a corruption of the Latin Monasterium, 
a house tenanted by monks, or what we still call a 
monastery. Minster, however, is now generally used 
to designate a cathedral church, to which it was no 
doubt originally applied with a reference to the retinue 
Vol. It 

of religious persons forming the chapter of each of 
these establishments, and giving it the appearance of a 
monastic community. In this way we still speak of 
York Minster, and West-minster, — the latter name 
having been at first given, not to the city in which the 
church of St Peter stands, but to the church itself, 

Digitized by CiSOgle 



[JlNUABY 31, 

to distinguish it from the other minster of St Paul's 
in the east; although, forgetting this, we now say 
Westminster Abbey, with the same sort of tautology, or 
repetition, which we employ when we call the residence 
of the Lord Mayor the Mansion House, as if a mansion 
were not in fact a house. Many such irregularities have 
insinuated themselves into our own, and probably into 
every other language. 

Among buildings in what is called the Gothic style, 
York Minster has generally been regarded as without 
a rival in England, or perhaps in Europe. The city, 
of which it is the chief ornament, has been famous 
in this island from the most ancient times. Under 
the name of Eboracum, it appears to have been one 
of the principal settlements of the Romans. Here the 
Emperor Severus died in the beginning of the third cen- 
tury, and the Emperor Constantius, the father of Con- 
stantine the Great, in the beginning of the fourth. In 
the times of the Saxons, it was the capital of the king- 
dom of Deira, and afterwards of the powerful kingdom 
of Northumberland, formed from the union of Deira 
and Bernicia, and occasionally enjoying the pre-eminence 
both in power and in acknowledged rank over all the other 
states of the heptarchy. Our old historians maintain 
that York was the seat of a Christian bishopric long 
before the arrival of the Saxons; and they mention 
three or four prelates who, they pretend, occupied the 
see in succession after its foundation by the British 
king Lucius, who flourished in the second .century. 
But very little dependence can be placed upon these 
traditions ; and it is even doubtful if such a prince as 
Lucius ever existed. The establishment of the present 
see of York dates from a considerably more recent era. 
Augustine, the apostle of the English, arrived in the 
Isle of Thanet, which formed part of the kingdom of 
Kent, in the year 597. He was soon after consecrated 
Archbishop of Canterbury, and, according to the gene- 
rally received account, died in 605. Kent, however, 
was as yet, and for some time after, the only portion of 
the island into which the light of the Gospel had pene- 
trated. Pope Gregory, indeed, by whom Augustine 
and his companions had been deputed, had commanded 
that an archbishop should be established at York, to 
exercise the same jurisdiction over the northern parts of 
the country as Augustine was authorized to exercise 
over the south. But it was not till the year 694 that 
any attempt even seems to have been made to introduce 
Christianity into the northern district. In that year, 
Edwin, the able and powerful king of Northumberland, 
married Ethelburga, the sister of Ebald, king of Kent, 
a convert, like the rest of her family, to the new religion, 
and a lady of great worth and piety. It was with 
extreme reluctance that this princess was prevailed upon 
to give her hand to her idolatrous suitor, although Ed* 
win was accounted the sovereign of the heptarchy; nor 
would she consent to marry him, until he had promised 
to allow her the free exercise of her religion, and the 
company of such ecclesiastics as she chose to take along 
with her. Among these was Paulinus, one of the origi- 
nal associates of Augustine, who, before he set out for 
his new residence, was consecrated Bishop of the Nor- 
thumbrians by Justus then Archbishop of Canterbury, 
Paulinus, however, for some time made very little pro- 
gress in the work of conversion which he had thus 
undertaken. Neither his eloquence nor that of Ethel- 
burga could prevail upon Edwin to forsake the faith of 
his fathers ; and, till their king should lead the way, 
very few of the people were disposed to give heed to 
any thing that was addressed to them on the subject. At 
length the conversion of the king was effected through 
the influence upon his mind of a vision, or dream, which 
gave a miraculous kind of interest to the exhortations of 
Paulinus. Bede, the ecclesiastical historian, has re- 
lated this circumstance with minute particularity. The 
baptism of Edwin gave occasion to the erection of 

the first Christian temple at York— the original mother 
of tho present cathedral. Tho ceremony was performed 
on Easter-day, the 12th of April, 627, in a wooden 
building which was hastily raised, and placed, it is said, 
on the same spot on which the Minster now stands. But 
soon after Edwin took down this temporary structure, 
and commenced the erection of a new church of stone, 
which however he did not live to complete, having been 
slain in a great battle fought at Hatfield in the West 
Riding, in 633, against Penda, king of Mercia, aided by 
Cad walla, the British king of Wales. Paulinus left his 
diocese on the occurrence of this disastrous catastrophe, 
and was afterwards appointed Bishop of Rochester. 
After some time, however, tranquillity was in some 
degree restored in Northumberland, and the building 
of the church begun by Edwin was carried on by one of 
his successors, Oswald, a son of his uncle Adelfrid. 
But it was not completed till long after his death, by 
Wilfrid, the archbishop of the see, a most haughty and 
turbulent prelate, whose history presents a very curious 
picture of the English Church in those remote times. 
The edifice, thus at last brought to a close, is described 
as having been of a square, or at least of a rectangular 
form, and was probably very plain, as were all the 
buildings of that age. It did not stand long, having 
been burnt to the ground by an accidental fire in 741. 
It was soon after rebuilt 5 but in 1069 it was a second 
time reduced to ruins in a similar manner ; the Nor- 
man garrison who occupied the city while it was 
besieged by the insurgent population of the surrounding 
country, having, in order to drive away the enemy, set 
fire to a part of the suburbs, from which the flames 
overspread and laid waste near half the city. On this 
occasion there perished a famous library which was 
deposited in the cathedral, collected by Archbishop 
Egbert, who possessed the see from 730 till 736. Of 
this library Charlemagne's preceptor, the celebrated 
Alcuin, who received his education at York, speaks 
both in his letters and poems in terms of the highest 
admiration, enumerating in one place a long, list of 
authors contained in it, some of which are now no 
longer extant. The year after this event the Conqueror 
appointed to the see of York, Thomas, a canon of 
Bayeux in Normandy, who had been his chaplain and 
treasurer ; and the new prelate was not long in setting 
about the restoration of his metropolitan church. He 
rebuilt it on a larger scale than before, and for the first 
time formed the establishment into a regular chapter, 
endowing it with prebends and other dignities. The 
fabric, however, was again accidentally burnt down, in 
1137, along with the greater part of the city. In 1171 
Roger de Bishopsbridge, who was archbishop from 1154 
till 1181, again began a new edifice by the erection of 
a choir, where that of the present building now stands. 
But, as we shall presently see, no part of Archbishop 
Roger's work remains in the existing cathedral. 

The choir being completed by this prelate, one of his 
successors, Archbishop Walter de Grey, commenced the 
building of the south part of the cross aisle or transept 
about 1237. The north transept was erected by John 
le Romayne, treasurer of the cathedral, about 1260. 
Over the centre of the whole he raised a steeple, but not 
the noble lantern tower which now occupies that posi- 
tion. The first stone of the nave, or body of the church, 
to the west of the transept, was laid by hip son, the 
archbishop of the same name, on the 7th of April, 1291 ; 
and the nave was finished, as well as the two towers 
which crown its western extremity, in 1330, in the pre- 
lacy of William de Melton. The building, therefore, 
was now once more complete ; but the comparative 
plainness of the more ancient portions of it being felt to 
suit ill with the magnificence of those last erected, Arch- 
bishop John de Thoresby, who came to the see in 1354, 
determined to take down the choir of his predecessor, 

Archbishop Roger, and to replace it by another more in 
igitize y ^ 




' nar mony with the rest of the structure. He commenced 
this great work in 1375 ; but it is not perfectly certain 
when it was finished, some parts of the choir exhibiting 
the arms of Archbishops Scrope and Bowet, Thoresby's 
* successors, the latter of whom succeeded to the see in 
1405. Meanwhile, it had also been resolved to take 
down the central steeple erected by John le Romayne ; 
and in its place the present lantern tower was begun 
to be built in 13t0. The whole was probably finished, 
and the Minster brought to the state in which we now 
see it, about 1410 or 1414. 

From this account it appear* that the successive parts 
of the building, in the order of their antiquity, are the 
south transept, the north transept, the nave, the central 
tower, and, lastly, the choir, proceeding from the west end 
to the east. Reviewed in this order the Cathedral of 
York forms a most interesting and instructive architec- 
tural study* It is perhaps the most perfect example to 
be any where found of the history and progress of the 
Gothic style during the period of not much less than two 
centuries, which its construction occupied. In this place 
we can only remark generally, that a continued and 
regular improvement in grace and lightness of form, 
and a more and more lavish profusion of minute and 
elaborate ornament, will be found to form the leading 
characteristics of that progress in England, during the 
whole of the period in question. 

York Minster, as may be understood from what has 
been already stated, is built in the form of a cross, the 
longer bar, forming the choir and nave of the church, 
lying, as usual, east and west, and the shorter, called the 
transept, north and south. Over the centre of the build- 
ing, supported on four massive pillars, rises a grand 
tower to the height of 213 feet from the floor. This is 
said to be only a portion of the altitude originally designed 
by the architect, who intended to surmount this stone 
erection by a Steeple of wood covered with lead, had he 
not been deterred by a fear lest the foundation should 
prove insufficient to sustain so great a weight. Over the 
west end of the building are two other towers or steeples 
rising to the height of 196 feet. The whole length of 
the building from east to west is 524^ feet, and that of 
the transept, from north to south, 222. The length of 
the choir is 157 J feet, and its breadth 40£ ; in addition 
to which the east end of the choir contains a chapel be- 
hind the altar dedicated to the Virgin, making an entire 
length of 222 feet. The length of the nave is 261 feet } 
its breadth (including the aisles), 109 ; and its height, 
99. These measurements (with the exception of the 
height of the towers at the west end, which is not given 
in that work) are taken from the last edition of Dug- 
dale's Monasticon Anglicanum, by Caley, Ellis, and 
Bandinel, in 6 vols, folio, London, 1830. 

York Minster has not the advantage of standing upon 
a height ; yet its enormous mass makes it a conspicuous 
object from a great distance, and nothing can be grander 
or more imposing than the aspect which its lofty but- 
tresses and grey towers present as they are seen rising 
over the surrounding houses of the city, which look like 
the structures of a more pigmy generation beneath the 
gigantic and venerable pile. Excepting on the north side 
where an open space of considerable extent has been 
formed by clearing away the old archiepiscopal palace, it 
is every where closely encompassed by other buildings, 
several of which approach within a few yards of its walls. 
There is scarcely, therefore, a spot from which any one 
of its fronts can be completely or satisfactorily seen ; 
except from a distance, where of course only the upper 
parts of the building are visible. The formation of a 
large open square around the hoble old edifice, so that 
the whole might be viewed as perfectly as the north side, 
would exhibit the gigantic pile in all its surpassing mag- 
nificence. For the present the grandeur of the Minster 
must be sought for principally in its interior. The effect 
&f the whole prolong*! ami lofty extent, as seen on enter- 

ing from the great west door, is perhaps as sublime as 
any ever produced by architecture. Under favourable 
circumstances, such as the rich illumination of a setting 
sun, the impressions of awe, and veneration, and we may 
add delight, produced upon the mind by the grandeur 
and beauty of this wonderful building, are perhaps 
superior in intensity to the effects of any other work of 
man's hands. We doubt whether the finest Grecian temple 
could ever so touch the hidden springs of enthusiasm in 
our nature. The choir is divided from the nave by a 
stone screen ; but this ornamental partition is so low 
as not to intercept the view of the portion of the roof 
beyond, nor "the dim religious light" streaming from 
the magnificent " storied window" that fills the east 
end of the building. This screen and the great east 
window are two of the proudest ornaments of the cathe- 
dral. The former is a work in the very richest style of 
ornamental carving ; and fortunately it is in almost 
perfect preservation. It is divided into compartments 
by fifteen niches, which contain the statues of the English 
kings from the Conqueror to Henry VI. inclusive. The 
place of the last-mentioned monarch used to be occu- 
pied by a figure of James I., which it is said was sub- 
stituted for that of Henry, after the latter had been 
displaced in consequence of the disposition manifested 
by the people to pay it a sort of idolatrous reverence, 
in memory of the holy king. It seems to have been 
thought there was no danger of their falling into the 
same excess of observance towards James's effigy. 
James, however, was not many years ogo taken down 
from a situation where he was certainly out of place, 
and a new statue of Henry, carved by a York sculptor, 
put in the niche. The great east window is of the vast 
dimensions of ?5 feet in height by 32 in breadth. It 
is formed of above 200 compartments of painted glass. 
According to Mr. Britton, in his * Cathedral Anti- 
quities,' the figures are generally from two feet two, to 
two feet four inches in height The heads in particular 
are many of them drawn with exquisite beauty. The 
fabrication of this noble specimen of art was begun in 
1405, by John Thornton, of Coventry, Whose agreement 
was to complete it in three years, during which time he 
was to have a salary of four shillings a week, with 100 
shillings additional per annum, and £\0 more on finish- 
ing the work, if it should be done to the satisfaction of 
his employers. 

Attached to the northern transept of the cathedral is 
the Chapter House, an octagonal building, with a conical 
roof, the interior of which consists of one apartment of 
great magnificence. It is 68 feet in diameter and 67 
feet 10 inches in height, the arched roof being supported 
without pillars. Around are arranged the stalls, forty- 
four in number, formed of the finest marble, and having 
their canopies sustained by slender columns. A window 
occupies each of the eight sides, except that in which is 
the entry from the transept. 

York Minster contains a good many tombs, some ot 
them of considerable beauty ; but these we cannot here 
attempt to describe. Among the curiosities preserved in 
the vestry we can notice only the ancient dhair, said to 
have been used at the coronation of some of the Saxon 
kings, and on which the Archbishop is still on certain 
occasions accustomed to seat himself; and the famous 
horn of Ulphus, one of the most curious relics of Saxon 
antiquity which have been preserved to our times. A 
learned dissertation respecting this horn, by Mr. Samuel 
Gale, may be found in the first volume of the * Archaeo- 
logia.' It was presented to the cathedral by Ulphus, a 
Lord of Deira, whose drinking horn it probably had 
been, along with and in testimony and confirmation of a 
grant of certain lands, still said to be in possession of the 
Chapter, and known by the name of the Terra Ulphi. 
They lie a short distance to the east of the city. The 
horn, which is in perfect preservation, is of ivory, and 
among other sculpture on the outside is ornamented 

Digitized by VJ* * 



[January 31, 

with figures of two griffins, a lion, a unicorn, and some 
dogs and trees cut in bas-relief. Mr. Gale is of opinion 
that it was probably presented by Ulphus soon after the 
death of King Canute, which took place, A.D. 1036. 
The horn was carried away at the time of the Reforma- 
tion ; but long after fell into the hands of the celebrated 

the building was covered. The organ oyer the 
was also destroyed, but the screen itself escaped unin- 
jured. A public subscription was immediately com- 
menced for the repair of a loss which was justly con- 
sidered a national one, and the sum of «£50,000 was 
collected within two months. The task of effecting the 

[Interior of the Choir of York Minster. J 

Nearly fifty years ago the book which bears the above 
title was first published. It was a modest and unpretend- 
ing octavo volume, which did not aspire to any general 
popularity, and for a long time was known to few but 
professed naturalists. A quarto edition, including ' The 
Antiquities of Selborne/_ afterwards appeared. u The 

Natural History of Selborne," says the author of the 
Menageries, " was written by the Rev. Gilbert White, who 
for forty years scarcely stirred from the seclusion of his 
native village, employing his time, most innocently and 
happily for himself, and most instructively for the world, 
in the observation and description of the domestic ani- 
mals, the birds, and the insects by which he was sup- 

Digitized by l 



lotmded. He does not raise oar wonder by stories of I years; and in the autumn of 1830 1 caught one sitting on 
the crafty tiger or the sagacious elephant ; but he notes I a bramble at Cape La Heve, on the coast of Normandy, 
down the movements of 'the old family tortoise;' i n 

not indifferent to the reason * why wagtails run rourn e 

cows when feeding in moist pastures;' and watches th * 

congregating and disappearance of swallows with an in * 

dustry which could alone determine the long-dispute* e 

question of their migration. Mr. White derived grea x 

pleasure from these pursuits, because they opened to hi it 

mind new fields of inquiry, and led him to perceive tha 
what appears accidental in the habits of the animal world 
is the result of some unerring instinct, or some singula) 
exercise of the perceptive powers, affording the mosi 
striking objects of contemplation to a philosophic mind/' 

It is this accuracy of observation, combined with s 
cheerful, benevolent, and pious spirit, which has al 
length rendered the Natural History of Sel borne a boob 
for bIL Though its details have immediate reference to 
an obscure hamlet on the borders of a barren heath in 
Hampshire, the subjects of which it treats are common 
to every district, and are consequently of universal in- 
terest The work, therefore, has been very properly 
reprinted, within the last year or two, in several forms. 
There is a cheap edition in Constable's Miscellany; 
and a library edition, containing the Antiquities of Sel- 
borne, some very interesting notes by naturalists of the 
present day, and many well-executed wood-cuts, has just 
appeared*. The wood-cuts are to our minds extremely 
pleasing. We have a view of the low-roofed hall, with 
its massive chimneys and squat gables, in which the 
happy old clergyman resided,— as well as several others 
of the sequestered village, and adjacent lanes and dingles, 
where he delighted to watch the movements of the birds 
and insects, with whom he cultivated the most intimate 
companionship. There is nothing particularly striking 
in these scenes, but they are thoroughly English ; and 
above all they are such as the greater part of our rural 
population dwell amongst, showing to us that Mr. White 

had no peculiar opportunities for those delightful pur- I 

suits, which in his case, to use his own words, " by f 

keeping the mind and body employed, under Providence * 

contributed to much health and cheerfulness of spirits, L 

even to old age." : Wherever there is a tree, or a green 
sward, or even a road-side hedge, there may be found as 
abundant materials for the observation of nature, as 

Mr. White possessed ; who, as is well observed in the P 

preface to the edition before us, although " distant from ; 

museums and collections, acquired a knowledge of ani- * 

mab so extensive and so accurate as to outstrip most of 
bis contemporaries who possessed much greater ad- 

It is difficult to select a detached passage from the 
Natural History of Selborne that may" give a proper 
idea of the merits of this delightful book. Nor is it 
necessary that we should do so ; for the work itself 
ought to form a part of every library, and is one 
which we would especially recommend to all those who 
unite for the purchase of standard books. The notes, 
however, of this new octavo edition contain many valua- 
ble facts; and we shall make a few extracts from these, 
which we doubt not will be gratifying to our readers. 

Mr. White has an observation which might lead one 
to think that the tree-frog was a noxious reptile. Upon 
this passage Professor Rennie has the following remark. 
We subjoin a wood-cut of the tree-frog : — 

From the way in which Mr. White speaks of the tree- 
frog (Hyla vulgaris\ it might be inferred that he thought 
h was possessed of injurious qualities, whereas a more inno- 
cent creature does not exist ; and it is besides so little, and 
of so beautiful a green, that it is a very common pet in Ger- 
many. My friend, J. C. Loudon, Esq., the well-known au- 
thor of the Encyclopaedia of Gardening, kept one for several 

• The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne, by the late 
Rer. Gilbert White. A new edition, with notes, by several eminent 
HiteralkU, te. 8vo. 16* 

Digitized by 




[January Si, 

It certainly appears consonant with the general in- 
stinct of birds, that those species which are most affected 
by cold, should build the warmest nests; and in our 
variable climate the frosts even of the advanced spring 
might otherwise destroy the callow brood. If the golden- 
crested wren were a hardy bird, it is probable that its 
nest would be of slight texture. The note before us 
states the contrary to be the fact. 

The golden-crested wren and the common brown wren are 
both very impatient of cold. In confinement, the least 
frost is immediately fatal to them. In a wild state, they 
keep themselves warm by constant active motion in the day, 
and at night they secrete themselves in places where the 
frost cannot reach them ; but I apprehend that numbers do 
perish in severe winters. I once caught half a dozen golden 
wrens at the beginning of winter, and they lived extremely 
well upon egg and meat, being exceedingly tame. At roost- 
ing time there was always a whimsical conflict amongst 
them for the inside places aB beinp the warmest, which 
ended of course by the weakest going to the wall. The 
scene began with a low whistling call amongst them to roost, 
and the two birds on the extreme right and left flew on the 
backs of those in the centre, and squeezed themselves into 
the middle. A fresh couple from the flanks immediately 
renewed the attack upon the centre, and the conflict con- 
tinued till the light began to fail them. A severe frost in 
February killed all but one of them in one night, though in 
a furnished drawiug-room. The survivor was preserved in 
a little cage by burying it every night Under the sofa 
cushions ; but having been, one sharp morning, taken from 
under them before the room was suffieienfry warmed by the 
fire, though perfectly well when removed, it Was dead in ten 
minutes. The nightingale is not much more tender of cold 
than a canary-bird. The golden-crowned wren very much 
frequents spruce fir trees and cedars, and hangs its nest 
under their branches : it is also fond of the neighbourhood 
of furze bushes, under which it probably finds warm refuge 
from the cold. The brown wren is very apt, in frosty 
weather, to roost in cow-houses where the cattle keep it 

The following anecdote of a yeilow forest* wfio had been 
reared in confinement, and did not forget his benefactor 
even after he had migrated to far-off lands (for the 
yellow wren is a bird of passage), is also given by Mr. 
Herbert: — 

Last year I had reared three cocks from the nest, and 
in July I wished to set one of them at liberty. Having let 
it out of the cage which stood near a winnow Which was 
opened, it continued for a long time hopping and flying 
about the top of the cage, and sitting upon the pots upon 
the ledge, and on a bar to which the roses were tied across 
the window. At last it began to travel up the creepers 
against the house, and getting upon the roof it flew over the 
buildings, and I did not expect to see it again ; but two 
hours after it returned exceedingly hungry, and lit upon 
the upper bar of the middle pane of the lower sash of the 
same window, and pecked hard for admittance. It was let 
in, and fed heartily from my hand, after which it took its 
leave. I saw no more of it for two days, when It returned 
again for a short visit in Very good case, and not appearing 
at all pressed for food. About a week after it returned to 
the same pane of glass, pecking as before ; but I was occu- 
pied with a stranger* on business, and could not attend to 
it, and it departed for the season. On the 23d of July, in 
the following summer, 1 was standing at the same window, 
when a fine stout cock of this species lit upon the bar of the 
same pane close to my face, and began to peck as before 
for admission* Neither alarmed by my voice, nor my little 
boy's jumping up from his seat to look at it it flew down 
upon some of the cage-pans which happened to be on the 
ledge of the window, and began pecking them as if to get 
food from them. It quickly departed again. But this is 
so contrary to tho habits of the wild bird, that I consider it 
quite certain that the bird was my own nursling, which had 
returned, after its trip to Africa, to look at the window 
where it had been reared in its nest. The visit was a very 
pleasant little incident. How many things, which Eu- 
ropeans in vain desire to see, had my little wanderer wit- 
nessed since last he pecked at my window. Perhaps he 
had sung bis plaintive notes near the grave of Clapperton, 

or peeped into the seraglio ef the Itthg of TimWtoo, sine* 
we had parted. 

We add some amusing remarks by Mr. Herbert, on 
the facility with Which particular birds learn to imitate 
the human voice, or to execute a musical air : — 

The bullfinch, whose natural notes are weak, harsh, ami 
insignificant, has a greater facility than any other bird of 
learning human music. It is pretty evident that the Ger- 
mans, Who bring vast numbers of them to London which 
they have taught to pipe, must have instructed them mom 
by whistling to them, than by an Organ ; and that thei* 
instructions have been accompanied by a motion of the head 
and body in accordance with the time; which habit the 
birds also acquire, and is no doubt of great use to them in 
regulating their song. In the same manner, that wonder- 
ful bird, Colonel O' Kelly's green parrot, which I had the 
satisfaction of seeing and hearing (about the year 1799, if I 
recollect rightly) beat the time always With its foot ; turn- 
ing round upon the perch while singing, and marking the 
time as it turned. This extraordinary creature sang per- 
fectly about fifty different tunes of every kind— God save 
the King, solemn psalms, and humorous or low ballads of 
which it articulated every word as distinctly as a man could 
do, without ever making a mistake. If a by-stander sang 
any part of the song, it would pause and take up the song 
Where the person had left off, without repeating what ho 
had said. When moulting and unwilling to sing, it would 
answer all solicitations by turning its back and repeatedly 
saying, "Poll's sick," I am persuaded that its instructor 
had taught it to beat time. 

We conclude with some remarks by Professor Ronnie, 
on the causes of the fall of leaves i- 1 — 

It is not enough to account for the fall of the leaf to say it 
falls because it is weakened or dead ; for the mere death of 
a leaf is not sufficient to cause its fall, as when branches are 
struck by lightning, killed by a bleak wind, or die by nny 
similar cause, the dead leaves adhere tenaciously to the deau 
branch. To produce the natural fall of the leaf the branch 
must continue to live while its leaves die and are thrown off 
by the action of its sap vessels. The change of temperature 
from hot to cold seems to be one of the principal circum- 
stances connected with the death and fall of the leaf. Hence 
it is that European trees, growitig in the southern hemi- 
sphere, cast their leaves at the approach of winter there, 
which is about the same period of the year that they put 
them forth in their own climate. The native trees of the 
tropics are all evergreens, and like our hollies and pines have 
no general fall of the leaf, though there is always a partial 
fall going forward, and at the same time a renewal of Uie 


[* Three Years in North America ; by James Stimfrt, E*q.* 2 vols. 
8vo. pp. 1094. Edinburgh, 1833.] 

This is decidedly one of the most interesting Works that 
have yet been written on that most interesting subject — 
the United States of America. Asa picture, indeed, of 
the actual condition of the country, drawn from the life, 
and by an honest and able observer, We know of no 
other publication which we should compare with it. 
The great merit of Mr. Stuart's book appears to us 
to be this. Although he has told us throughout 
what he thinks upon matters of the highest general 
interest with perfect frankness, his work is mainly 
made up, not of arguments and speculations, but of 
facts— of what he actually saw and heard, rather 
than of any particular views or' opinions with which 
he seeks to impress his readers. It Is in the first 
place one of the most comprehensive descriptions of the 
great Transatlantic Republic which any traveller has yet 
given to us. Mr. Stuart was in America from August* 
1828, till April, 1831, — a period, as his title-page inti- 
mates, of nearly three years ; and during this protracted 
residence he not only made himself master of every thing 
that was to be seen and learned at New York, the heart 
of the Union, which was his principal home, and com- 
pleted a tour by Albany and Utica to Lake Erie am} 

Digitized by 





the Palls rf Niagara, returning by Saratoga, Boston, 
and the sea-coast of Massachusetts and Connecticut; 
but lie also visited the southern states, Virginia, North 
and South Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama, and after 
that the principal districts lying to the west of the 
Alleghany mountains, Louisiana, Illinois, and the other 
provinces of the new domain of civilization so rapidly 
extending' over the mighty vale of the Mississippi. He 
traversed the Republic therefore in every direction j aud 
made himself acquainted with each of its grand natural 
and political divisions in the north, in the south, and in the 
west Secondly, this is the latest account of America 
which has appeared — an advantage of no small mo- 
ment in the description of a country where change and 
progress are every where so busy, that, in many respects, 
it may almost .be, said, tq outgrow .any likeness that is 
drawn of. it faster than it oau be sketched. Mr. Stuart has 
taken for his motto an aphorism of Dr. Johnson : " The 
true state* ofevery nation is the state of common life;" and 
in the •spirit-of -this remark he has made it his chief object 
to place before his readers the domestic and social con- 
dition and habits of the people among whom he travelled. 
Certainly so minute and complete a view of tin* Ameri- 
cans in these respects, and one at the same time so evi- 
dently the result of honest as well as acute and careful 
observation, and so perfectly uudistorted by any thing 
like either malevolence or prejudice, has not till now been 
laid before the British public Whatever difference of 
opinion may be entertained as to some of Mr. Stuart's 
speculative \iews or notions, it is impossible to read even 
a few pages of his book without feeling both a respect 
for his intelligence, and much esteem for the sincerity, 
the manliness, and the liberal, philanthropic, and toleraut 
temper, which evidently animate every sentence he writes. 
There are some subjects of the very highest importance 
and interest, in regard to which ample details will be 
found iu these volumes. We would direct attention in 
particular to the full and most valuable account of the 
State Prison at Auburn in vol. i., chap. 6 ; to the ac- 
count of the state of agriculture In the territory of New 
York in chap. 12 ; to the notices of the American sys- 
tem of schools for popular education in chap. 14 ; to 
the interesting account in vol. ii., chap 13, of New Har* 
mony, and the extraordinary experiment of which it was 
the scene ; and to the details in the earlier chapters of 
the same volume respecting the slavery of the southern 
states. But these passages are all too long for our space, 
and we must therefore content ourselves by appending the 
following shorter extract as a specimen of the work : — 

I had not been long at Mr. Anderson's, when I was ap- 
plied to by a good-looking young man from the west of Fife- 
shire in 8cotlarid, whose name was John Boswell, to give 
aim, or procure for him, a letter of recommendation to a ship* 
builder in New York. I had never seen him before, so far 
as I knew ; hut I had been acquainted with his father, a 
very respectable person in his line, a farm overseer to the 
late Mr. Mutter of Annfleld, near Dunfermline. Boswell's 
story was this : —He had been bred a ship-carpenter, had 
married, and was the father of two children. Finding his 
wages of about 24. or 2*. 6d. per day insufficient for the main- 
tenance of his family, he commenced being toll-keeper, but 
did not succeed in his new profession. He had, therefore, 
brought his wife and children to New York, being possessed 
only of a small sum of money, and of some furniture, a fbwl- 
ing-piece, &c. He had made application, immediately on 
his arrival at New York, some weeks previously for employ- 
ment, but no one would receive him into his ship-building 
yard, in which there is much valuable property, without 
attestations of hU character for honesty and sobriety. He 
accidentally hoard of my being in the neighbourhood, and 
applied to me to give him such attestations. Knowing 
nothing previously of this young man but what I have men- 
tioned, it was impossible for me to comply with his request, 
but I gave him a letter to a gentleman in the neighbour- 
hood of New York, who might, I thought, be of .use to him, 
stating exactly what I knew of him. Workmen in Ihe ship- 
building hue were at this period plentiful, and months fol- 

lowed before any onening occurred for eraploving Boswell. 
In the mean time uis finances were exhausted, and he had 
been obliged to part with some of the property he had 
brought with him. He was beginning to wish himself well 
hpme again when an offer of work was made to him. I hap- 
pened to be in New York on the very -day when this oc- 
curred, and remember well the pleasure which beamed in 
his eyes when he told me of the offer, and asked me what 
wages he should propose, My advice to him was to leave 
that matter to his master, after he had been at work for a 
week, and showed wna t ne could da The next time I saw 
Boswell he was in the receipt of two dollars a day for ten 
hours' work, and of as much more at the samo rate per hour, 
if he chose to be longer employed. His gains — for he 
told me that he could iive at one-half of the expense which 
it cost him to live in Scotland, although his family here had 
animal food three times a day — soon enabled him to have a 
comfortable well-furnished house, where I again and again 
saw his -family quite happy, and in which he had boarders. 
I sent for him to Hoboken, where I was then living, two or 
three days before I left New York in the month of April 
1831, that I might learn if I could be the bsarer of any 
communication to his friends in Scotland. He came over 
to me with a better suit of clothes on his back and a better 
umbrella than, I believe, I myself possessed. He only 
wished, he said, his friends to know how well settled he now 
was. Jle had earned on the preceding day almost as much 
as he could earn at the same business in Scotland in a 
week ; and he hoped in less than twenty years to make a 
fortune, and return to Scotland. 

I have mentioned the whole particulars of this case, be- 
cause it contains information which may be useful to many. 
I had reason to know, before I left New York, that Boswell 
was an excellent workman, — industrious, honest, and so?>er. 
He told me that he never drunk much whiskey in his own 
country, and that he would take far less of it at New York, 
where, though it was much cheaper, it was of very inferior 
quality. Certificates of good character are very requisite for 
all emigrants to the United Stales, but especially for mecha- 
nics and labourers; and they should either be procured 
from magistrates or from clergymen, no matter to what sect 
they belong. I need not add, that it is most important to 
obtain recommendations, where they can be got, to some 
respectable individual at the port where the emigrants first 
of all arrive. 

The little volume before us i3 the sixth of the series pub- 
lished by the Society under the above title. The publi- 
cation is a" almost indispensable appendix to every alma- 
nao ; aud, indeed, were the stamp on almanacs either 
entirely abolished, or reduced to a penny or two-pence, 
the Companion would probably form an integral portion 
of the Almanac itself. In the United States, where 
there is no stamp at all upon almanacs, there is an 
excellent publication, formed upon the model of this 
' Companion,' which is preceded by the Calendar. In 
Great Britain the Calendar demands a stamp duty of 

The * Companion, 9 for 1833, contains a great deal of 
statistical matter of unusual interest and importance ; 
nor is it without its due share of scientific information. 
The first article on Comets is profound, and at the same 
time popular ; that on the Heights of Mountains in 
Europe is the fullest account that has appeared in Eng- 
land, containing the measurements of 971 mountains, 
interspersed with remarks on the various groups. The 
most important statistical article is a very full abridge- 
ment of the Population Returns of all places containing 
not less than 3,000 inhabitants. The operations of the 
Reform Bill and the Boundaries' Act are exhibited in 
connection with this view of the population. A paper on 
the East-India Company, and another on the Bank of 
England, both founded upon parliamentary reports, 
contain- a great deal of valuable information. 

The Abstracts of Apts of Parliament occupy nearly a 
fifth of the volume. To. many persons such matter may 
appear dry mid technical: But it ought to be considered 
that-euch a.rmblication as this offers, to the crreat " 

Digitized by ' 


[Januahy 31, 1833. 

of the people, the only means of acquiring a knowledge 
of the new laws which they are called upon to obey. The 
Reform Bill, that most important feature of the legis- 
lation of the last Parliament, is here given at considerable 
lengthy with all the schedules that are necessary to be 
known by electors either for the registry of their own 
claims, or for disputing the claims of others*. The 
abstract of Parliamentary Returns embrace a multitude of 
facts relating to finance and commerce. 

From the article entitled ' Brief Notices of the Progress 
of Public Improvements,' we extract an account of a new 
suspension bridge at Leeds : — 

A suspension bridge of a somewhat novel construction has 
lately been erected at Hunslet near Leeds, which from its 
form, and in contradistinction to the chain suspension bridges, 
may not inaptly be called the bow and siring suspension 
bridge. It was executed from the designs and under the 
direction of Mr. George Leather, of Leeds, civil engineer. 
Instead of the chains — the usual means of suspension— two 
strong cast-iron arcs span oyer the whole space between the 
two abutments.- These aros spring from below the proposed 
level of the roadway, but rise, in' their course, considerably 
above it, and from them the transverse beams which support 
the platform of the bridge are suspended by malleable iron 

In the present instance, the suspending arch is 152 feet 
wide, spanning over the river Aire, and the towing or haul- 
ing path ; and there is besides a small land arch of stone on 
each side. - • . , ■ ; 

The footpaths are on the outside of the two suspending 
arcs, and the carriage-way passes between them. 

Each of the suspending arcs is cast in six parts, and 
rowelled together; and the ends fit into cups cast upon the 
springing or foundation plates, forming a ball and socket 
joint. The cast-iron transverse beams which support the 
roadway are suspended at about every five feet. The road- 
way is of timber with iron guard plates on each side; and 
upon the top of the planking are also laid malleable iron 
bars ranging longitudinally for the wheel-tracks, and trans- 
versely for the horse-tracks. *' 

The foundations of the bridge rest upon bearing piles; 
and the total expense was about £4,200. We believe that 
this bridge is only the second of its kind, the Monk Bridge 
at Leeds t, which was also executed from designs and under 
the direction of Mr. Leather, being the first. 

The following are the principal dimensions : — 

Space between the abutments, or span of the sus- 
pending arcs . . . . 152 

Abutments with land arch, each 44 feet . • • . 88 

Total length of the bridge 

Width of the roadway . . * 
Width of each footpath, 7 feet 

Total width of the bridge 




Height from the surface' of the river to the.sprkkg- 
ing of the suspending arcs . . ..".'.' .' 7 

Height from % " do. to the upper surface, or ex- 
tradps of the suspending arcs . . : 43 

Height from do. to surface of road .... 20J 

Height of upper surface of suspending arcs above 
the surface of the road .' * ....... 22| 

[Suspension Bridge over the River Aire, near Leeds.] 

The ' Companion ' is concluded with a double List of 
the new House of Commons; the first, arranged in the 
alphabetical order of places ; the second, in that of 
Members' names. The publication of the work has 
been delayed a month for the completion of this 

* We take this opportunity. of directing the public attention to a 
very valuable work, recently published, entitled ' Notes of Pro- 
ceedings in Courts of Revision, held in October and November, 
1832, before James Manning, Esq., Revising Barrister, with Expla- 
natory Remarks on the Reform Act. By William M. Manning, Esq/ 
This, although it is, strictly speaking, a book for lawyers, contains 
much information of the highest importance to all electors, and 
more especially to overseers and other persons concerned in the 
business of elections. The Revising Barrister's decisions appear to 
have been given with the utmost care and deliberation. As his 
labours were confined to the county of the Isle of Wight and the 
borough of Newport, the limited extent of the voters afforded an 
opportunity of giving to the new questions of election law which 
arose, a mUer consideration than the period prescribed for the 
revision would allow of in more extensive districts. The notes on the 
Reform Act, which are appended to the decisions, contain a great 
body of constitutional learning, and of practical directions for the 
legal construction of any doubtful clause in an enactment embracing 
so many novel as well as complicated particulars, 

f The Monk Bridge, Leeds, was erected in the year 1827. Be- 
sides the suspension arch, which spans over the river Aire, there 
are two small land arches, and a 24-feet elliptical arch over the 
Leeds and Liverpool canal, which at this point is only about 50 
feet from the river. 

The total length of this bridge is ♦♦ ... 260 

Span of the suspension arch • • ••*«• 112 • 

Width of the bridge • • 36 

Height from the surface of the river to the springing 

of the suspending arcs « t t t t * i 7 

Height from do. to the top or extrados of the 

suspending arcs 34 

Height from do. to the surface of the road . 20 
Height of upper surface of suspending arcs above the 

surface of the road 14 

The total cost, including the canal bridge, &c., was about £4,300. 

It was announced in the last Supplement that in future a 
double Supplement would be issued in those eight months 
of the year which only contained four Saturdays, so that 
each Monthly Part should comprise six sheets. In con- 
sequence, however, of many representations, both from in- 
dividual purchasers and the dealers in cheap works, that 
this additional charge to the buyers of the numbers would 
often prevent their regular purchase of the work as it oomes 
out weekly, the Committee have thought it right not to act 
upon this announcement ; being reluctant to press heavily 
on the restricted means of many thousand purchasers of 
the Penny Magazine, who have few other opportunities of 
acquiring knowledge. The Publisher has undertaken that 
in future the Wrapper of the Parts shall be printed on a 
stronger paper, and that the sheets shall be stitched together 
in a neater and more durable manner, 

Thkkb will be two Supplements published in February, to 
complete six Numbers in that month, viz., on the 13 th 
and 27th.— Part I. is now ready. 

•«• The OKce of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Kaowledfe U at 
59, Lincoln's-Inn Fields. 


Priatod by.WiujAM.CtoirM, Stamford Street 




Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



[February 2, 1S33. 


[Statue of Niob«.] 

Niobe, the daughter of Tantalus, according to the 
ancient story, was blessed with seven sons and as nuuiy 
daughters. In the pride of her heart she dared to 
triumph oyer the goddess Leto or Latona, who had only 
two children, Apollo, and Artemis, called by the Romans 
Diana. To punish Niobe for her insolence, Apollo and 
Diana destroyed all her children with their arrows ; and, 
according to some stories, the wretched mother was 
turned into stone through grief, and even the solid rock 
jtill continued to shed tears. Pausanias, a Greek writer 
Vol. II. 

of the second century of our era, who was fond of old 
marvellous tales, tells us that on Sipylus, a mountain of 
Asia Minor, he saw this Niobe of stone. " When you 
are near it," says he, " it is nothing but a steep rock, 
bearing no resemblance at all to a woman, much less to 
one weeping. But when you are at some distance, you 
might imagine it to be ' the figure of a female weeping 
and in great distress." 

The story of Niobe became a favourite subject for 
sculptors; and it is not improbable that there were onco 

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[Fmtuw I, 

aereral groups TepresenUnglhe mother and her children. 
Pliny ipeaks of one being in a temple of Apollo at 
Rome in his time : — " It is doubtful whether Scopas or 
Praxiteles made the dying Niobe and her children." 

There is now extant a Very large number of short (5 reek 
pieces in verse, commonly called epigrams, though they 
do not properly mean epigrams in our sense of the word. 
They are rather short pieces, such as would be appro- 
priate for inscriptions on temples, statues, &c., or merely 
such lines as we often see written in albums, or to com- 
memorate briefly some particular event, or to express 
concisely some sentiment ; and they do not necessarily 
terminate with any pointed saying or witticism. Several 
of these epigrams refer to some figure or figures repre- 
senting Niobe, or Niobe and her children, One of 
them, in two lines, runs thus: — 

" The Gods turned me while living into stone, but out 
of stone Praxiteles has restored me to life." 

This was evidently intended to express the writer's 
admiration of some piece of sculpture to which the chisel 
of Praxiteles had given a living and breathing form* 

But there is another longer inscription which alludes 
more particularly to some group of which the Niobe, 
now at Rome, seems to have been a part ; or at least 
there can be little doubt that the following lines refer to 
a similar group :— 

" Daughter of Tantalus, Niobe, hear my words which 
are the messengers of woe ; listen to the piteous tale of 
thy sorrows. •Loose the bindings of thy hair, mother of 
a race of youths who have fallen beneath the deadly 
arrows of Phoebus. Thy sons no longer live. But 
what is this ? I see something more. The blood of thy 
daughters too is streaming around. One lies at her 
mother's knees; another in her lap; a third on the 
earth ; and one clings to the breast : one gases stupified 
at the coming blow, and one crouches down to avoid the 
arrow, while another still lives. But the mother, whose 
tongue once knew no restraint, stands like a Statue, 
hardened into stone." 

Among the various figures still extant, which art sup* 
posed to belong to the group of the Niobe, it is not easy 
to say which are genuine parts of the whole, and which 
are not. It seems probable that the mother with one 
of her daughters formed the centre, and that other 
figures were arranged on each side. It has further been 
conjectured that the whole occupied the tympanum or 
pediment of a temple, as the great figures of the Theseus, 
Ilissus, &c., in the Elgin collection, decorated the pedi* 
mcnt of Minerva's temple at Athens. One critic has 
gone so far as to deny the possibility of the group of 
Niobe and her daughters having been placed in the pedi- 
ment of a temple, because there would be no loom for 
the angry deities whose arrows are piercing the children 
of Niobe ; as if the whole impression produced was not 
infinitely greater, because the angry deities are unseen. 
The fact is, that to any one who knew the story of 
Niobe, the mere sight of the complete group would tell 
the tale at once: — "That they are the sons and 
daughters of Niobe, who, in the bosom of their mother, 
or near her, sink beneath the arrows of the deities, or 
try to escape from them, we see by a single glance at 
this group of figures, who are in various attitudes — fallen, 
falling, flying, or trying to hide themselves, full of anguish 
jand despair ; while the colossal figure of the mother stands 
in the midst, expressive of the deepest agony *." 

Tn« attention of most of our readers must have been 
excited by the poor Italian boys that frequent our streets, 
selling images, playing organs, or exhibiting monkeys, 
land tortoises, and white mice. This numerous class is 
found, and generally in greater numbers than with us, 
• Thiersch; p. 61*. 

hi Prancr, hi GerfnaTry, 'even in ttussla, and in Other 
continental countries. They are not less remarkable on 
account of their dark expressive countenances, and pie- 
tureequ* appearance, • tken from their quiet, inoffensive 
conduct. It 'is very rare to find in any one of the many 
countries to which these wanderers repair, a single proor 
of a crime or serious offence of any kind committed by 
them. This is a circumstance the mora to be wondered 
at, as they for the most part leave their homes in very 
tender years, and are frequently exposed to the privations 
and temptations of extreme poverty. Those among 
them who are venders of images, by selling for a few 
pence the plaster busts of great men and casts from 
ancient works of art, may pretend to the dignity of 
traders, and even have the merit of improving and pro- 
pagating a taste for the fine arts; while those who exhibit 
the different animals may awaken an interest for natural 
history, by showing the docility of those creatures who 
have learnt obedience to man. As a body, if they are to 
be held as vagrants, theymust be considered as the most 
i none naive and amusing of vagrants. 

The venders of images come almost without an excep- 
tion from the territory of Lucca, in Tuscany, not many 
miles from Florence. The way in which their companies 
are formed is this : — One, or sometimes two men, who 
possess the art of casting figures in moulds, propose a 
campaign ; and haying collected a number of poor boys, 
of whom they become the captains, leave their native 
valley and cross the Apennines and the Alps, marching 
m a little corps of ten, twelve, or fifteen. The writer of 
this account once walked over the Alps by the road of 
Mount Cents, with a company of this sort, from who&e 
chief he learned many particulars as to the modes 
of their proceeding. Their moulds or forms, with a few 
tools, had been despatched before them by the waggon 
to Charnbery, the capital city of Savoy, where they pro- 
posed to make their first sojourn. They find the plaster 
and other simple materials requisite for the formation 
of their figures, in nearly every large town to which they 
go i and they never fix their quarters for any length of 
time, except m large towns. On arriving, therefore, at 
Charnbery, the artist, pr the principal of this company, 
having received his moulds, would set to work, despatch- 
ing the boys who were with him through the city and 
the little towns and villages in the neighbourhood, to sell 
the figures which he could rapidly make. When the 
distance permitted, these boys would return at night 
with the fruits of the day's sale to their master, who 
lodged and fed them ; but it would often happen, when 
they took a wider range among the mountains and valleys 
of Savoy, that they would be absent for several days, 
under which circumstances they would themselves pur- 
chase their cheap fbod and shelter out of the money they 
might obtain for the goods they disposed of. When the 
market became languid in and about Charnbery ; the 
master would pack off his moulds and tools for Geneva, 
and follow them on foot with his little troop, each of 
whom would carry some few figures to sell at the towns 
and villages on tae road to that city. At Geneva, he 
would do as he had done at Charnbery ; and when that 
neighbourhood was supposed to be supplied, he would 
transfer himself and his assistants in the same way to 
some other place. About nine months after passing the 
Alps with him, the narrator found his old fellow-traveller, 
the image-maker, at Fontainebleau, in the forest of that 
name. He was busily at work, with only two boys in 
the town with him • the rest being scattered about the 
country. By this time he had crossed the Jura moun- 
tains, traversed the greater part of France, and was on 
the point of going to Paris, whence he intended to worfc 
his way, by Amiens and Calais, to England, where he 
promised himself a gelden harvest. His brother, who 
had been absent from home several years, was with a 
corps similarly constituted, exploring the less populous 

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provinces of Russia. *thk man himself had already 
been into Germany as far as Leipsic. He was intelligent, 
industrious in his way, exceedingly sober, and well 
behaved*, and spoke very good Italian, as indeed did 
all his boys, being Tuscans born. The image venders, 
indeed, are, as we had said, nearly without an exception, 
natives of Tuscany, where even the poorest of the people 
speak a graceful and pure language. The rest of the 
wandering Italians use different patois, or dialects, 
according to the places from which they come, and are 
scarcely to be understood by the Italian scholar who has 
not lived among them. 

After the Lucchesi, or natives of Lucca, these itine- 
rants may be classed generally under two heads — moun- 
taineers from the Apennines, and mountaineers from the 
Italian ridges and valleys of the Alps, Lower Italy, or 
the kingdom of Naples, the states of Rome, and those 
of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, rarely send forth any of 
thes* emigrants; but we find these troops formed in 
great numbers, going on towards Lombardy, in the 
states of Parma. A great part of this territory, which 
is now allotted to Maria Louisa, the widow of Napoleon 
Bonaparte, is occupied by the rude Apennines, where 
the poverty of the soil and the severity of the climate are 
such as are hardly expected to exist in Italy. On the 
northern side of these mountains the corn, scantily sown, 
is not ripe till September ; and frequently, even when it 
has escaped the effect of the heavy rains and torrents, 
which occasionally wash away the soil and the ridges 
and walls which they are obliged to build on the decli- 
vities to retain it, the grain never comes to healthful 
maturity. In some seasons the rush of waters down the 
precipitous sides of these mountains is so tremendous 
that the terraces are destroyed and the soil washed away 
to the bare rock. At other times hurricanes whirl the 
earth and its produce into the air. In both cases, years 
of labour and ingenuity, to render their mountainous 
territory susceptible of cidtivation, are destroyed, and 
families and whole districts are reduced to extreme 
misery. The other scanty resources of these poor pea- 
sants of the Apennines are a produce of chesnuts, and 
the cutting of wood, which as they have no roads to 
transport it by, is employed almost wholly for purposes of 
fuel and charcoal. Some favoured individuals possess 
a few flocks of sheep in the lower, and of goats in the 
upper, parts of the mountains. 

To procure, therefore, that subsistence which their 
own country does not afford, these people emigrate in 
various directions, and in the exercise of various callings. 
The emigrations of most of them are very temporary ; 
and it may be mentioned here, that, rude as is their 
home, even those who emigrate for longer periods of 
time invariably propose to return to it, as soon as they 
shall have made some money. A curious fact is, that 
each district has, and has had for many generations, its 
peculiar professions and line of emigration, never inter- 
fering with those of another district. From the wild 
tract of country (a leugth of nearly thirty English miles), 
which from the town of Berceto extends along the ridge 
of the Apennines to the western side of the Duohy of 
Modena, the male population go to the island of Corsica, 
where they employ themselves as agricultural labourers 
and wood-cutters. On account of the distance some of 
these stay away two or three years at a time* In the 
tract immediately bemeath this, the men repair every 
year to labour in the corn-Raids in the unhealthy and 
ilnost pestilential maremme, or marshes of Tuscany, 

• Doing the jealousies and deadly hatred thai districted Italy 
it Am middle ages, and prepared the eerritude and misery of that 
sseetUnl country, the Lucchesi obtained a very bad name ; and it is 


to obeerve how long the recollection of this has lasted among 
tat people, for to this day, a man of Locca, if asked where he comes 
time, always replies, " Yj sono de* buoni, e de' cattiri dappertutto— 
wao Loccfiese per serviria," or, "There are good sad bad people 
trary where Ism aLucQtoeatyouiiejnficet'* 

whence many of them are sure to re turn* with mal-aria 
fevers. The sobriety, the abstemiousness of these men— 
the privations to which they submit to save a little 
money*— the wonderfully little on which they live, fill an 
Englishman with astonishment Their sole object is to 
return home with their savings ; to add to the sum of 
which, both those from Corsica and those from Tuscany, 
occasionally addict themselves to a little sly or contraband 
trade. The articles they import are chiefly talt and 
gunpowder— articles which the petty governments q{ 
Italy have, in their wisdom, thought fit to monopolise. 
The articles which they export into Tuscany are chiefly 
rags for the manufacture of paper, which export, by the 
same wisdom, the government of Parma prohibits* or 
loads with tremendous duties, in order to encourage the 
paper manufactories of its own states. In these smug- 
gling operations, whose full success can only give them 
each a few shillings of profit, the poor peasants undergo 
the greatest hardships and dangers ; for to avoid the 
lines of frontiers and custom-houses, and all those who 
might interfere with their trade, they gain their homes 
by traversing the wild and deep ravines, and the loftiest 
and least frequented crests of the Apennines, where they 
are occasionally buried in the snow or carried away by 
the whirlwind, and still more frequently detained whole 
days in some savage, isolated spot, by the inclemencies 
of the climate. 

The districts of Borgo Val di Taro, the villages of 
Bardi, Compiano, Bedonia, Ac. still in the Duchy of 
Parma, and on the Apennines between Parma and 
Genoa, have considerably more resources and more pro- 
ductive lands than those we have described. Here 
indeed we find well cultivated farms, rich pastures, and 
an appearance of comparative prosperity ; but still the 
means are insufficient to the support of the population ; 
they consequently emigrate in great numbers. These 
districts, indeed, furnish many of those wandering Italian 
boys that we see about our streets, to whom we par- 
ticularly alluded at the opening of this little account 

Some of those who wander from home with animals 
engage themselves in England and other countries, in 
the service of the proprietors of menageries. One of the 
sufferers, from the fury of the celebrated elephant in 
Exeter 'Change a few years ago, was a native of Com- 
piano, who had his ribs broken by the trunk of the 
maddened quadruped. But by far the greatest number 
in this profession perambulate on their own account, 
with monkeys, dogs, bears, camels, and hyaenas. - Those 
of them who come to England generally confine them- 
selves to monkeys, probably on account of the difficulty 
and expense of the voyage. The extreme poverty in 
which these people are when they prepare for a first 
emigration, puts it out of their power to provide these 
animals themselves. There are, therefore, certain men 
who have made money in the calling, and no longer 
wander themselves, whom they call proveditori or pro- 
viders, and these sell, or let out to them on certain con* 
ditions, the creatures which the emigrants are in need of. 
And here also frequently occurs a curious co-operation 
of capital and labour; four of these poor fellows will buy 
one bear among them, and hold the property on the 
tenure of what they call *• a paw a-piece" (una zampa 
per uno). Two of them leading it from one country to 
another, and showing it together, divide the profits 
equally, and then save or remit given proportions of the 
profits to the two proprietors at home. One of their 
proveditori, a certain Rossi of Compiano, is now a man 
of much substance, with considerable landed propertv in 
the Apennines. He is the greatest speculator in his fine, 
frequently importing his animals direct from Africa. 
On the Continent, a few years since, if you asked any of 
these itinerants whence they came, and who had pro- 
vided them, you were pretty sure to be told that they 
war* Rossi of Compiano's men. In their native maun- 



[February 2» 

tains, if you inquire of their families or their wives, 
whom they always leave at home, where an absent rela- 
tive or husband is, the almost infallible answer is, in 
their dialect, " E peo mondo c6 a commedia," in good 
Italian, **E pel mondo con la commedia/' or in English, 
** He is wandering about the world with the comedy** 
These simple people give the elevated name of comedy 
to the gambols of monkeys and the dancing of beass. 
Besides dancing bears, these itinerants from Compiano, 
Bedonia, and Bardi had dancing cocks, which we do not 
remember ever to have seen with them in England, and 
of late years, only rarely with them on the Continent 
The way in which they taught this courageous bird to 
dance was this : They took a flag-stone surrounded by 
high rims of stone or clay, or a large round earthen pan 
with a flat bottom, and placed it over a small slow fire ; 
then, having cut or secured the cock's wings, and pro- 
tected his feet and spurs by a piece of cloth on either 
leg, they put him down on the confined arena from 
which he could not escape, and while one man played a 
lively tune on some instrument, another blew the fire 
under the pan or stone. As soon as the cock felt the 
heat under his feet he naturally began to lift them up ; 
and this he did quicker and quicker as the heat increased, 
until the rapidity of their motion represented a dance. 
It was not necessary often to repeat this cruel lesson, for 
after two or three rehearsals of this sort, the cock, 
wherever he might be placed, would begin to lift up his 
legs or dance as soon as the music, which had formerly 
been an accompaniment to his sufferings, began to play. 
The more troublesome or more dangerous bear received 
his rudiments in much the same manner. His fore-legs 
were left in their natural state, and his hind ones were 
protected by a sort of leather boot or sandal. He was 
then put upon a heated flag-stone, when he naturally 
raised his fore-paws in the air, and then moved his hind- 
legs up and down to avoid the heat. 
. The most interesting trait in the character of these 
inoffensive wanderers is their never-failing attachment 
to their mountain homes. Go where they will, let them 
l?e as fortunate as they may, they rarely or never think of 
a permanent settlement, but look back to Italy and the 
Apennines as the place of their rest The object of all their 
toils and travels, their great and their sole ambition, is 
to become the owners of a house and a little bit of land, 
if not on the precise spot, at least in the immediate 
neighbourhood of the villages in the mountains where 
they were born. In the natural course of things, mauy 
never attain the desired (roal ; some of the wanderers fall 
far from home, victims to the severity of the climate as in 
Jlussia, or to its unhealthiness in other places ; some are 
unfortunate in their animals, or in the tracts of country 
they may have chosen to explore ; some, though very few, 
are improvident, and die abroad in wretchedness, or re- 
turn home as indigent as they first set forth. But still, 
there are continually instances, after years of wandering, 
pf these men returning to their native villages in the 
possession of a comfortable independence. It may be 
conceived, that from the poverty of the country and their 
humble notions and way of living, a small sum of money 
will suffice for this independence. The first thing they 
do under these fortunate circumstances is to purchase a 
piece of ground where they erect a little house ; and the 
few foreign travellers who have visited this particular 
mountainous district, must have observed and admired 
that their houses are built in a better style than the 
rugged cottages of their neighbours, an<f that notions of 
snugness, domestic comfort, and cleanliness have been 
imitated from England, Germany, and other distant 
countries in which the poor itinerants have lived. The 
returned wanderers become the oracles of their neigh- 
bourhood. They can talk of foreign countries, and 
citie3, and habits of life, and relate all the adventures 
they encountered on thejr travels, The fame an4 the 

magnificence of London, and much that is glorious 
and good in us as a nation, as far as it could impress the 
limited, uncultivated faculties of such persons, have been 
thus sounded from one end to the other of the moun- 
tains in the Duchy of Parma. 

[Portrait of an Italian exhibiting in London.] 

Utility.— That useful knowledge should receive our tint 
and chief care, we mean not to dispute. But in our views of 
utility, we may differ from some who take this position. 
There are those who confine this term to the necessaries and 
comforts of life, and to the means of producing them. And 
is it true, that we need no knowledge, but that which clothes 
and feeds us? Is it true, that all studies may be dispensed 
with, but such as teach us to act on matter, and to turn it to 
our use ? Happily, human nature is too stubborn to yield 
to this narrow utility. It is interesting to observe how 
the very mechanical arts, which are especially designed to 
minister to the necessities and comforts of life, are per- 
petually passing these limits ; how they disdain to stop at 
mere convenience. A large and increasing proportion of 
mechanical labour is given to the gratification of an elegant 
taste. How simple would be the art of building, if it limited 
itself to the construction of a comfortable shelter. How 
many ships should we dismantle, and how many busy trades 
put to rest, were dress and furniture reduced to the standard 
of convenience. This "utility" would work great changes 
in town and country, would level to the dust the wonders of 
architecture, would annihilate the fine arts, and blot out 
innumerable beauties, which the hand of taste has spread 
over the face of the earth. Happily, human nature is too 
strong for the utilitarian. It cannot satisfy itself with the 
convenient. No passion unfolds itself sooner than the love 
of the ornamental. The savage decorates his person, and 
the child is more struck with the beauty, than the uses of 
its raiment. So far from limiting ourselves to convenient 
food and raiment, we enjoy but little a repast which is not 
arranged with some degree of order and taste ; and a man 
who should consult comfort alone in his wardrobe, would 
find himself an unwelcome guest in circles which he would 
very reluctantly forego. We are aware that the propensity 
to which we have referred, often breaks out in extravagance 
and ruinous luxury. We know that the love of ornament is 
often vitiated by vanity, and that, when so perverted, it 
impairs, sometimes destroys, the soundness and simplicity of 
the mind, and the relish for true glory. Still, it teaches, 
even in its excesses, that the idea of beauty is an indestruc- 
tible principle of our nature, and this single truth is enough 
to put us on our guard against vulgar notions of utility.— 
Jr. E. Charming, D.D. * On the Importance and Means qf 
a National Literature.* 

Legal Age.— The law of England not making portions of 
a day, except in cases in which it becomes necessary to ascer 
tain the priority of distinct events occurring on the same 
day, as the execution of several deeds, Sol, a person is of full 
age who has lived during some part of every day necessary 
to constitute a period of twenty-one years. Thus a person 
born at eleven o'clock at night on the 1st of January, will be 
of age immediately after the midnight between the 30th and 
31st of December, although he will then want forty-seven 
hours of completing twenty-one years.— Manning's Proceed* 
ings in Courts o/Bevition K 

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[From the Menageriit, vol. I.] 

[Child preserved by a Dog.] 

The convent of the Great St Bernard is situated near 
the top of the mountain known by that name, near 
one of the most dangerous passages of the Alps, between 
Switzerland and Savoy. In these regions the traveller 
is often overtaken by the most severe weather, even 
after days of cloudless beauty, when the glaciers glitter 
in the sunshine, and the pink flowers of the rhododen- 
dron appear as if they were never to be sullied by the 
tempest. But a storm suddenly comes on; the roads 
are rendered impassable by drifts of snow; the ava- 
lanches, which are huge loosened masses of snow or ice, 
are swept into the valleys, carrying trees and crags of 
rock before them. The hospitable monks, though their 
revenue is scauty, open their doors to every stranger 
that presents himself. To be cold, to be weary, to be 
benighted, constitute the title to their comfortable shel- 
ter, their cheering meal, and their agreeable converse. 
But their attention to the distressed does not end here. 
• They devote themselves to the dangerous task of search- 
; ing for those unhappy persons who may have been 
overtaken by the sudden storm, and would perish but 
for their charitable succour. Most remarkably are they 
assisted in these truly Christian offices. They have a 
breed of noble dogs in their establishment, whose extra- 
ordinary sagacity often enables them to rescue the 
traveller from destruction. Benumbed with cold, weary 
in the search for a lost track, his senses yielding to the 
stupifying influence of frost, which betrays the ex- 
hausted sufferer into a deep sleep, the unhappy man 
sinks upon the ground, and the snow-drift covers him 
from human sight It is then that the keen scent and 
the exquisite docility of these admirable dogs are called 
into action. Though the perishing man lie ten or even 
twenty feet beneath the snow, the delicacy of smell 
with which they can trace him offers a chance of escape. 
They scratch away the snow with their feet ; they set 
up a continued hoarse and solemn bark, which brings 
the monks and labourers of the convent to their assist- 
ance. To provide for the chance that the dogs, without 
human help, may succeed in discovering the unfortu- 
nate traveller, one of them has a flask of spirits round 
his neck, to which the fainting man may apply for sup- 
port; and another has a cloak to cover him. These 
wonderful exertions are often successful; and even 
where they fail of restoring him who has perished, the 
dogs discover the body, so that it may be secured for 
the recognition of friends ; and such is the effect of the 
temperature, that the dead features generally preserve 
their firmness for the space of two years. One of these 
noble creatures was decorated with a medal, in com- 
memoration of his having saved the lives of twenty-two 
persons, who, but for his sagacity, must have perished. 
Many travellers who have crossed the passage of St 
Bernard, since the peace, have seen this dog, and have 
heard, around the blazing fire of the monks, the story 
^his extraordinary career, He died about the year 1816, 

I in an attempt to convey a poor traveller to his anxious 
family. The Piedmontese courier arrived at St. Ber- 
, nard in a very stormy season, labouring to make his 
way to the little village of St. Pierre, in the valley 
beneath the mountain, where his wife and children 
dwelt. It was in vain that the monks attempted to 
check his resolution to reach his family. They at last 
gave him two guides, each of whom was accompanied 
by a dog, of which one was the remarkable creature 
whose services had been so valuable to mankind. De- 
scending from the convent, they were in an instant over- 
whelmed by two avalanches; and the same common 
destruction awaited the family of the poor courier, who 
were toiling up the mountain in the hope to obtain some 
news of their expected friend. They all perished. 

A story is told of one of these dogs, who, having 
found a child unhurt whose mother had been destroyed 
by an avalanche, induced the poor boy to mount upon his 
back, and thus carried him to the gate of the convent. 
The subject is represented in a French print, which we 
have copied. 

It is often a subject of embarrassment to many well- 
informed persons, that they feel themselves unable to 
pronounce certain hard words, according to what is es- 
teemed the correct way. Hence it may happen that in 
reading or conversation they may sometimes expose 
themselves to the ridicule of persons much more ignorant 
than themselves, who, however, possess the advantage 
of being thought able to pronounce hard words in the 
orthodox fashion. Ridicule and sneers are indeed pow- 
erful weapons, even in the hands of a fool ; and the wisest 
men are sometimes glad to escape from an adversary, who 
is only invincible because he has not sense enough to 
know when he is beaten. Though we must allow that 
it is very useful to have a certain fixed way of pro- 
nouncing words, just as it is useful to have certain fixed 
names for things, we shall endeavour to show,' for the 
benefit of those who feel apprehensive about mispro- 
nouncing a word, that there are very few, if any, who 
can allogether avoid such errors; that the standard 
of right pronunciation is sometimes very difficult to fix, 
and also very difficult to express to the eye ; and that, in 
a very great number of cases, it is of no importance at 
all in which way a word is pronounced. We shall also 
give a few rules, that may be of use to some of our, 

The class of words that causes most difficulty to 
readers, consists (1) of Greek and Roman names of per^ 
sons and places, or (2) of terms in natural history, 
architecture, mineralogy, &c., which are compounded of 
Greek and Latin words. As for real Latin, or French, 
or German words which may be occasionally introduced 
into a work, either when we give the title of a book, 
or in any other case where it is necessary, the truth is* 
that not one man in fifty will pronounce thein all right, 
and no man can pronounce them right unless he is 
acquainted with the languages to which each foreign 
word belongs. If a person then mispronounces a word 
of this class, it only shows that he has not had the oppor- 
tunity of learning the foreign language; which can 
hardly be made a subject of reproach, especially to those 
whose means are limited. We shall now speak more 
particularly of the first class of words, comprehending 
real Greek and Roman names, which must necessarily 
often occur in the Penny Cyclopaedia. 

There are two things to be observed in pronouncing a 
word. One is Jhe sound which we give to each letter, 
or rather to each syllable ; and the second is the stress 
or emphasis by which some particular syllable is distin- 
guished from the rest. Thus, in the words Abdera, 
abddmen, which occur in No. 2, the reader cannot fail 
to pronounce (hem, right, if he only lays the emphasis 

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[FebruJat t, 

era the second syllable. The word abdomen, used to 
designate a particular part of the body, is almost become 
a part of our language ; yet it is a real Latin word, and 
according to the principles of that language should be 
pronounced, as we have marked it, abdSmen. • Some, 
however, must have heard many very excellent medi- 
cal men pronounce the word, Abdomen. We merely 
mention this to show that persons who have spent 
much money on their education, cannot always avoid 
even the most trifling error. Occasionally we hear from 
the pulpit Thessalonica instead of Thessalonica, the 
name of a town in Macedonia, which occurs in the Acts 
of the Apostles. Owing to a mistake, the accent was 
omitted in Abdera and abdbmen in the first impressions 
of No. 2 of the Cyclopaedia; but this is now corrected, 
and we shall always, whenever a real Greek or Latin name 
occurs at the head of an article, mark with an accent 
thus (')» the syllable, which is to be distinguished from 
the rest in the pronunciation. Such words as Archi- 
mkdes, ApoltodSrus, ApollSnius, AristSmenes, may serve 
as examples. It should be remarked, that in such a 
word as Archimedes, the accent which is placed on the 
third syllable shows that k is to be pronounced distinct 
from the following — Ar-chi-mSd-es, not Ar-chi-medes ; 
in like manner Arist~6mren-es, not Arist-Jm-enes. 

A great number of Greek proper names end in us, pre- 
ceded by a vowel : Mbn*4drus, Agksi-ld-ws, Krichtho- 
ni-u$, Dari-us, Ac. ; and in all these cases the vowel which 
precedes us, forms a separate syllable. The accent shows 
whether we must lay the chief stress on the vowel preced- 
ing us, or on some syllable further from the end of the 
word. It will be observed that in three of the instances 
which we have just given, eaeh word, owing to its length, 
has a double accent, which is the case in such English 
words as contSmpordneous, insurmountable. Many 
Greek names of towns end in ia (two syllables), as Sa- 
maria, Philadelphia. The reader will see that we have 
marked these words to be pronounced with the emphasis 
on the last syllable but one — Philadelphia, not Philadel- 
phia, &c„ and this is quite correct. Yet the practice in our 
churches is to pronounce these words with the accent on 
the last syllable but two ; and it would not, perhaps, be 
thought a proof of very good sense, if the clergy were to 
introduce that mode of pronunciation, which most of 
them know to be correct. Usage has so entirely got 
the better of the correct practice, that it would be con- 
sidered only foolish pedantry to say, Philadelphia. 

Many persons pride themselves on a little knowledge 
of Latin and Greek, and are very apt to assume a 
superiority over those who know nothing of these 
ancient languages. But it is a fact that ought to be 
distinctly asserted, because it is undeniable, that not 
one tithe of those who study these languages ever 
really learn them well ; nor are they competent judges 
of what is right or wrong in the pronunciation of Greek 
and Roman names. Even in our great schools, where 
so much attention is paid to what they call prosody, or 
11 the art of pronouncing Greek and Latin words cor- 
rectly," many modes of pronunciation are established 
by usage, which no sound critic can approve. 

The other difficulty that remains as to Greek and 
Roman words is, — how are the vowels and consonants to 
be pronounced ? In England, we pronounce the vowels 
just as we do in our own language ; and, in such words 
as DemSsthenes, Cicero, JEschines, no mistake can pos- 
sibly be made. But though this practice may be called 
right as far as the usage of this country is concerned, 
it is not certain that in all instances it is the real ancient 
pronunciation, and indeed, in some cases, it is certain 
that it is not. The Germans pronounce the aw in such 
words as Paulus, just as we pronounce ou in house, and 
in doing this they follow the practice of their own 
language. €E and M in Latin words are pronounced 
by us just like e in fever: examples, CeeHus, C«war; ( 

sometimes <f at tlie beginning of a word is pronounced 
like a short e. The consonants present but few difficul- 
ties, if the reader only wishes to know what is the 
established mode of pronunciation in this country, and 
does not inquire what was probably the ancient mode. 
C is pronounced like s before e, t, ee, m, as in Cicero, 
Casarea, Ccelius ; and in all other cases like k. G is 
generally pronounced like j before e, t, <e, a, as GkminU 
&c. : in other cases 'it is pronounced like g in gander. 
Ch is always pronounced like our k, as in Achaa, 
Archons, Archimedes, JEschines. H at the beginning 
of all Greek names or words, such as Homer, Hesiod, 
heretic, Ac. should always be strongly pronounced, and 
not half suppressed as is the common practice in the 
metropolis and some other parts of England, even 
among many of the educated. 

[To be continued.] 


The 8th of February, 1587, is memorable as the day of 
the execution of Mary Queen of Scots, in the great hall 
of Fotheringay Castle, in Northamptonshire. The out* 
lines of the history of this unfortunate princess are so 
generally familiar, that we shall here only recapitulate 
a few dates, in order to place its course the more clearly 
before the mind of the reader. .She was the daughter 
of King James V. of Scotland, by his second wife, 
Mary of Lorraine, sister of the Duke of Guise, and 
widow of Louis of Orleans, Duke of Longueville ; and 
she was born at the Palace of Linlithgow, on the 7th of 
December, 1542. On the 14th, by the death of her 
father, she became Queen of Scotland in her own right, 
On the 21st of August following she was crowned at 
Stirling. Even before this an active contest had com- 
menced between Henry VIII. of England and his par* 
tizans on the one hand, to procure the young sovereign 
in marriage for his son Edward ; and the Queen Mother, 
Cardinal Beaton, and their faction on the other, to pre- 
serve her for a French, or other continental alliance. To 
protect her from Henry's attempts to obtain possession 
of her person, she was soon after removed by her 
mother, from Stirling to a monastery, situated on an 
island in the Loch of Menteith. In this asylum she re- 
mained till the year 1548, when it was resolved to send 
her to France; the fatal result of the battle of Mussel- 
burgh (or Pinkie), fought on the 10th of September 
preceding between the Regent Arran and the Protector 
Somerset, having excited a stronger fear than ever of 
her falling into the hands of the English, should she 
remain in the country. Accordingly, having been 
brought for that purpose to Dunbarton Castle, she em- 
barked on the Clyde, and arrived safely at Brest on the 
13th of August. At the court of France she received a 
careful education, not only in all the accomplishments, 
but in all the learning of that age ; and the fine capacity 
with which she was gifted by nature enabled her to 
make the happiest return to the efforts of her instructors. 
On the 24th of April, 1558, she was united in marriage 
to the Dauphin, afterwards Francis II., the prince being 
a few months younger than herself. The death of her 
father-in-law, Henry II., on the 10th of July, 1559, 
raised her to the throne of France ; but she only enjoyed 
her elevation for about a year and a half, her husband 
dying on the 5th December, 1560. Having also lost her 
mother, who had hitherto acted as regent in Scotland, 
on the 10th of June preceding, and the affairs of that 
country having fallen into great confusion, Mary now 
determined to return to her hereditary dominions ; and 
with that view she embarked at Calais on the 5th of 
August, 1561, and, after a voyage of five days, landed in 
safety at Leith, having escaped the English fleet in a 
fog. On the 29th of July, 1565, she married her rela- 
tion Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, the son of the Earl o( 
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Lennox, and, through thf 'countess, his mother, the 
grandson of Margaret, daughter of Henry VII. of Eng- 
land, from whom Mary herself was also descended in 
the same degree. It was in virtue of this descent that 
she claimed during the life of Elizabeth to be considered 
the heir presumptive to the English crown. That 
crown actually devolved eventually upon her son James 
VI. The assassination, in her presence, of her Italian 
secretary David Rizzio (or more properly Riccio), by 
Lord Ruthven and other conspirators, instigated by her 
husband, took place at Holyrood House on the 9th of 
March, 1566. On the 19th of June following she 
gave birth to a son, afterwards James VI. On the 
10th of February, 1667, Darnley was killed by the 
blowing up of the house called Kirk of Field, in the 
vicinity of Edinburgh, where he lay ill, — an event 
which was unquestionably the result of design, whoever 
were the guilty parties. On the 15th of May, Mary 
became once more a wife, by' giving her hand to the 
Earl of Bothwell, the man who was universally accused 
of having been the contriver of the murder of her late 
husband, and who indeed may be said to have been 
since proved to have been the author of that crime. We 
are not perhaps warranted to conclude, as some writers 
appear to have been inclined to do, from this act alone, 
taking all circumstances into consideration, either that 
Mary herself had been a party to the murder, or even 
that she was cognizant of Bothwell's guilt ; but it 
seems impossible to acquit her of a most indecorous and 
profligate indifference as to whether he was guilty or 
no. Her imprudent conduct, to call it by no harsher 
name, brought its punishment after it, in a life hence- 
forth of almost unmixed trouble and sorrow. She was 
soon after shut up by her insurgent subjects in the 
Castle of Loch Leven, where she was compelled on the 
24th of June to sign a renunciation of her crown in 
favour of her infant son. From this imprisonment she 
made her escape on the 2d of May, 1566, and fled 
to Hamilton Castle, in Lanarkshire, where she was 
soon joined by some thousands of her adherents. But 
the result of" the battle of Langside, fought .on the 13th, 
in which her forces were completely defeated by the 
Regent Murray, suddenly left her again a helpless 
fugitive. After concealing herself for a few days in the 
house of Lord Henries in Galloway, she took boat at 
Kirkcudbright on the 16th, and putting across the 
Solway landed at Workington in Cumberland. She 
never again set foot On the soil of her native country. 
Queen Elizabeth, who, from their relative political 
position and certain feelings of a more private nature, 
was her rival and her irreconcilable enemy, had now 
got her victim within her grasp, and was not the woman 
to permit her again to escape. Mary had arrived in 
the English territory in a state of nearly entire destitu- 
tion, without a shilling in her pocket, or an article of 
dress except what she wore on her person. After a few 
days she was conducted by Elizabeth's order to Carlisle, 
from whence, on the 16th of June, she was removed to 
Bolton Castle, the house of Lord Scroop, Warden of the 
West Marches. The honours due to her regal rank were 
at the same time punctiliously paid to her. Here she 
remained till the beginning of the next year, when she was 
transferred to Tutbury Castle in Staffordshire, and com- 
mitted to the custody of the Earl of Shrewsbury. This 
continued to be her principal place of confinement during 
the remainder of her life, although she spent some short 
periods at Whinfield in Derbyshire, at Chatsworth in the 
same county, at Coventry, at Sheffield, and other places. 
In 1584 the Earl of Shrewsbury was succeeded in the 
office of her gaoler by Sir Drew Drury and Sir Annas 
Powlet. There seems to be conclusive evidence that 
Elizabeth, through her ministers, Walsingham and Davi- 
son, proposed in almost direct terms to these persons 
" to find out fotnt way to shorten the life" of their pri- 1 

soner. They however firmly declined to act upon this 
atrocious suggestion. " My answer," wrote Sir A mi as 
Powlet, " I shall deliver unto you with great grief and 
bitterness of mind, in that I am so unhappy as living to 
see this unhappy day, in which I am required, by direc- 
tion from my most gracious sovereign to do an act 
which God and the law forbiddeth. God forbid I should 
make so foul a wreck of my conscience, or leave so great 
a blot to my poor posterity, and shed blood without law 
or warrant" It was then resolved to destroy the unfor- 
tunate Queen under the forms of law. In 1585 the Par- 
liament passed an Act declaring that whosoever " should 
endeavour to raise a rebellion in the kingdom, or attempt 
the Queen's life, or claimed any right to the crown of 
England," should be tried by a commission appointed by 
the Queen, and, if found guilty, put to death. It was 
well understood by every body, at the time, that this Act 
was expressly levelled against the Queen of Scots. Ac- 
cordingly, after her papers had been seized and she had 
been removed to Fotheringay Castle, on the 25th of Sep* 
tember, 1586, forty-two commissioners, with five judges 
of the realm, were appointed by letters patent under the 
great seal, on the authority of this Act, to meet at the 
latter place, to try her on the charge of having been a 
party to the conspiracy of Antony Babington and his 
confederates, who, to the number of fourteen, had just 
been executed for a plot against the Queen's life* Thirty* 
six of the commissioners assembled on the 11th of Octo- 
ber, and after various adjournments, pronounced sen- 
tence on the 25th, in the Star Chamber at Westminster, 
against the accused. This trial exhibited perhaps as ex- 
traordinary an accumulation of substantial injustice and 
oppression as was ever .witnessed. It was the fit con- 
clusion of an illegal and tyrannical imprisonment of 
twenty years. Not being a subject of the English 
Crown, Mary could not be brought to trial on the exist- 
ing statute of treasons. But just as little surely could 
she, except by the most outrageous defiance of all "reason, 
be made amenable to the provisions of a new act spe- 
cially framed to comprehend her ease, while she was 
detained a prisoner in the country by force. Among the 
most active of her judges were Elisabeth's ministers them- 
selves, Lord Burleigh, Sir Francis Walsingham, and 
others, the very men who had been labouring for years to 
effect her destruction, and who, at all events, were the 
acknowledged originators and directors of the present 
proceedings. It was not even pretended that any of her 
jury were her peers. She was allowed no counsel. The 
letters and other papers, forming the principal evidence 
upon which she was convicted, were not only all of them 
the compositions of others, but were not even originals. 
Of the witnesses, some, such as Babington, had been 
previously put to death, merely the testimony which had 
been extracted from them before they suffered being ex- 
hibited ; others, such as her secretaries, Naue and Curl, 
although alive, were never confronted with her — their 
written depositions only being produced. Having ob- 
tained her easy object by the verdict of the commis- 
sioners, Elizabeth thought it necessary to go through a 
melancholy farce of dissimulation, without a parallel for 
elaborate and at the same time transparent artifice. At 
last, in the midst of. her hypocritical lamentations, she 
affixed fcer signature to the warrant of execution. She 
could not at the moment conceal the exultation with 
which her heart was palpitating. " Go," she said jest- 
ingly to Davison, as she delivered him the fatal docu- 
ment, " tell this to Walsingham" (who was then sick), 
" though I fear he will die for sorrow when he hears it." 
She afterwards pretended that the execution took place 
contrary to her intentions ; and Davison, whom she and 
her advisers had made their instrument, suffered severely 
for the part which he had been befooled to play. The 
Earls of Shrewsbury, Derby, Kent, and Cumberland, to 
whom the warrant wee directed, arrived at Fotheringay 

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[February 8> 1833« 

on the 7th of February, 1587, and immediately informed 
Mary that she must prepare for death. She heard the 
announcement with courage and resignation, and asked 
to have a confessor. Even this favour was not granted ; 
hut they offered to send to her Dr. Fletcher, the Dean 
of Peterborough, whom she refused to see. She then 
supped, drank to her servants, who pledged her on their 
knees, perused her will, adding certain bequests, and 
retired to rest. Having slept some hours she awoke, 
and spent the rest of the night in prayer. The morning 
i)eing come she dressed herself in a robe of black velvet, 
the richest in her wardrobe, and then retired to her 
oratory, where she remained till the sheriff came to 
summon her to the scaffold. It was placed at the 
upper end of the Hall, having set on it a chair, a 
cushion, and a block covered with black cloth. Here 
Fletcher began to address her in a violent invective 
against her religion ; but she requested him to desist. 
He then delivered a prayer; after which the executioner 
prepared himself to do his office. Her women having 
removed the upper part of her dress, Mary knelt down 
and laid her head on the block, when the executioner at 
two strokes severed it from her body. By the testimony 
,of all who were present, her bearing, at this her last hour, 
was in all respects becoming and magnanimous. We 
ought also to have mentioned that, addressing the crowd 
who stood around, she solemnly declared her innocence 
both of the murder of Darnley, and of any participation 
in Babington's conspiracy against the life of Elizabeth. 

[Portrait of Queen Mary.] 


And thou hast walk'd about (how strange a story !) 
In Thebes *s streets three thousand years ago, 

When the Memnonium was in all its glory, 
And time had not begun to overthrow 

Those temples, palaces, and' piles stupendous, 

Of which the very ruins are tremendous. 

Speak ! for thou long enough hast acted Dummy, 
Thou hast a tongue— come let us hear its tune ; 

Thou*rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy I 
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, 

Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, 

But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features • 

Tell us — for doubtless thou canst recollect, 
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's lame f 

Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect 

Of either pyramid that bears his n 
Is Fompey's pillar really a misnomer ? 
, Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer ? 

Perhaps thou wert a mason, and forbidden 

By oath to tell the mysteries of thy trade ; 
Then say what secret melody was hidden 

In Memnon's statue which at sunrise playM ? 
Perhaps thou wert a priest— if so, my struggles 
Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its jugglea, 

Perchance that very hand! now pinion'd flat, 
Has hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh glass to glass ; 

Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat, 
Or ilofF'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass ; 

Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, ' 

A torch at the great Temple's dedication. 

I need not ask thee, if that hand, when arm'd, 
Has any Roman soldier maul'd and knuckled, 

For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalm'd, 
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled :- • 

Antiquity appears to have begun 

Long alter thy primeval race was run. 

Since first thy form was in this bos extended, ' 

We have above ground seen some strange mutations ; 

The Roman empire has begun and ended, 

New worlds have risen — we have lost old nations, *• 

And countless kings have into dust been humbled, 

While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. 

Didit thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, 
When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, 

March'd armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread, 
Overthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, 

And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder, 

When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ? 

If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd, 

The nature of thy private life unfold :— 
A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast, 

And tears adown that dusky cheek have roll'd : 
Have children clirab'd those knees and kiss'd that fisce ? 
What was thy name and station, age and race ? 

Statue of flesh— immortal of the dead ! 

Imperishable type of evanescence ! 
Posthumous man, who quirt' st thy narrow bed, 

And standest undecayM within our presence, 
Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment morning 
When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning. 

Why should, this worthless tegument endure, 

Ir its undying guest be lost for ever ? 
O let us keep the soul embalm'd and pure 

In living virtue, that when both must sever, 
Although corruption may our frame consume; 
The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom. 

New Monthly Magazimt. 

Fbiknd after friend departs ; 

"Who hath not lost a friend ? 
There is no union here of hearts 

That finds not here an eud ; 
Were this frail world our final rest, 
Living or dying none were blest. 

Beyond the flight of time, — 

Beyond the reign of death,—* 
There surely is some blessed dime 

Where life is not a breath ; 
Nor lire's affections, transient fire, 
Whose sparks fly upwards and expire. 

There is a world above, 

Where parting is unknown ; 
A long eternity of love, 

Form'd for the good alone ; 
And faith beholds the dying, here, 
Translated to that glorious sphere ! 

Thus star by star declines, 

Till all are past away ; 
As morning high and higher shines, 

To pure and perfect day ; 
Nor sink those stars in empty night, 
But hide themselves in heaven's own light. 

# * The OSes of toe Society for the Difnuioa of Useful Knowledge U at 
69, Liocoln's-Ion Field*. 


Printed by Wiu.hh Clows i, Stamford Street. 

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Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



[February 9, 1883. 


[Indian Jugglers exhibiting tamed Snakes.} 

There are several passages in Scripture which allude to 
the commonly-received opinion in the East, that serpents 
are capable of being rendered docile, or at least harmless, 
by certain charms or incantations. The most remarkable 
of these texts is that of the 58th Psalm, where the 
wicked are compared to " the deaf adder that stoppeth 
her ear, which will not hearken to the voice of charmers, 
charming never so wisely ;" and that of the 8th chapter 
of Jeremiah, " I will send serpents, cockatrices, among 
you, which will not be charmed." Dr. Shaw says that 
a belief that venomous serpents might be rendered 
innoxious by songs or muttered words, or by writing 
sentences or combinations of numbers upon scrolls of 
paper, prevailed through all those parts of Barbary 
where he travelled In India, at the present day, the 
serpent-charmers are a well-known division of the nu- 
merous caste of jugglers that are found in every district 
Mr. Forbes, in his * Oriental Memoirs,' appears to attach 
some credit to their powers of alluring the Cobra-di- 
CapeUo* and other snakes, from their hiding-places, by 
the attraction of music Mr. Johnson, however, in his 
' Sketches of India Field Sports,* says, " The professed 
snake-catchers in India are a low caste of Hindoos, won- 
derfully clever in catching snakes, as well as in practising 
the art of legerdemain : they pretend to draw them from 
their holes, by a song, and by an instrument somewhat 

resembling an Irish bagpipe, on which they play a plain- 
tive tune. The truth is, tins is all done to deceive. If 
ever a snake comes out of a hole at the sound of their 
music, you may be certain that it is a tame one, trained to 
it, deprived of its venomous teeth, and put there for the 
purpose ; and this you may prove, as I have often done, 
by killing the snake, and examining it, by which you 
will exasperate the' men exceedingly." 

The account of Mr. Johnson certainly appears the 
more probable version of this extraordinary story ; yet 
enough remains to surprise, in the wonderful command 
which these people possess over the reptiles that they 
have deprived of their power of injury, and taught to 
erect themselves and make a gentle undulating move- 
ment of the head, at certain modulated sounds. There 
can, we think, be no doubt that the snake is taught to 
do this, as the bear and the cock of the Italians are in- 
structed to dance, as described in our last number. The 
jugglers are very expert in the exercise*of the first branch 
of the trade, that of catching the snakes. They discover 
the hole of the reptile with great ease and certainty, and 
digging into it, seize the animal by the tail, with the left 
hand, and draw the body through the other hand with 
extreme rapidity, till the finger and thumb are brought 
up to the head. The poisonous fangs are then removed, 
and the creature has to commence its mysterious course 

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Of Ihstrtictitm. Atcdtdihg to Mr. Johnson, ho~Wever, the 
business of the snake-charmer is a somewhat perilous 
one. In catching the reptiles, they are generally pro- 
vided with a hot iron to sear the flesh, should they be 
bitten ; and Ihe following anecdote, given by Mr. Johnson, 
would show that the danger is not completely avoided, 
even when the venomous fangs are removed: — "A man 
exhibited one of his dancing cobra-di-capello* before 
a large party. A boy about sixteen years old was 
teasing the animal to make it bite him, which it actually 
did, and to some purpose, for in an hour after he died 
of the bite. The father of the boy was astonished, and 
protested it cdtild not be from the bite; that the snake 
had no venomous teeth ; and that he and the boy had 
often been bitten by it before, without any bad effect. 
On examining the snake, it was found that the former 
fangs were replaced by new ones, not then far out of the 
jaw, but sufficient to bite the boy. The old man said 
that fie never saw or heard of such a circumstance 

The following account of a Literary Society, the mem- 
bers of which belong to the working class, is condensed 
from a paper addressed to the proprietors of large ma- 
nufactories by the Secretary of the Glasgow Chamber of 

It is justly remarked by this gentleman that the mere 
acquisitions of reading and writing only serve to open 
the door to knowledge; and, unless we are induced to 
pass the portal, the stores which lie within will still re- 
main useless to us. No efforts, however assiduous, for 
acquiring intellectual treasures in the exercise of our 
mental powers, can be so successful or satisfactory as 
where men unite together to grapple with ignorance, 
and mutually to instruct each other. The formation of 
societies for this purpose cannot be too strongly recom- 
mended. An account of such an institution formed in 
Glasgow for the improvement of a single body of work- 
men will strongly illdstrate these remarks. 

The Gas Light Chartered Company of that city con- 
stantly employs between sixty and seventy men in the 
works ; twelve of these are mechanics, and the others fur- 
nace-men and common labourers of different descriptions. 
In 1821 the manager of the works proposed to these men 
to contribute each a small sum monthly, to be laid out 
in books to form a library for their common use. He 
informed them that if they agreed to this, the Company 
Would give them a room to keep the books in, which 
should be heated and lighted for them in winter ; that in 
this room they might meet every evening throughout the 
whole year to read and csnverse, in place of going to the 
alehouse, as many of them had been in the practice of 
doing; that the Company would further give them a 
present of five guineas to expend on books: and that the 
management of every thing connected with the measure 
should be intrusted to a committee of themselves, to be 
named and renewed by them at fixed periods. Four- 
teen of the workmen were induced to agree to ihe plan. 
A commencement was thus made, tor the first two 
years, until it could be ascertained that the members 
would take proper care of the books, it was agreed that 
they should not remove them from the reading-room, 
but that they should meet there every evening to peruse 
them. After this period, however, the members were 
allowed to take the books home ; and they then met 
only twice a week at the reading-room, to change them, 
and converse upon what they had been reading. The 
increase of the number of the subscribers to the library 
was at first very slow, and at the end of the second 
year the whole did not amount to thirty. But from 
conversing twice a week with one another at the library 
upon the acquisitions they had been making, a taste for 
science and a desire for information began to spread 

, among them, 'they had, ft little oefore Ink time, ob- 
tained an Atlas, which, they say, led them to think of a 
pair of Globes. One of their members, by trade a 
joiner, who had had the advantage of attending two 
courses of lectures in the Andersonian Institution, vo- 
lunteered, on the third year after the f orm at i on of the 
society, to explain to its members the use of th4 globes. 
This he did one evening in every week, and s ucceed ed 
so well that he offered on the other meeting in the week 
to give an account of some of the principles and pro- 
cesses in mechanics and chemistry, accompanied with a 
few experiments. tie next, and while he was still 
going on With his lecturesi undertook, albngwith nttfcttier 
of the Workmen, to attend in the tifrading-robm dtafing 
the other evenings in the week, and teach arithmetic to 
such of the members as chose. The society now made 
very rapid progress, and its members were induced to 
make a new arrangement by Which the labour Br in- 
structing was more eqiially divided. 

The individuals of the committee agreed amoftjj item- 
selves to gite ih rotation a lecture either dii chemistrj or 
mechanics every Thursday evening, taking Miirra^ for 
their text-book in the one, and Fergusson in the Other. 
The plan is still pursued. It is intimated a rorth%ht 
before to the person whose turn it is, that he is to lecture 
from such a page to such a page of one of these aiithbrs. 
He has in consequence these fourteen days to make 
himself acquainted with the subject ; arid he is authbtfied 
to claim, during* that period, the assistance of every mem- 
ber df the society in preparing the chemical experiments, 
or making the little models of machines for illustrating 
his discourse. 

It is a remarkable circumstance in this unique process 
of instruction, that there has been no backwardness fbdnd 
on the part of any of the individuals to undertake to lec- 
ture in his turn, nor the slightest diffidence exhibited in 
the execution. This is attributed solely to its being set 
about without pretension or affectation of knowledge, and 
merely as a means of mutual improvement 

On the Monday evenings the society has a voluntary 
lecture from any one of its members who chooses to give 
notice of his intention, on either of the branches of 
science already mentioned, or upon any other Useful 
subject he tnay propose. And there is with the general 
body the same simple Unhesitating frankness, and dispo- 
sition to Cotrie 1 forward fit their turn; that exist ShlOng 
the members of the committee with regard to the lectures 
prescribed to them. It may be interesting as well as 
useful to mention some of the subjects of the different 
lectures that were given durin<rthe first three months 
after this plan was adopted. Those delivered by the 
members of the committee consisted of eleven on me- 
chanics, including the application of the mechanical 
powers ; one on magnetism and electricity ; one on wheel 
carriages ; one on the primitive form of crystals ; and 
one on hydrostatics. The voluntary lectures treated on 
the air-pump, chemistry, &c, besides many practical 
subjects, such as boring and mining; Sir Humphrey 
Davy's lamp ; the construction of a corn-mill ; and a 
description of Captain Manby's iuvention for the pre- 
servation of shipwrecked seamen. 

The effect of this society was soon found to be most 
beneficial to the general character and happiness of the 
individuals composing it It may readily be conceived 
what a valuable part of the community the whole of oar 
manufacturing operatives might become if the people 
employed in every large work were enabled to adopt 
similar measures. What might we not then be entitled 
to look for, in useful inventions and discoveries, from 
minds awakened and invigorated by the self-discipline, 
which such a mode of instruction requires. 

The Gas Company being rally aware of the beneficial 
consequences resulting from the instruction of their work* 
people^ fitted up for their use, in the latter end Hf 1884> a 

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more commodious room for their meetings, with a small 
laboratory and workshop attached to it, wnere the experi- 
ments are conducted, and the models to be used in the 
lectures are prepared. Previously to this time the men 
had made for themselves an air-pump and an electrify- 
ing machine, and some of them are constantly engaged 
in the laboratory and workshop during their spare hours. 
At the end of three years from its commencement the 
whole of the workmen, with the exception of about 
fifteen, became members of the society, and these were 
withheld from joining in consequence of their inability to 
read. The others said to them, '* Join us and we will 
teach you to read." It is gratifying to know that this 
invitation has not been made in vain ; and that at the pre- 
sent time this association, now amounting to upwards of 
seventy persons, comprehends nearly all those employed 
about the works. 

The Rules of the society, which have been framed 
by the members themselves, are simple and judicious. 
Every person on becoming a member pays seven shil- 
lings and sixpence of entrance money. This sum is taken 
from him by instalments, and is paid back to him should 
he leave the gas works, or to his family or heirs should 
he die. Besides this entrance money, each member con- 
tributes three halfpence weekly, two-thirds of which go 
to the library, and one-third to the use of the laboratory 
and workshop. The weekly lectures are continued 
during the winter months, and the members are per- 
mitted to bring to these any of their sons who are above 
seven and under twenty-one years of age. Additions 
have from time to time been made to the chemical and 
mechanical apparatus, and the library now contains 
seven hundred volumes. 


[The following paper is a continuation of those inserted in Not. 51 
and 52, under the title of ' a Party of Emigrants travelling in 

Wb were placed on our location, near the source of the 
Baviaan's River, on the 29th June : next day we were 
visited by Captain Harding, the magistrate of the dis- 
trict, and formally installed in our new possessions. By 
the advice pf this officer, we resolved to place a nightly 
watch, to guard our camp from any sudden attack that 
might be attempted by Caffer or Bushman marauders ; 
and as Captain Harding considered our position to be a 
very exposed oue, we agreed to continue, at least for the 
first season, in one body, and to erect our huts and 
cultivate our crops in one spot, for the sake of common 
security and mutual ne ^P« 

The day following we made a complete tour of our 
united domain, to which we gave the Scottish name of 
Glen-Lynden — an appellation afterwards extended to 
the whole valley of " Baviaan's River." We erected 
temporary land-marks to divide the allotments of the 
different families ; and in our progress started a good 
deal of wild game, quaggas, hartebeestes, rietboks, oribis, 
and two wild boars, one of which we killed ; but we 
saw no beast of prey, except a solitary jackaJ. 

The next day, July 2d, was our first Sunday on our 
own grounds. Feeling the high importance of strictly 
maintaining the suitable observance of this day of sacred 
rest, it was unanimously resolved that we should abstain 
from all secular employment not sanctioned by absolute 
necessity; and at the same time commence such a 
system of religious services as might be with propriety 
maintained in the absence of a clergyman or minister. 
The whole party were accordingly assembled after break- 
fast, under a venerable acacia tree, on the margin pf the 
little stream which murmured pleasantly beneath. The 
river appeared shaded here aid there by the graceful 
willow of Babyloq, which grows abundantly along the, 
banks, of the African streams, and which, with the ot^er 
peculiar feature* of the scenary, vividly rewwtel, Vft tf 

tlie beautiful lament of the Hebrew erijea;^" By the 
rivers of Babylon, there we sat, yea we wept when we 
remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the 
willows iu the midst thereof" 

It was, indeed, an affecting sight to tools round on 
our little band of Scottish exiles, thus congregated for 
the first time to worship God in the wild glen allotted 
for their future home and the heritage of their offspring. 

There sat old s with his silvery locks* the patriarch 

of the party, with his Pible on his knee^a pictupe 
of the grave, high-principled Scottish husbandman ; his 
respectable family seated round him. There was the 

widow , with her meek, kind, and quiet look — li4te 

one who had seen better days, but who. in adversity had 
found pious resignation, with her tlnee stalwart sons 
and her young maiden daughter placed beside her on 

the grass. There was Mr. , with his two servant 

lads, the younger brother of a Scottish laird, rich in 
blood, but poor in fortune, who, w^h an estimable 
pride, had preferred a farm in South Africa- to a humi- 
liating dependence on aristocratic connexions at home. 
There, too, were others still more nearly related to the 
writer of this little sketch— the nominal heqd of the 
party. Looking round "on these collected groups, on 
this solemn day of assemblage, such reflections as the 
following irresistibly crowded on his mind : " Have I 
collected from their native homes, and led forth to this 
remote corner of the globe, all these my frieuds and 
countrymen, for good or for evil ?— to perish rniserahly 
in the wilderness, or to become the honoured found* rs 
of a prosperous settlement, destined to extend the bene- 
fits of civilization and the blessed light pf the Gospel 
through this dark and desolate nook of benighted 
Africa ? The issue of our enterprise is known only to 
Him who ordereth all things well • * Man proposes, but 
God disposes.' But though the result of our scheme is 
in the womb of futurity, and although it seems probable 
that greater perils and privations await us thau we had 
once calculated upon, there yet appears no cause to re- 
pent of the course we have taken, or to augur unfavour- 
ably of the ultimate issue. Thus far Providence has 
prospered and protected us. We left not our native 
land (deeply and dearly loved by us) from wanton rest- 
lessness or mere .love of change, or without very suffi- 
cient and reasonable motives. Let us, therefore, go on 
calmly and courageously, duly invoking the blessing pf 
God on all our proceedings; and thus, be the result 
what it may, we shall feel ourselves in the path of active 
duty." — With these, and similar reflections* we encou- 
raged ourselves, and proceeded to the religious service^ 
of the day. 

Having selected one of the hymns of our national 
church, all united in singing it, to one of the old pathetic 
sacred melodies with which it is usually conjoined in the 
sabbath worship of our native land. The day was bright 
and still, and the voice of praise rose with a sweet and 
touching, solemnity among those wild mountains, where 
the praise of the true God had never, in all human pro- 
bability, been sung before. The words of the hymn (com* 
posed by Logan) were appropriate to our situation and 
our feelings, and affected some of our congregation very 
sensibly : — 

" O God of Bethel I by whose hand thr people «tiH are fed ; 
Who through this weary pilgrimage W»t all our fathers ted: 
Through each perplexing path of life out w^ndepug frotaAqpl 

guide ; 
Give us each day our daily braid, and raiment fit provide : 
O ! spread thy covering wings around, titt all our wanderings 

And a.t om father^ toed a£pde out *oul* arrive in pe*ce.* 

We then rea^l spjne of the most suitable, portion^ 
pf the Engli^ Wt^gy* \y^ich we considered p|ofer,^b^ 
ty any e^temftyre WW thai. W*W, b S Wte^fcAoft 
this occasion ; and concluded with an excellent q& ffiWfr ^ 


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[Febkumly 9. 

from a volume of sermons, by a friend well known 
and much esteemed, the late Dr. Andrew Thomson, of 

We had a similar service in the afternoon ; and agreed 
to maintain in this manner the public worship of God in 
our little settlement, until it should please Providence 
again to favour us with the regular dispensation of our 
holy religion. 

While we were singing our last psalm in the after- 
noon, a roebuck antelope, which appeared to have wan- 
dered down the valley, without previously observing us, 
stood for a little while on the opposite side of the stream, 
gazing at us in innocent amazement, as if yet unac- 
quainted with man, the great destroyer. On this day it 
was, of course, permitted to depart unmolested. 

On this and other occasions the scenery, and produc- 
tions of the country reminded us in the most forcible 
manner of the striking imagery of the Hebrew Scriptures. 
The parched and thorny desert — the rugged and stony 
mountains — the dry beds of torrents — " the green pas- 
tures by the quiet waters" — "the lions' dens" — " the 
mountains of leopards'' — " the roes and the young harts 
(antelopes) that feed among the lilies'* — "the cony of 
the rocks" — " the ostrich of the wilderness" — " the 
shadow of a great rock in a weary land;'' — these, and a 
thousand other objects, with strikingly appropriate de- 
scriptions which accompany them, reminded us conti- 
nually with a sense of their beauty and aptitude, which 
we had never fully felt before. 




[Fuhing Temple on the Lake.] 

The district of Windsor Forest called Virginia Water 
was planted, and the Lake formed, under the direction 
of Paul Satidby, at a time when Duke William of Cum- 
berland resided at the Lodge which bears his name, 
about three miles from Windsor. The lake is the largest 
piece of artificial water in the kingdom ; if artificial it 
can be called — for the hand of man has done little more 
than turn the small streams of the district into a natural 
basin. The grounds are several miles in extent ; although 
so perfectly secluded that a traveller might pass on the 
high road without being aware that he was near any 
object that could gratify his curiosity. They are now 
covered with magnificent timber, originally planted with 
regard to the grandest effects of what is called landscape 
gardening. By the permission of the King, Virginia 
Water is open to all persons ; and by those residents in 
Loudon who ~~a spare the time and expense for such an 
excursion, a fine day of the approaching spring or sum- 
mer could not be better spent, than in rambling through 
the moat romantic district within a hundred miles of the 

The scenery in the neighbourhood of Virginia Watci 
is bold and rugged ; being the commencement of Bag 
shot Heath. The variety of surface here agreeably 
relieves the eye, after the monotony of the first twenty' 
miles from town, whieh equally fatigues the traveller 
either upon the Bath or western road. About two miles 
beyond the town of Egham is a neat inn, the Wheatsheaf. 
From the garden of this inn there is a direct access to 
the lake. But we would advise the traveller to take a 
more circuitous course of viewing it if he have time. A 
few hundred yards above the inn, is a branch road to the 
right, which leads to a remarkably pretty village called 
Black nest, nearly two miles from the high road from 
which we recommended him to diverge. Here is a 
keeper's lodge ; and the persons at the gate will readily 
give admission to Virginia Water. After passing through 
a close wood of pines we come to some " alleys green," 
which lead in different directions. Those to the right 
carry us up a steep hill, upon the summit of which is a 
handsome building called the Belvedere. Those to the 
left conduct to the margin of the lake. A scene of great 

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beauty soon bursts upon the view. A verdant walk, 
bounded by the choicest evergreens, leads by the side of 
a magnificent breadth of water. The opposite shore is 
covered with heath; and plantations of the most graceful 
trees — the larch, the ash, and the weeping birch, (" the 
lady of the woods,") break the line of the more distant 
hills. The boundary of the lake is every where most 
judiciously concealed ; — and the imagination cannot 
refrain from believing that some great river lies beyond 
that screening wood. Every now and then the road 
carries us through some close walk of pines and laurels, 
where the rabbit and squirrel run across with scarcely a 
tear of man. But we again find ourselves upon the margin 
of the lake, which increases in breadth as we approach 
its head. At the point where it is widest, a fishing 
temple was erected by George IV. ; which, as seen from 
the shore we are describing, is represented in the wood- 
cut at the head of this article. 

The public road to Black nest is carried over a bold 
arch which is not far out of the line of our walk. This 
is a singularly beautiful spot. To our minds it is not now 
so much in accordance with the general character of the 

scenery, as it was some ten years ago. Several antique 
fragments of Greek columns and pediments, tha; used to 
lie in the court-yard of the British Museum, now form 
an artificial ruin, as represented in the wood-cut. Real 
ruiris removed from the sites to which they belong, are 
the worst species of exotics. The tale which they tell of 
their old grandeur is quite out of harmony with their 
modern appropriation. We can look with an antiquarian 
interest upon a capital in a cabinet. But a shaft or two 
perched up in a modern pleasure-ground, produces a 
ludicrous struggle between the feeling of the true and 
the artificial ; and a sort of scorn of the vanity which 
snatches the wiins of the dead from the hallowed spot 
where time or the barbarian had crumbled them into 
nothingness, to administer to a sense of what is pretty 
and merely picturesque. A real ruin is a solemn thing, 
when it stands upon the site where it had defied the 
elements for ceuturies, in its pomp and glory ; but a 
mock ruin — a fiction of plaster and paint, or a collec- 
tion of fragments bi ought over sea to be joined together, 
without regard to differences of age and style — are 

[Dry Arch, under the road to BUcknest.] 

A walk from this spot of a quarter of a mile brings us 
to the cascade at the head of the lake. Cascades are 
mucL upon the same plan, whether natural or artificial ; 
the scale alone makes the difference. This cascade is 
sufficiently large not to look like a plaything ; and yet it 
gives but au imperfect notion of a tine natural cascade. 
It wants height, and volume of water. In the latter 
particular of excellence, however, the grandest cascades 
are oltcti very disappointing. After a mountain-storm 
when the gill* (little runnels) sparkle down the sides 
oJ the barren rocks, and the force leaps over some fearful 
chasm in oue unbroken sheet, cascades are worthy of 
the poetical descriptions which have been so often 
lavished upon them. In other seasons they appear 

very feeble additions to the charms of the mighty lakes 
and solemn mountains amidst whose solitudes they 
are found. 

From the bottom of the cascade a road has been 
formed to the bank of the lake, opposite that which we 
have been describing. The walks here are as verdant 
and as beautiful as those wehave left. We reach a rus- 
tic bridge, and cross one of the streams that feed the 
lake. Here we are in a more wild and open country. 
We may trace the course of the little stream amongst 
the underwood ; or strike into the path which leads to 
the village of Bishopgate. The finest woodland scenery, 
and spots of the most delicious seclusion, where nothing 
is heard on a summer noon but that indescribable bux 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 



(Februaki 9, 

wjth which evesy lover of 9pJ»tade is familiar, will amply 
repay for a lingering hour. Bishopgate is a beautiful 
spot, surrounded by the most delightful varieties of hill 
aud dale, of wood and water. The poet Shelley, who 
had a true eye for the picturesque, resided for some time 
here. The Royal Lqdge,which was close by, (the favourite 
retreat of George IV.) is, now nulled down. The com- 
mon road from Pishopgate to Windsor is through that 
vista of magnificent e\m% the Long Walk. There is a 
more secluded horse-road, which affords some exquisite 
views of the Castle, and many forest scenes of striking 


No. 2. 
We now suppose the attentive reader to have practised 
the ru,le given in No. 1 of this series, where any number 
of shillings, pence, and farthings is converted into the 
corresponding number of thousandths of a pound. We 
proceed to a rule for finding how much a year a given 
sum per week will amount to. The rule will be correct 
within eighteen-pence, which in such a matter ra suffi- 
cient for every-day purposes. 

Suppose a man to gain £l. 15*. l\d. per week, and 
we want to find haw much this is a year. Convert this 
sum, as in the last number, which gives 1781. First 
annex two ciphers to 1781, and divide by 2, which gives 
89050; then multiply 1781 by 2, which gives ?&6?. 
Add these together — 



From the right of which cut pff three places; let the 
figures which remain on the leA be the pounds, and 
convert those which were cut off into sjiilliugs and pence, 
as in the last number. This gives £ 92. 12». 3d The 
correct answer is £92. }2& 6tf. Again, let \\s. 3|d. 
be. the weekly sum. This converted* gives 5$5 - x proceed 
as before, that is, take the half of 56500 and twice 565, 
and add, which gives 2938Q, and $9/380 converted 
gives .£29. 7a. 7\d. The reaj answer is .£29., 8-s. 3d. 

We now take the converse action, to find haw much 
a week will come from a given sum per year. J^et the 
yearly sum be «£$& 8$. &L Reject the shillings $ud 
pence, reserving one farthing for every shilling so rejected, 
to be applied as hereafter shown,. lif uHipJy Ihe pounds 
by 2, which gives 5& Afln^* \w* ciphers to 58, giving 
5800 ; multiply 58 by 4, giving ?££. Subtract the 
second from the fir^t— 



Cut off four places thus /55$8, which, in *h»s ca^e, cuts 
off all the figures, and convert this inja pounds, shiltings l 
and pence, (in this case there are up. pounds,) which 
gives 1U 1W. .Now add the 8 reserved fishings, 
which gives lis. 3jd., within a farthing of the truth, 
as appears by the last question. If the result contains 
any pounds, it may be made more correct by adding a 
farthing and a half for every pound. Suppose, for 
example, that we ask how much «£312 per year gives 
per week. We have chosen this example because the 
answer ought to be exactly £6, from which we may 
judge what degree of correctness our rule gives. The 
process is as follows : — 


Subtract 4 times 624 2496 


And 5/9904 gives £&. 19*. 9{d. If we add a farthing 
and a half for each of the 5 pounds, or add 1 jcf. (reject- 
ing "the half farthing), we have £$. 19s. ll£d. ; and if 
we had observed that the answer is very nearly 6 pounds, 
and had added a farthing and a half more, retaining 
the half farthing which we just now rejected* we should 
have had an exact result 

We would recommend the reader who studies the prin- 
ciples of algebra, to endeavour to ascertain the reason 
for this rule. 


There are few fish of which the supply is more abun- 
dant, or for which the demand is more considerable, than 
the herring. It affords a cheap means of subsistence to 
the population of our sea-coasts; and, although preju- 
dices are often entertained by many persons against 
the use of fish, we believe that, if not eaten to excess, 
the herring is both nutritious and wholesome. The 
Dutch consider it to be highly so, and a fresh herring 
early in the season is esteemed in Holland almost as a 
panacea for all disorders. 

Herrings are found from the highest northern latitudes 
as low as~ the northern coast of France. Their great 
winter rendezvous is within the Arctic Circle, where they 
continue for many months in order to recruit them- 
selves after the fatigues of spawning, as the seas within 
that circle swarm with insect food in a far greater degree 
than those of the warmer latitudes. They begin to ap- 
pear off the Shetland Isles in April and May ; but the 
great shoal does not arrive till June. Their advance 
is marked by the approach of numerous birds of prey. 
The main body is so broad and deep as to alter the 
appearance of the very ocean ; it is divided into columns 
of five or six miles in length, and three or four in 
breadth, and they drive the water before them with a 
kind of rippling. Sometimes they sink for ten or fifteen 
minutes and then rise again to the surface ; and in fine 
weather they reflect a variety of splendid colours, like a 
field of the most precious gems. 

In the account of the herring in Pennant's British 
Zoology, it is conjectured that the instinct of migration 
was given to herrings that they might deposit their spawn 
ii\ warmer seas, that wpuld mature and vivify it more 
assuredly than those of the frozen zone. This is the more 
probable, because they come to us (ull pf fat, and on their 
return are almost universally observed to be lean. What 
(heir food is near the Pole is not well known, but in our 
seas they feed much o# the oniscus marinus* a crusta- 
ceous insect, and sometimes, on their own fry. At the 
| ct^d, of June they are £$ of ro^ and continue in perfec- 
, tion tfH the beginning of winter, when they deposit their 
spawn. T^e yp^ng hearings he#in to approach- the 
coast in Jury and A ugust, ^nd are then about two inches 
Ipng, According to Pennant, the annual shoal of herrings 
is first divided in its course southward by the Shetland 
Islands.; on meeting wl\ich, one wing takes to the 
eastern* the other- to the western shores of Great Britain, 
each separate shoal being guided by a leader of larger 
size than the ordinary fish. Those which take towards 
the west, after offering themselves to the Hebrides, where 
the great stationary fishing is, proceed to the north of 
Ireland, when they meet with a second interruption, and 
are obliged to make a second division ; the one takes to 
the western side, and is scarcely perceived, being soon 
lost in the Atlantic, but the other, which passes into the 
Irish Sea, feeds the inhabitants of most of the coasts that 
border on it. The divisions, however, are capricious in 
their motions, and do not show an invariable attachment 
to their haunts. 

The importance of the British herring fishery, as a 
branch of industry, has been thought by some to have 
been much overrated ; and Mr. M'Culloch has remarked 

Digitized by 



Tftfe fMY &fA6AzrttE. 

that the exaggerated estimates that Have been current 
with respect to the extent and value of the Dutch 
fishery have contributed very much to the diffusion of 
false notions on this head. He doubts whether the 
Dutch fishery ever afforded employment to more than 
50,000 individuals; although the fencyelopaedia firitan- 
hica has stated the number employed at 450,000. 
Various attempts have been made to extend the British 
fishery by bounties; ami to so extravagant a pitch was 
this system at one period carried, that in the year 175& 
the almost incredible sum of «£l59. Is. 6d. was paid as 
a bounty upon every barrel of merchantable herrings 
that was produced ; and, as Adam Smith says, vessels 
were consequently sent out not to catch herrings, but to 
catch the bouuty. The system of bounties, however, was 
brought to an end in the year 1830 ; and the supply will 
henceforth be proportionate to the real demand, which 
wiil ultimately be more advantageous to the public, 
more especially as the repeal of the salt duties must 
be of signal service to all the fisheries. According 
to the last official account, being for the year ended 
5th of April, 1830, the total, quantity of herrings cured 
in Great Britain was 329,557 barrels, arid that ex- 
ported was 181,654 barrels, of which 69,680 went to 
Ireland, 67,672 to places out of Europe (chiefly the 
West Indies), and 24,302 to places itt Europe other than 

The invention of pickling hearings is Ascribed to one 
Beukels, ft Dutchman, who died in .1397. His grave 
was visited by the Emperor Charles V., and a magnifi- 
cent tomb was erected by that jirince tb his memory. 
The Dutch have always maintained their ascendancy in 
the fishery, but the consumption on the Continent is 
now far less than in the middle ages: This may be 
attributable to the E^fbrmatiotlj and the relaxed bb- 
setTance of Lent, br pefhajis in sdtfte decree to the efFect 
of habit and fashion, fne herring is the Clupca ha- 
rengttvin the language of Linnaeus; and is* too familiar to 
require description, its power of procreation is most 
extraordinary. Hie fish is supposed hi be best when 
shotten, as it is termed ; that is* after having jiSTted with 
its roe. Thfc young rbe is soft and pulpy, and wheii cider 
becomes hard and seedy. The night is said tb be more 
favourable thali the day for the herring fishery. There 
is an expression, " pickle-herfhig," u£cd by some writers 
as meaning a jack-pudding, or merry-andrew, the origin 
or precise application of which does not appear to be 
noticed by lexicographers. 

of* the cat to break the glass and dVouf hirri. This exffcri- 
rmmt was frequently renewed fbr the amusement of my 
friends, and invariably with the same results. Shortly after- 
Wards I carried the little anjmal again into the coal-mine, 
and set him free. It must be obvious that the mouse could 
not be aware that the glass of the lantern afforded him a 
sufficient protection ; it did appear to me at the time, that he 
had no natural or instinctive dread of the cat. — {From a 

The Mouse.— About eight years ago, being in the daily 
habit of descending into the coal-mines of the Newcastle 
district, I one day caught a half-grown mouse, at the extre- 
mkr of a gallery into which the little animal had retreated as 
I advanced towards it (a situation, by the way, in which I 
have seen a rat, by which the mines arc also infested, turn 
round and attack a boy). Now, as no cat had up to that 
period been introduced into the mine, I determined to carry 
home my prisoner, for the purpose of observing his deport- 
ment on being brought into the presence of his formidable 
and natural enemy. In order, however, that he might regain 
his self-possession after being introduced to the light of day, 
which in all probability he had never seen before, I kept him 
confined in a glass lantern for a few days, where he soon 
became so tame as to eat in my presence. In order that he 
might enjoy a more extensive view of surrounding objects, 
1 fixed a piece of stick about nine inches long into the 
socket of the lantern upon which the little fellow very soon 
ooonted ; and after finishing his meals, he usually amused 
himself on his perch, by licking all the accessible parts of his 
tody. In this way he was engaged, on the fifth or sixth day 
of as capture, when I introduced ft youtig cat into the room : 
she very soon discovered the lantern and its contents, which 
wu placed on a table, and dashed at it with all the ferocity 
of a tiger. To my surprise and amusement, my youthful 
prisoner continued his ablutions with all the coolness imagi- 
aibfe, without even condescending to notice the ruxkms effort* 


The 12th of February is the anniversary of the execu- 
tion of the young and interesting Lady Jane Grey. 
l*his unfortunate lady was born in the year 153^. It 
was her unhappy lot to be nearly allied to the blood- 
royal of England, through her mother, who was the 
daughter of Mary, the youngest sister of Henry VIII., 
and the wife first of Louis XII. of France, and after his 
death of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. By the 
latter she had a daughter Frances, who married Henry 
Grey, Marquis of Dorset, and thus became the mother 
of the subject of the present notice, and of two younger 
daughters. When by the death of his wife's two brothers, 
without issue, in 1551, of what was called the sweating 
sickness, the Dukedom of Suffolk, created in favour of 
Charles Brandon, had become extinct, Ihe Marquis ot 
Dorset was advanced to that title, through the influence 
of the noted John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, who was then 
in the height of his power, and who at the same time 
obtained for himself the dignity of Duke of Northumber- 
land. The scheme of this ambitious politician was to 
secure the crown for his own descendants by marrying his 
fourth son Lord Guilford Dudley to Lady Jane Grey, and 
then getting his royal master, Edward VI., over whom 
he possessed a complete ascendancy, and the probability 
of whose eurly death he seems to have already foreseen, 
to declare that lady his successor. Up to a certain point 
this project succeeded. In May, 1 553, the young pair, 
between whom there is understood to have existed a 
warm attachment, were united at Durham itouse, the 
residence of the bridegroom's father, which stood on the 
site of the present Adelphi buildings. The King, 
who had been for sometime ill, was already looked upon 
as past recovery; and on the 11th of June he was per- 
suaded by Northumberland to send for several of the 
judges, and to desire them to draw out an assignment 
of the crown in favour of Lady Jane. That day they 
refused to obey this command; but on the 15th they 
complied ; and on the 21st the document was signed by 
all the members of the Privy Council, twenty-one in 
number. Edward died on the 6th of July, which seems 
to have been rather sooner than was expected ; and, in 
consequence, Northumberland, not having yet every 
thing in readiness, attempted for a few days to conceal 
the demise .of the crown. At length, on the 9th, he 
proceeded along with the Duke of Suffolk to Durham 
House, where Lady Jane was, and announced to her 
the royal dignity to which she had become heir. At 
first she firmly refused to accept what she maintained 
belonged to another ; but the entreaties of her father, 
and especially those of her husband, finally prevailed 
upon her to consent that she should be proclaimed Queen. 
She was accordingly proclaimed in London on the fol- 
lowing day, having previously, under the direction of her 
father-in-law, withdrawn to the Tower, whither she was 
accompanied by all the rrivy Council, whom the Duke 
was especially anxious to retain at this juncture under 
his immediate control. But all his efforts and precau- 
tions proved insufficient to compass the daring plot in 
which he had engaged. The pretensions of Lady Jane 
to the crown were so perfectly untenable according to all 
the ordinary and established rules of succession, that the 
nation was nearly unanimous in regarding her assump- 
tion of the regal authority as a usurpation. Her reign, if it 

Digitized by 




[FmuLW 9, 1838. 

is to be so called, lasted only for nine days. Her authority, 
as soon as it was questioned, was left without a single 
supporter. On the 19th the Council having contrived to 
make their escape from the Tower, while Northumber- 
land had gone to endeavour to oppose Mary in Cam- 
bridgeshire, met at Baynards Castle, in the city, the 
house of the Earl of Pembroke, and sending for the 
Lord Mayor unanimously desired him to proclaim 
that princess, which he did immediately. Mary's ac- 
cession then took place without opposition ; and she 
arrived in London on the 3d of August. The con- 
sequences, however, of the extraordinary attempt which 
had. just terminated in so signal a failure, were now 
about to fall with fatal effect both upon the guilty au- 
thors of the conspiracy, and . upon the innocent young 
creature whom they had made the instrument of their 
ambition. Orders were issued that both Lady Jane and 
her husband should be shut up in the Tower. On the 
18th of August the Duke of Northumberland was tried 
and condemned to death ; and on the 22d he was exe-; 
cuted. On the 13th of. November, Lady Jane, her 
husband, two of her brothers-in-law, and Archbishop 
Cranmer, were all brought to trial, and sentence of guilty 
pronounced against them. . Instead, however, of being 
put to death immediately, they were remanded to pri- 
son ; and no further steps were taken in regard to any 
of them till after the occurrence and suppression of the 
rash insurrection, headed by Sir Thomas Wyatt in the 
beginning of the following February. Wyatt himself 
suffered death for his share in this affair, as did also the 
Duke of Suffolk and his brother ; and " above fifty 
gallant officers, knights, and gentlemen," says the histo- 
rian Carte, cC were put to death as soon as the rebellion 
was quelled. * * There were above four hundred com- 
mon men executed before March 12 ; how many suffered 
afterwards does not appear." But among all who perished 
in this enormous carnage there were none whose fate was 
so much lamented at the time, or has been so long re- 
membered, as the young, beautiful, and accomplished 
Lady Jane Grey. On the morning of the same day her 
husband had been executed on the scaffold on Tower Hill 
(to the north-west of the Tower, at a short distance from 
the moat) ; and she had beheld his mangled corpse as it 
was carried back to the chapel, within the fort. She 
herself was soon after led out to suffer the same bloody 
death on the green in front of the chapel. She advanced 
with a book in her hand and with a composed counte- 
nance. Having mounted the scaffold, she then addressed 
the people, acknowledging the unlawfulness of her as- 
sumption of the crown, but declaring fervently her inno- 
cence of any part " in the procurement and desire 
thereof." She concluded by requesting the people to 
assist her with their prayers, and then knelt down and 
devoutly repeated one of the psalms. Having arisen, 
she declined the assistance of the executioner, who ap- 
proached to remove the upper part of her dress, and that 
service was performed by her female attendants, who 
also bound her eyes. Being then guided to the block, 
and having requested the executioner to dispatch her 
quickly, she knelt down, and, exclaiming " Lord, into thy 
hands I commend my spirit," received the fatal stroke. 
Her demeanour was throughout touchingly resigned and 
beautiful, and altogether in harmony with the gentle 
tenor of her whole previous life. Lady Jane Grey, who 
was thus cut off before she had completed her seventeenth 
year, was already one of the most accomplished and eru- 
dite of her sex in an age abounding in learned females. 
She is said to have been a perfect mistress of the French, 
Latin, and Greek languages. Roger Ascham, in his 
* Schoolmaster,' relates that, visiting her upon one occasion 
at her father's seat in Leicestershire, he found her reading 
the Phaedon of Plato in the original, while the rest of 
the family were all engaged in some field amusements in 
the parks. " I wis, all their sport," she exclaimed, •• is 

but a shadow to the pleasure that I find in Plato." " One 
of the greatest benefits that God gave me," she afterwards 
remarked, as they continued the conversation, *' is that be 
sent me so sharp and severe parents, and so gentle a 
schoolmaster ; for when I am in presence either of father 
or mother, whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand or 
go, eat, drink, be merry or sad, be sewing, playing, 
dancing, or doing any thing else, I must do it, as it were, 
in such measure, weight, and number, even so perfectly 
as God made the world, or else I am so sharply taunted, 
so cruelly threatened — yea, presently sometimes with 
pinches, nips, bobs, (and other ways which I will not 
name for the honour I bear them,) so without measure 
misordered, that I think myself in hell, till time come 
that I must go to Mr. Aylmer, who teacheth me so 
pleasantly, so gently, and with such fair allurements to 
learning, that I think all the time nothing whiles I am 
with him ; and when I am called from him I fell on 

[Portrait of Lady Jane Grey.] 


The attention of the Committee has been called to several 
erroneous statements in the article Aberdeen, in this wort 
The granite bridge there mentioned as being over the Dee 
is over the Don-burn ; there are six kirks instead of two ; 
and the poors' hospital has been long since removed froa 
behind the town-house. The Committee regret these mis- 
statements; and, as no information is more difficult to obtain 
with correctness than topographical, owing to the changes 
that are constantly going forward, especially in commercial 
places, they are making arrangements for procuring the 
revision of such articles by local residents in all imports!* 
British towns. In the mean time they beg to invite com- 
munications from their readers, should such errors again 
arise; and with reference to this particular case, as we& 
as others, it is their intention, upon the completion of each 
volume, to publish a List of Corrections with the Title: 
which will be delivered gratis. 

%• The Office of the Society for the Diffotioc of Ueeful Kaowkdg* m at 
69, Lincoln'* Inc Field*. 


Prated by William Ctowae, 8tnmftrd Street, 

Digitized by 


The penny magazine 


Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



[February 16, 1833. 


[Dover Castle, from the Beach under Shalupeare'i Cliff.] 

At the south-eastern corner of England, upon the sum- 
mit of a chalk cliff from 350 to 400 feet in height, and 
at the distance of about twenty-one miles from the oppo- 
site coast of France, stands Dover Castle. The town of 
Dover has been built to the west of, and immediately 
below it The antiquity of the castle very fur exceeds 
that of the town ; and all that the latter contains worthy 
of remark is of modern date. It is, however, generally 
known as the key to the Continent, and as possessing 
a very complete artificial harbour. The coasts of Sussex 
and Kent, as well as the opposite coast of France, are 
witliout natural harbours ; but as a proof how far art 
has supplied this want, the harbours of Dover and 
Ramsgate, among others, may be referred to with just 

The fortifications of the castle are of different epochs, 
Roman, Saxon, Norman, and of later date. The watch- 
tower (an octagonal building), the parapet, the peculiar 
form of the ditch, all exhibit the hand of the Roman 
architect ; and there is no doubt that the Romans had 
here one of their stationary posts, or walled encamp- 
ments. The foundations of the watch-tower are laid in 
a bed of clay, which was a usual practice with the Roman 
masons ; and it is built with a stalactical composition 
instead of stone, intermixed with courses of Ifcoman 
tiles. The watch-tower and the ancient church are the 
only remaining buildings within the Roman fortress. 
What the precise origin of this church was is not 
known, but it was consecrated to Christian worship by 
St Augustine when he was in England in the sixth 
You It 

The Saxons extended the groundwork of tne Roman 
fortress, and erected a fortress differing materially from 
that of the Romans, as it consisted merely of perpendi- 
cular sides without parapets, surrounded by deep ditches. 
In the centre of the old Saxon works is the keep, which 
is, however, of Roman origin, the foundation having 
been laid in 1153. It is a massy square edifice, the 
side on the south-west being 103 feet; that on the 
north-west 108 feet ; and the other two 123 feet each. 
The north turret of the keep is 95 feet above the ground, 
which is 373 feet above the level of the sea. The view 
from it, in a clear day, comprises the North Foreland, 
Ramsgate pier, the Isle of Thanet, the valley of Dover, 
and the towns of Calais and Boulogne, with the inter 
mediate French coast. The rest of the fortifications are, 
for the most part, of Roman origin, but present the 
altered and improved appearance which has been given 
thein by a succession of repairs for a course of centuries. 

During the French Revolution it was considered 
important to secure and defend Dover Castle as a mili- 
tary station. Fifty thousand pounds were voted for this 
purpose ; and miners and other labourers were employed 
to excavate the rock for purposes of defence, and to cast 
up additional mounds and ramparts. Extensive bar- 
racks were excavated in the solid rock, by which accom- 
modations were provided for a garrison of three or four 
thousand men. The subterraneous rooms and passages 
are shown to visitors, upon an order of the military com- 
mandant being obtained. There is an armoury in the 
keep ; and many ancient curiosities are to be seen here, 
among which is Queen Elizabeth's pocket-pistol, a beau* 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 



£F£llUAfcT 16, 

tiful piece of brass ordnance presented to Elizabeth by 
the States of Holland, as a token of respect for the 
assistance she afforded them against Spain. It is 
twenty-four feet long, and bears a Dutch Inscription, of 
which the following is a translation : — 
" O'er hill and dale I throw my ball J 
Bleaker, my name, of mound and WalL" 

In Lyon's History of Dover, in two volumes quarto, 
or in a smaller work published by William Batcheller at 
Dover, may be found the detailed history of this castle, 
one remarkable event in which is, that on the 21st of 
August, 1625, it was surprised and wrested from the 
King's garrison by a merchant of Dover, named Blake, 
with only tin of his townsmen, who kept possession of 
it for the Parliament, and effectually resisted the King's 
troops. It is also worth notice, that on the 7th of 
January, 1785, Dr. Jefferies and M. Blanchard em- 
barked in a balloon from the castle heights, and having 
crossed the channel in safety, descended in the forest of 
Guisnes in France. 

The Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports is Constable of 
Dover Castle, and has the execution of the King's writs 
within the Cinque Ports— a jurisdiction extending from 
Margate to Sea ford, independently of the sheriffs of 
Kent and Sussex. The castle contains a prison used 
for debtors and smugglers ; and the keeper has the 
feudal designation of Bodar, under the Lord Warden. 
The courts of Chancery, Admiralty, &e„ for the Cinque 
Ports, are held by the Lord Warden in St James's 
church, at the foot of the castle-hill. The office of Lord 
Warden has been usually given to the first Lord of the 
Treasury, and is now held by the Duke of Wellington in 
consequence of his grace having been such first Lord 
when the office became vacant. 

To the west of Dover, opposite the castle, is the cele- 
brated Shakspeare cliff, described in the tragedy of King 
Lear. It is 850 feet high, and almost perpendicular. 
The late Sir Walter Scott, when at Dover a few years 
since on his road to Paris, said to a gentleman who was 
speaking to him of this cliff: •« Shakspeare was a low- 
land man, and I am a highland man ; it is therefore 
natural that he should make much more of this chalk 
cliff than I can do, who live among the black mountains 
of Scotland.'' The fact is that the cliff is remarkable for 
its form, but is by no means so awful or majestic as 
might be supposed, after reading King Lear. 

The means by which geologists have been enabled to 
fix the order of superposition in the strata composing 
the crust of the globe have been, partly by the mineral 
composition of each member of the series, partly by their 
containing fragments of other rocks, but chiefly from 
the remains of animals and plants that are imbedded 
in them. It was observed that there was a class of rocks 
distinguished by a considerable degree of hardness, by 
closeness of texture, by their arrangement in slaty beds, 
and by possessing, when in thick masses, a glistening 
structure called crystalline by mineralogists, and of which 
statuary marble or loaf sugar may be quoted as familiar 
examples : when associated with rocks of another sort, 
also, they always were lowest. — These are marked R in the 
diagram, No. 1 . Above and in contact with them another 
group of strata was observed, which had a good deal of 
resemblance to those below them in mineral composi- 
tion, but contained rounded fragments of other rocks, 
and when these fragments were examined they were 
found to be identical with the rocks composing the lower 
strata. This second series was observed to be covered 
by another group of strata which contained shells and 
corals, bodies that had never been seen in any of the 
lower strata. Thus it was clear, as the including sub- 
stance must necessarilY be formed subsequently to the 

pebble or shell it contains, that previous to the formation 
of this third group there had existed rocks to supply the 
imbedded fragments, and to contain the waters of the 
ocean in which the animals that once inhabited the shells 
must have lived. Ascending still higher, that is, observ- 
ing the strata as they lay one above another towards the 
surface, it was found that many were entirely composed 
of the fragments of pre-existing rocks either fn the form 
of pebbles or of sand cemented together ; that there was a 
vast increase in the number and variety of the imbedded 
shells, the latter forming very often entire beds of rock 
many feet in thickness; and thai the remains of plants 
began to appear. In this manner certain great divi- 
sions of the strata were established, by very clear and 
infallible distinctive characters. But it was reserved 
for an English practical mineral surveyor to make a dis- 
covery which gave a new direction to geological in- 
quiries, and which, in the course of a few years, intro- 
duced into the science a degree of precision and certainty 
that was formerly unknown. About thirty-five years 
ago, Mr. William Smith, -of Churchill in Oxfordshire, by 
an extensive series of observations in different parts 
of England, ascertained that particular strata were 
characterized by the presence of certain fossil or petrified 
shells, which were either confined exclusively to them 
or in predominating quantity, or were of rare occurrence 
in other strata; and he was thus enabled to identify 
two rocks at distant points as belonging to one stratum, 
when mere mineral characters would either have left 
him in uncertainty or have entirely failed in deciding 
the question. When this discovery became known to 
geologists, numerous observations were made in other 
countries, which completely proved that the principle was 
not only applicable in those places which Mr. Smith had 
had an opportunity of observing, but that It held flood 
generally, and throughout the whole series of strata from 
the lowest in which organic remains are found to those 
nearest the surface. Under the direction of this guide, 
geologists have been enabled to discover lines of separa- 
tion in the great divisions which, as already mentioned, 
had been established by prior observations, pointing 
out distinct epochs of deposition, and revealing a suc- 
cession of changes in the organic and inorganic creation, 
in a determinate chronological order. This more accu- 
rate knowledge of the structure of the crust of the 
globe is of the highest interest and importance; not 
only as a matter of speculative science, but as regards 
the practical advantages in common life that have been 
derived from it. Some of the more remarkable results we 
shall presently advert to ; but we must proceed, in the 
first instance, to describe other parts of that structure. 

An examination of the phenomena exhibited by the 
internal structure of this series of superimposed rocks 
has established this farther principle — that all the 
strata must have been deposited on a level foundation, — 
that is, on pre-existing ground that was either horizontal 
or nearly so, at the bottom of a fluid holding their ma- 
terials either in suspension or in solution, or partly both. 
Now as we know of no fluid in which this could have 
taken place except water, geologists have come to the 
conclusion that the chief part of all the strata, however 
elevated they may now be above the level of the sea, 
were gradually deposited at the bottom of the ocean, 
and the remainder of them at the bottom of inland seas 
or lakes. But if this be so, what mighty revolu- 
tions must have taken place to cause rocks formed 
in the depths of the ocean to occupy the summits 
of the highest mountains! By what known agency 
can so extraordinary a change of position have been 
effected ! That the fact of elevation is indisputable, is 
proved by the shells imbedded in stratified rocks at the 
greatest elevations; and geologists who have endea- 
voured to discover by what cause this change in the rela- 
tive position of the rook and toe sea has been brought 

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snoot, by an attentive observation of the phenomena 
of earthquakes and volcanoes, and the resemblance 
between the products of the latter and certain parts of 
the earth's structure which we have yet to notice, have 
arrived at a very probable solution of the problem. 

Although the strata were originally deposited in a 
horixontal position, and are often found so in the greater 
proportion of cases, especially as regards the inferior 
members of the series represented in diagram No. 1, 
Section 2, they are not uniformly so, but are inclined 
more or less, and they have been seen not only at every 
angle of inclination, but very often in a vertical position. 
When a vertical section of a mountain is exposed, as 
is often the case in valleys or the deep bed of a river, 
such an appearance as that represented in diagram No. 
2, is not uncommon ; and if the stratum a be composed 

of rounded blocks of stone surrounded by fine sand 
or clay, and if the stratum 6 contain a layer of shells 
lying parallel to the sides of the stratum, and if they be 
unbroken although of the most delicate texture, it is 
manifest that these strata could not have been deposited 
in their present vertical position, but upon a level 
ground. Sometimes they are not only disturbed from 
their horizontality, but are bent and contorted in the 
most extraordinary way, as if they had been acted upon 
by some powerful force while they were yet in a soft 
flexible state, as shown in the diagram No, 8,— an ap- 

[No, 3.] 

pearance very common in the slate rocks of the north 
coast of Devon. This seeming disorder and confusion 
is evidently a part of the order and harmony of the 
universe, a proof of design in the structure of the globe, 
and one of the progressive steps by which the earth 
seems to have been prepared as a fit habitation for 
man. For if all the strata had remained horizontal, that 
is, parallel to the surface of the globe, if they had 
enveloped it like a shell, or, to use a familiar example, 
had they surrounded it like the coats of an onion, it is 
clear that we should never have become acquainted 
with any other than the upper members of the series, 
and that the beds of coal and salt, and the ores of the 
metals, all of which are confined to the inferior strata, 
could never have been made available for the purposes 
of man. Without this elevation of the strata the earth 
would have presented a monotonous plain, unbroken by 
the beautiful forms of hill and valley or the majestic 
scenery of mountains. With these inequalities of the sur- 
face are intimately connected all the varieties of climates, 
and the diversified products of animal and vegetable 
life dependent thereon ; as well as the whole of what 
may be termed the aqueous machinery of the land, the 
fertilizing and refreshing rains, the sources of springs, 
inland lakes, and the courses of rivers and brooks in 
their endless ramifications. Throughout all this there 
reigns such a harmony of purpose, that the conclusion is 
irresistible, that the breaking up of the earth's crust is 
not an irregular disturbance, but a work of design, in 
perfect accordance with the whole economy of nature, 

We have said that if we dig through the superficial 
covering of sand and clay we usually come upon stone 
disposed in layers ; but there are many places where we 
should find a rock without any such arrangement, and 
which would continue of the same uniform texture, and 
without any parallel rents dividing it into beds, however 
deeply we might penetrate into it Such un&tratificd 
rocks, although of limited extent in proportion to the 
stratified rock*, constitute a considerable portion of the 
crust of the earth, and in all parts of it they generally 
rise above the surface in huge unshapeu masses, sur- 
rounded by the stratified rocks; and sometimes they 
occupy districts of great extent where none of the latter 
rocks can be seen. In mineral composition they are 
essentially different from the other class ; never consist- 
ing of limestone, or sandstone, or clay, and never con- 
taining rounded pebbles, shells, or the remains of any 
other kind of organised matter. Their elementary con- 
stituent parts are simple mineral substances, which, 
although sometimes found in the stratified rocks, are 
always in the rocks we now speak of, in different combi- 
nations : they are always in that particular state called 
crystalline ; and when the parts are large enough to be 
distinguished they are seen to interlace each other, and 
by this arrangement they form a very hard tough stone, 
very difficult to break into regular squared forms or 
to work with the chisel, and they are capable of re- 
ceiving very often a high polish. The substances most 
familiar to us in common life which belong to this 
class of rocks, are granite, whinstone, and basalt. The 
stones in the carriage-ways, and the curb-stones of the 
side-pavement, in the streets of London are usually 
granite; Waterloo Bridge is built of it; and fine speci- 
mens of different varieties may be seen in the new build- 
ings in Covent Garden Market, in the King's Library at 
the British Museum, and among the larger Egyptian 
antiquities at the latter place. Granite is found in great 
abundance in the Grampians and other mountains of 
Scotland, in Devonshire in the mountainous district of 
Dartmoor, and in several parts of Cornwall. There are 
various kinds of whinstone, which is a term chiefly used 
in Scotland and the north of England, although the rock 
is met with in Wales and in the centre and western 
parts of England. The varieties, however, are usually 
produced by changes in the proportions and sizes of the 
same ingredients. It is usually of a dark green colour 
approaching to black, and often speckled with white. 
Some of the paving-stones of the carriage-ways in the 
streets of London are whinstone, brought from the 
neighbourhood of Edinburgh. It is often met with in 
the form of natural pillars, not round but angular, having 
sometimes three, sometimes six, and even eight sides, 
which are usually called basaltic column* : the Giant's 
Causeway in Ireland, and Fingals Cave in the island of 
Stafla, on the west coast of Scotland, are beautiful exam- 
ples of that peculiar structure. 

In our next section we shall proceed to show that 
these unstratified rocks have acted a very conspicuous 
part in the various changes which the crust of the earth 
has undergone. 

The following account is from materials given in the 
Travels of Schubert, a German, in Sweden and Norway. 
It relates to some of the personal adventures of Gustavns 
Erickson Vasa, a Swede of noble family ; whom Chris- 
tian II. of Denmark, then the oppressor of Sweden, had 
carried off to Denmark, contrary to his word. Gustavus 
soon made his escape to Sweden, and this was the com- 
mencement of a revolution for his native country. 

About a quarter of a mile (German) beyond Dalsj5, a 
short distance from the road and to the right, on a point 
of land projecting into the great lake Runn, stands the 
building which is noted for having been the residence of 

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Gustavus I. in 1520. A beautiful walk leads to it, and 
delightful valleys covered with shrubs lie all around the 
lake. The wooden house in which Gustavus was con- 
cealed when the owner Arendt Pehrsson Ornflyckt be- 
trayed him, and the traitor's wife, Barbara Stigsdotter, 
saved him, is still maintained in the same condition that 
it was in the time of Gustavus, and has lately had a 
new roof. The crown allows a fixed sum to the pro- 
prietor for the maintenance of this house, which shows 
the simplicity of its former inhabitants. Like the farm- 
houses of 'Switzerland, it is surrounded by a covered 
balcony which is ascended by a flight of steps: this 
balcony forms the entrance to the house. In the ward- 
robe, where Gustavus was concealed, which is a room I 
with very small windows, there is a wooden statue of 
Gustavus in his royal robes, resting on the Bible, which 
he caused to be translated and published at Upsal, in 
1541. In one hand he holds a telescope. On the 
table on which the Bible lies we see his gloves, which are 
iron on the outside and leather on the inside, his iron 
gorget and helmet ; and on the mantel of the window 
his brass watch. On the walls are suspended his coat 
of mail made of brass wire, his dagger, and his cross- 
bow, with the pedigree of the family of Gustavus, the 
portraits of the Swedish kings of this family, and a 
map of Dalarne (Dalecarlia). Over the entrance are 
some verses which remind the visitor with what feelings 
he ought to approach this national sanctuary ; and near 
it three standing figures, one the body servant of Gusta- 
vus with arrow and lance, and the two others Dalecarlian 
peasants armed with cross-bow and quiver, in a white 
dress and peaked hats, which are now no longer in 
fashion. Some simple verses over these figures relate 
their patriotic deeds. Other verses tell, in chronological 
order, tlie most remarkable events in the life of Gus- 
tavus ; they say how Gustavus fled in 1520 to Dalecarlia, 
and how Pehrsson and his wife kindly received him. 
But Pehrsson soon went to his brother-in-law, who held 
an office under King Christian, to concert with him about 
making Gustavus prisoner. His honest wife, however, 
saved the fugitive : she let him down from the window 
by some towels, and Jacob (one of the Dalecarlian pea- 
sants just alluded to) took him with all possible speed 
over lake Runn to the house of Pastor John. Though 
John had been a friend of Gustavus at the university, 
he did not make himself known till he had worked at 
threshing corn with the servants for some time, and had 
found out by inquiry John's feelings towards Gustavus 
Erickson. After this he only stayed three days with 
John, being closely pursued by his enemies ; and he fled 
to the house of Sven Elfsson, an honest farmer, where he 
stayed till spring. But even in this obscure retreat his 
enemies followed him, and once actually entered the 
room where Gustavus was standing and warming him- 
self at the Are. Sven's wife, who was baking bread, ob- 
serving that the eyes of the Danes were steadiiy directed 
on the strange young man, immediately struck Gustavus 
with her bread-shovel, exclaiming, in angry tone, ** Why 
stand you here gaping on the strangers ? did you never 
see a man before? off to the barn !" — Gustavus went off 
to his threshing. From this hospitable retreat Sven took 
him in a waggon filled with straw, under which he was 
hid, to Mamas, over bridges and through passes occupied 
by the Danes, who stuck their daggers and pikes into the 
waggon, and wounded Gustavus. But the pain could 
not make him utter a single syllable ; and he was saved 
by his own fortitude, added to the dexterity of the driver, 
who wounded the horse, and thus led the Danes to believe 
hat the blood on the ground came from the animal. 
From Marnas, Gustavus was secretly conveyed to a 
forest on the river Lungsjo, where a decaying pine-tree 
afforded him shelter for three days. He was supplied 
with food from Marnas, As soon as it could be effected 
without danger, his twQ friend? »t M&rnwi named | 

Olson, took him to Gardsjo, where he stayed for some 
time concealed in a cellar near the church. Here, at 
last, he showed himself, and, in an inspiriting address, 
urged the people to war. The Danes appeared, but 
the peasants sounded the alarum-bell, and the Danes 
with difficulty made their escape. 

After a short time the war commenced, which ended 
in seating Gustavus on the throne of Sweden. 


[Globe Theatre, Bankside.] 

The above wood-cut exhibits the Globe Theatre, pre- 
vious to its conflagration in 1613 ; it is taken from the 
• View of London as it appeared in 1599.' The Globe, 
which was converted from a bear-garden into a theatre 
about the year 1590, stood nearly opposite the end of 
Queen-street, Cheapside, and was a hexagonal building 
of wood, partly open at the top, partly thatched with 
reeds. The performances look place by day-light, and 
during the time of plaving a flag was displayed on the 
roof. About 1596, tfie proprietors, of whom Shak- 
speare became subsequently one, had the old edifice 
pulled down, and a more commodious theatre erected. 

On the 29th June, 1613, the new house was entirely 
destroyed by fire. The performers were representing 
Shakspeare's play of Henry VIII., and on the King's 
entrance in the masquerade some cannon were dis- 
charged, the wadding from which set fire to the thatch. 
In the following year it was rebuilt with more splendour 
than it before could boast of, and is mentioned by Taylor 
the poet, in the following lines : — 

" As Rold is better that's in fire tried, 

So is the Baukside Globe that late was burned,. 
For where before it had a thatched hide 

Now to a stately theatre is turned : 
Which is an emblem that great things are won 
By those who dare through greatest dangers run.' 

Performances were probably continued at this theatre 
till the year 1642, when the Parliament issued an order 
for suppressing all theatrical representations. Its site 
is now occupied by Barclay and Perkins's brewery, 
formerly the property of Mr. Thrale. 

Singular Rocks, — A rock near the island of Corfu 
bore, and still bears, the resemblance of a vessel under 
sail: the ancients adapted the story to the phenomenon, 
and recognised in it the Phaeacian ship in which Ulvsses 
returned to his country, converted into stone by Neptune 
for having carried the slayer of his son Polyphemus. A 
more extensive acquaintance with the ocean has shown 
that this appearance is not unique : a similar one on the 
coast of Patagonia has more than once deceived both 
French and English navigators ; and Captain Hardy, in 
his Travels in Mexioo, has recorded another pear the shores 

of GtiMmh^Fowgn fimtv? 

Digitized by 






Tub bamboo is a native of the hottest regions of Asia. 
Jt is likewise to be found in America, but not in that 
abundance with which it flourishes in the old world. It 
is never brought into this country in sufficient supply 
for any useful purposes, being rather an object of curi- 
osity than of utility. But in the countries of its produc- 
tion it is one of the most universally useful plants. 
11 There are about fifty varieties," says Mr. Loudon, in 
his Botanical Dictionary, " of the A r undo bambos, each 
of the most rapid growth, rising from fifty to eighty feet 
the first year, and the second perfecting its timber in 
hardness and elasticity. It grows in stools which are 
cut every tw«> years. The quantity of timber furnished 
by an acre of bamboos is immense. Its uses are almost 
without end. In building it forms almost entire houses 
for the lower orders, and enters both into the construc- 
tion and furniture of those of the higher class. Bridges, 
boats, masts, rigging, agricultural and other implements 
and m •' hinery ; carts, baskets, ropes, nets, sail-cloth, 
cups, j-.ij'iers, troughs, pipes for conveying water, 
pumps, fences for gardens and fields, Ac. are made 
of it. Macerated in water it forms paper ; the leaves 
are generally put round the tea sent to Europe : the 
thick inspissated juice is a favourite medicine. It is 
said to be indestructible by fire, to resist acids, and, by 
fusion with alkali, to form a transparent permanent 


The emigrants from the North of Italy are for more 
numerous, and generally engaged in more respectable 
or more important pursuits, than the poor peasants of the 
Apennines, of whom we gave an account in a preceding 
number. These Northern Italians come principally, as we 
have mentioned, from the lakes of Upper Italy, and the 
valleys and declivities of the Alps. The same curious 
practice obtains here as in the Apennines, and on a 
larger scale — that is, each district embraces a particular 
calling, and never interferes with that of its neighbours. 
For generation after generation, one place has sent forth 
Tenders of barometers, &c. ; another place, innkeepers 
and servants for inns ; another, stone-cutters ; another, 
house-painters and white- washers ; another, masons and 
architects, and so on. We will begin with those from 
fte Wke pf Como, (to cJwt of emigrant* most fre- 

quently found in England, and, perhaps, the most intel- 
lectual and important of the whole. 

The large and beautiful lake of Como is principally 
fed by the waters and melting snow of the neighbouring 
Alps, and is almost entirely surrounded by lofty and very 
steep mountains that are picturesque to the eye rather 
than productive to the poor inhabitants. In their best 
parts, the superior region of these mountains offers woods 
and pastures, the middle region an abundance of chesuut 
trees, and the lower declivities bear vines, mulberry trees, 
a few olives, and vegetables. Corn is grown in some 
places, and rye in others ; but frequently under circum- 
stances of great difficulty, requiring infinite labour and 
ingenuity. The bear, the wolf, the chamois, the white " 
hare, the marmot, and other wild animals are found on 
these mountains ; whose sides, like those of the Apen- 
nines, are frequently swept by tremendous hurricanes, 
which throw down the walls built to retain the soil, carry 
away the earth and its produce, and destroy the labours 
of years. Hard, however, as is the struggle of man with 
nature, population has gone on increasing in these parts, 
and the number of towns and villages is very consider- 
able. Many of these, as seen from the level of the 
lake, present the most striking and picturesque appear- 
ances imaginable. The inhabitants of these places have 
devoted themselves principally to the manufacture of 
barometers, thermometers, and other useful instruments, 
which have at different periods originated in philoso- 
phical discoveries and improvements in the knowledge 
of physics. These simple mountaineers have shown a 
remarkable degree of intelligence in these matters; and 
an aptitude to comprehend and imitate machines and 
instruments used in the natural sciences, as soon as they 
have been invented. With this branch of industry they 
not merely emigrate to all parts of Italy, but to France, 
England, Germany, Russia — to every part of Europe — 
whilst some have even crossed the Atlantic both to North 
and South America. Like the manufacturers of plaster 
figures from Lucca, these barometer-makers from the 
lake of Como can find the simple materials employed 
in the construction of their wares in most of the towns or 
great cities whither they may go. Generally, however, 
of late years, in England and the more civilized portions 
of Europe, they have opened shops in places where they 
have settled for longer or shorter periods. But the num- 
ber of those who have relinquished their own country, 
and made a permanent settlement in England and else- 
where, is remarkably small. The attachment to their 
mountain homes is as strong in the breasts of the wan- 
derers from Como as we have described it in the poor 
peasants from the Apennines, and their scope and ambi- 
tion are the same — to return to the scenes of their birth, 
to become the owners of a little estate, and to build a 
house of their own. We must remind the reader (a cir- 
cumstance, however, that will probably strike him from 
what has been said), that as the speculations of the 
Coraaschi (people of Como) are more important than 
those of the leaders of bears, and showers of monkeys 
and white mice, much more money is carried back to the 
mountains round the lake of Como than to the ,A pen 
nines. The effect of this is seen in the superiority in the 
style and condition of their houses, gardens, and lands. 
The major part of the capital thus obtained by foreign 
trade is invested in agriculture and in rendering pro- 
ductive the naturally rude or difficult uneven soil they 
inhabit. Their grounds could be preserved and made 
fruitful only by excessive care ; their gardens are cul- 
tivated with much neatness, and the luxuriant vine is 
made to climb over the snow-white walls of their pleasant 
homes, or is suspended over trellices to form a verdant 
avenue to their doors The general practice with those 
who have made their little fortunes abroad, is to leave 
their sons, or to invite from Italy some near relative or 
family connexion! to come and take possession of their 

Digitized by 




[Februiw J§, 

shop and trade; and when this is done, and the new 
occupants sufficiently instructed how to proceed, the 
retiring tradesmen take their way back to Como. It 
w the custom for those who are not at very remote 
distances from their native country to return home once 
in two years, and pass the winter with their friends. 

It is asserted on good authority that in these emi- 
grating districts, except during the winter, it used to be 
a common thing to find not more than a tenth part of the 
male population at home. The women, who are strong 
and laborious, did the labour of the men in their absence, 
cultivated the farms, which are not extensive, and with 
the children tended their herds of goats and their few 
sheep. After the first French revolution the tide of 
emigration had somewhat decreased ; but since peace has 
been established on the Continent, and communications 
re-opened with England, it has gone on increasing. 
Though not subjected to the miserable privations of 
the Apennine emigrants, the Comaschi, almost univer- 
sally, live very soberly, and persevere in a plan of 
strict economy while abroad. A few years ago there 
used to be a public-house somewhere in Holborn, fre- 
quented on the Saturday night by the men from the 
lake of Como ; and another, near Oxford Street, resorted 
to by the plaster-figure makers from Lucca. The writer 
of this article, who had lately returned from Italy, had 
once the curiosity to go into both these places of ren- 
dezvous. He found each party very gay — talking a 
great deal, but drinking very little; and he was struck, 
a* he had often been before, by their continually-recur- 
ring recollections of home, and by the pure Italian 
spoken by the Lucchesi, and the almost unintelligible 
jargon of the Comaschi. Before quitting this part of 
our subject, we may remark that as the wandering 
Lucchesi, with their cheap plaster casts, have propagated 
a taste for the fine arts, so have the emigrant Comaschi 
served to familiarize even the poor and lowly with the 
discoveries of physics and useful inventions. Penetrating 
into one country after another, as they have long been 
doing, they jnay be considered as retailers and pro- 
pagators of science. On the other hand, returning 
home, they have distributed the manufactures of foreign 
Countries through their nauve mountains; for every 
time that a Comasco returns to his village, whether it be 
for good or ouly for a short visit to see his family and 
frjends, he carries with him a little paccotiglia or adven- 
ture of wares from the lands in which he has sojourned. 
In this way our Sheffield and Birmingham manufac- 
turers have been indebted to them ; for no articles are 
more acceptable than English razors, scissors, pocket- 
knives, &c., and these the Comaschi carry back to their 
countrymen in considerable quantities. Thus these 
humble persons in more ways than one advance the 
civilization of the world. 

The next class of northern Italian emigrants we shall 
notice are those from the Val d'Intelvi — a secluded 
mountain valley, about eight miles in length, situated 
between the lake of Como and the neighbouring lake of 
Lugano. The inhabitants of this district are nearly all 
builders and masons, architects, and civil engineers. To 
exercise their professions they regularly emigrate, not 
merely to all parts of Lombardy and of the Venetian 
States, but to nearly every state and province in Italy, 
from the Alps as far the Neapolitan kingdom. Indeed a 
building of any importance is seldom found in progress 
in any part of the Peninsula, without a number of these 
industrious and ingenious emigrants being employed 
about it. Some of them go into Switzerland, and others 
seek employment in Germany. They love their homes as 
much as their neighbours ; and, though often prevented 
by distance and other circumstances arising from their 
profession, their general object is to return to the Val 
d'Intelvi every winter. Many of these mountaineers are 
men of considerable scientific acquirements and excellent 

practical mathematicians. The Italian portion of the 
grand road of Mount Simplon, which, of the two, is 
better made than the French portion, though the difficul* 
ties to be overcome on the Italian side were incomparably 
greater than those on the French, was mainly executed 
under the superintendence of engineers from the Val 
d'Intelvi, the lake of Como, Ac. Indeed these Italian 
mountaineers — " gente nata in aria Jina" (people born 
in a subtle atmosphere), as their countrymen say of 
them, are justly celebrated in all Upper Italy for their 
perspicacity, perseverance, sagacity, and sound judg- 
ment ; and from them proceed not only the best engineers, 
but the most distinguished lawyers. 

Leaving the lakes of Como and Lugano for the lab 
Maggiore, we find on the shores of the latter lake another 
emigrating district. This is towards the head of the 
Lago Maggiore, near to Locarno, where the inhabitants 
are chiefly house and ornamental painters or decorators. 
Leaving also the Lago Maggiore and approaching the 
Alps, not far from Domo d Ossoia, and immediately at 
the foot of Mount Simplon, there is another and nume- 
rous class of emigrants, who are also house-painters and 
white-washers, called by the Lombards and riedmontese 
" Sbianchinl" These humble artists go to many parts 
of Italy and to Switzerland, They invariably leave their 
homes in spring and return at the approach of winter. 

Another class of emigrants, the next in consequence, 
and perhaps superior in wealth to the Comaschi, come 
from the beautiful little lake of Orta, near the other end 
of the Lago Maggiore. These all leave home as hotel 
servants or keepers of little inns, from which humble 
condition the clever or the successful gradually raise 
themselves to the rank of keepers of hotels and to the 
acquisition of fortune. They settle in different parts of 
Lombardy and the rest of Upper Italy. They go to Ger- 
many, to Spain (in considerable numbers), and some of 
them come to England. Pagliano, the hotel keeper in 
Leicester Square, though himself from Piedmont, has 
generally some servants from this district, who contrive 
even in England to live upon almost nothing, and to save 
nearly all their wages and other gains. To the knowledge 
of the writer of this article, a few years ago, the •• Fontana 
de Oro," and one or two more of the best hotels at Madrid, 
an hotel at Seville, one at Cadiz, and another and a very 
good one at Algesiras opposite Gibraltar, were kept by in- 
dividuals from the Lago d'Orta and its neighbourhood. 
Averse to perpetual expatriation, and fond of their native 
spots as the rest of their countrymen, these people are 
continually returning home as soon as they have made a 
fortune, and these fortunes are in many cases very con- 
siderable. Here, therefore, as at Como, neat houses and 
elegant little Villas are seen, added from time to time, on 
the shores and hills above the tranquil lake. The vil- 
lages are numerous, well-peopled, and prosperous; a 
cheerful and social spirit prevails ; and the retired osti 
or innkeepers, retaining their old habits, and being fond 
of crowded companies, nothing is more common than to 
find fifty or sixty individuals assembled in the evening at 
one house, playing at tarrocco and other games of cards, 
and enjoying festivity and music. Their season of great- 
est hilarity is the autumn — the time the Italians prefer 
for their villeggiatura or residence in the country ; and 
at this season the lake of Orta has long been, like the 
famed abbey of Vallombrosa in the words of Ariosto, — 

" Ricca o beUa, non men rehgioea, 
£ cortese a chiunque vi venia." 
Beauteous and rich, and not the less devout 
And courteous to every comer there. 

Their courtesy and hospitality are indeed at the au- 
tumnal season remarkable, and extended to all visitors 
whether friends or strangers. It is pleasant to see these 
people in the evening of life enjoying what they have so 
hardly earned and struggled for. The whole secret of 
all these emigrants retiring with independence, while 

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the natives of the countries where they have been who 
exercised the same callings merely contrive to live, is to 
be found in their frugal, abstemious, and regular habits — 
in their faculty of sacrificing the present to the future — 
and in their laudable ambition of becoming the owners 
of a house and a piece of land in their own country — a 
prospect that is hardly ever from before their eyes. 

There are a few other emigrant districts besides these 
described. A certain number of peasants emigrate from 
the Val d'Aosta, on the Piedmontese side of the Alps, 
exercising the same callings as the wanderers from the 
Apennines and the Savoyards, with whom they are often 
confounded- From the Italian portion of the Tyrol, also, 
some troops wander about every year selling their manu- 
factures, which are tappeti or coverings for tables, but 
they seldom cross the Alps. The desire for travel is a 
great passion amongst the people whom we have noticed. 
The mountaineers of all that part of Italy which touches 
on, or is part of, the Alps, generally love a wandering life 
and are averse to service, though when they take to it 
they are excellent and most trustworthy domestics. The 
honesty, the orderly conduct, and civility (in its extended 
sense) of the Comaschi in particular are proverbial. 
These qualities strike the traveller or casual observer ; 
but we have it from a gentleman who has not only been 
long resident on the lake of Como, but once employed 
in the Council of State of Milan, that for year after year 
there used to be scarcely an instance of a crime committed 
in those districts ; and that the office of Judge seemed 
to be a sinecure among them. 


The 19th of February by some accounts, but according 
to the best authorities the 15th, is the anniversary of 
the birth of one of the greatest philosophers of modem 
times, the celebrated Galileo Galilei. He was born 
at Pisa, in 1 564. Hjs family, which, till the middle of 
the 14th century, had borne the name of Bonajuti, was 
ancient and noble, but not wealthy; and his father, 
Vineenzo Galilei, appears to have been a person of very 
superior talents and accomplishments. He is the author 
of several treatises upon music, which show him to have 
been master both of the practice and theory of that art. 
Galileo was the eldest of a family of six children, three 
sons and three daughters. His boyhood, like that of 
Newton, and of many other distinguished cultivators of 
mathematical and physical science, evinced the natural 
bent of his genius by various mechanical contrivances 
which he prc*duced ; and he also showed a strong predi- 
lection and decided talent both for music and painting. 
It was resolved, however, that he should be educated 
ftr the medical profession ; and with that view he was, 
in 1581, entered at the university of his native town. 
He appears to have applied himself, for some time, to 
the study of medicine. We have an interesting evi- 
dence of the degree in which his mind was divided 
between this new pursuit and its original turn for 
mechanical observation and invention, in the history of 
his first great discovery, that of the isochronism (or 
equal-timedness, as it might be translated,) of the vibra- 
tions of the pendulum. The suspicion of this curious 
and most important fact was first suggested to Galileo 
while he was attending college, by the motions of a 
lamp swinging from the roof of the cathedral. It imme- 
diately occurred to him that here was an excellent means 
of ascertaining the rate of the pulse ; and, accordingly, 
after he had verified the matter by experiment, this was 
the first, and for a long time the only, application which 
he made of his discovery. He contrived several little 
instruments for counting the pulse by the vibrations of 
a pendulum, which soon came into general use,: under 
the name of Pulsilogies ; and it was not till after many 
Jtws that it was employed ee a general measure of 

time. It was probably after this Jiscorery that Galileo 
began the study of mathematics. From that instant he 
seemed to have found his true field. So fascinated was 
he with the beautiful truths of geometry, that his medi- 
cal books henceforth remained unopened, or were only 
spread out over his Euclid to hide it from his father, 
who was at first so much grieved by his son's absorption 
in his new study, that he positively prohibited him from 
any longer indulging in it. After some time, however, 
seeing that his injunctions were insufficient to overcome 
the strong bias of nature, he yielded the point, and 
Galileo was permitted to take his own way. Having 
mastered Euclid, he now proceeded to read the Hydro- 
statics of Archimedes ; after studying which he produced 
his first mathematical work, an Essay on the Hydro- 
statical Balance. His reputation soon spread itself 
abroad ; and he was introduced to one of the ablest of the 
Italian mathematicians of that day, Guido Ubaldi, who, 
struck with his extraordinary knowledge and talents, 
recommended him to the good offices of his brother, 
the Cardinal del Monte ; and by the latter he was made 
known to the then Grand Duke Ferdinand. The road 
to distinction was now open to him. In 1589 he was 
appointed to the office of Lecturer on Mathematics in the 
University of Pisa ; and this situation he retained till 
1592, when he was nominated by the Republic of Venice 
to be Professor of Mathematics for six years In their 
University of Padua. From the moment at which he 
received the first of these appointments, Galileo gave 
himself up entirely to science ; and, although his salary 
at first was not large, and he was consequently, in order 
to eke out his income, obliged to devote a great part of 
his time to private teaching, in addition to that consumed 
by his public duties, his incessant activity enabled him to 
accomplish infinitely more than most other men would 
have been able to overtake in a life of uninterrupted 
leisure. The whole range of natural philosophy, as then 
existing, engaged his attention ; and besides reading, 
observation, and experiment, the composition of numer- 
ous dissertations on his favourite subjects occupied his 
laborious days and nights. In 1598 he was re-appointed 
to his professorship with an increased salary ; and in> 
1606 he was nominated for the third time, with an addi-* 
tional augmentation. By this time he was so popular as 
a lecturer, and was attended by such throngs of audit 
tors, that it is said he was frequently obliged to adjourn 
from the largest hall in the university, which held a 
thousand persons, to the open air. Among the services 
which he had already rendered to science may be men- 
tioned his contrivance of an instrument for finding pro- 
portional lines, similar to Gunter's scale, and his re- 
discovery of the thermometer, which seems to have been 
known to some of the ancient philosophers, but had 
long been entirely forgotten. But the year 1609 was 
the most momentous in the career of Galileo as an en- 
larger of the bounds of natural philosophy. It was in 
this year that he made his grand discovery of the tele- 
scope — having been induced to turn his attention to the 
effect of a combination of magnifying glasses, by a re- 
port which was brought to him, while on a visit at Venice, 
of a wonderful instrument constructed on some such 
principle, which had just been sent to Italy from Hol- 
land. In point of fact, it appears that a rude species of ' 
telescope had been previously fabricated in that country; 
but Galileo, who had never seen this contrivance, was 
undoubtedly the true and sole inventor of the instrument 
in that form in which alone it could be applied to any 
scientific use. The interest excited by this discovery 
transcended all that has ever been inspired by any of 
the other wonders of science. After having exhibited his 
new instrument for a few days, Galileo presented it to the 
Senate of Venice, who immediately re-elected him to his 
professorship for life, and doubled his salary, making it 
now one thousand florins. He then constructed anotbct 

Digitized by 




[February 16, 1S33. 

telescope for himself, and with that proceeded to examine 
the heavens. He lw not long directed it to this, the field 
which has ever since been its principal domain, before 
he was rewarded with a succession of brilliant discoveries. 
The four satellites, or attendant moons, of Jupiter, re- 
vealed themselves for the first time to the human eye. 
Other stars unseen before met him in every quarter of 
the heavens to which he turned. Saturn showed his 
singular encompassing ring. The moon unveiled her 
seas and her mountains. The sun himself discovered 
spots of dark lying in the midst of his brightness. All 
these wonders were announced to the world by Galileo in 
the successive numbers of a publication which he entitled 
the ' Nuncius Sidereus, or Intelligence of the Heavens,' 
a newspaper undoubtedly unrivalled for extraordinary 
tidings by any other that has ever appeared. In 1610 
he was induced to resign his professorship at Padua, on 
the invitation of the Grand Duke of Tuscany to accept 
of the appointment of his first mathematician and philo- 
sopher at Pisa. Soon after his removal thither Galileo 
appears to have for the first time ventured upon openly 
teaching the Copernican system of the world, of the 
truth of which he had been many years before convinced. 
This bold step drew down upon the great philosopher a 
cruel and disgraceful persecution which terminated only 
with his life. An outcry was raised by the ignorant 
bigotry of the time, on the ground . that in maintaining 
the doctrine of the earth's motion round the sun he was 
contradicting the language of Scripture, where, it was 
said, the earth was constantly spoken of as at rest. The 
day is gone by when it would have been necessary to 
attempt any formal refutation of this absurd notion, 
founded as it is upon a total misapprehension of what 
the object of the Scriptures is, which are intended to teach 
men morality and religion only, not mathematics or 
astronomy, and which would not have been even intelli- 
gible to those to whom they were first addressed, unless 
their language in regard to this and various other mat- 
ters had been accommodated to the then universally pre- 
vailing opinions. In Galileo's day, however, the Church 
of Rome had not learned to admit this very obvious con- 
sideration. In 1616 Galileo, having gone to Rome on 
learning the hostility which was gathering against him, 
was graciously received by the Pope, but was com- 
manded to abstain in future from teaching the doctrines 
of Copernicus. For some years the matter was allowed 
to sleep, till in 1632 the philosopher published his 
celebrated Dialogue on the two Systems of the World, 
the Ptolemaic and the Copernican, in which he took 
but little pains to disguise his thorough conviction of 
the truth of the latter. The rage of his enemies, who 
had been so long nearly silent, now burst upon him 
in a terrific storm. The book was consigned to the 
Inquisition, before which formidable tribunal the author 
was forthwith summoned to appear. He arrived at 
Rome on the 14 th of February, 1633. We have not 
space to relate the history of the process. It is 
doubtful whether or no Galileo was actually put to 
the torture, but it is certain that on the 21st of June 
he was found guilty of heresy, and condemned to 
abjuration and imprisonment. His actual confinement 
in the dungeons of the Holy Office lasted only a few 
days; and after some months he was allowed to return 
to his country seat at Arcetri, near Florence, with a 
prohibition, however, against quitting that retirement, 
or even admitting the visits of his friends. Galileo 
survived this treatment for several years, during which 
he continued the active pursuit of his philosophical 
studies, and even sent to the press another important 
work, his Dialogues on the Laws of Motion. The 
rigour of his confinement, too, was after some time much 
relaxed ; and although he never again left Arcetri 
(except once for a few months), he was permitted to 
enjoy the society of his friends in his own house, But 

other misfortunes now crowded upon his old age. His 
health had long been bad, and his fits of illness were how 
more frequent and painful than ever. In 1639 be was 
struck with total blindness. A few years before the tic 
that bound him most strongly to life had been snapt by 
the death of his favourite daughter. Weighed dowii by 
these accumulated sorrows, on the 8th of January, 1642, 
the old man breathed his last at the advanced age of 
seventy-eight. For a full account of Galileo— of what 
he was and what he did — the reader ought to peruse his 
Life iii the * Library of Useful Knowledge,' from which 
the above rapid sketch has been abstracted. The sub- 
ject of the philosopher and his times is there treated in 
i.mplc detail, and illustrated with many disquisitions of 
tie highest interest 

[Portrait of Galileo.] 

Blarney.— In the highest part of Blarney Caste, in the 
county of Cork, is a stone usually pointed out to the visitor, 
which is said to have the power of imparting to the person 
who kisses it the unenviable privilege of hazarding, without 
a blush, that species of romantic assertion which many term 
falsehood. Hence the phrase of blarney, applied to inch 
violations of accuracy in narration. — Brewer* s Beauties of 

Excess in the Pursuit of Knowledge. — The piincip&l 
end why we are to get knowledge here is to make use of 
it for the benefit of ourselves and others in this world ; 
but if by gaining it we destroy our health, we labour for 
a thing that will be useless in our hands ; and if by harass 
ing our bodies (though with a design to render ourselves 
more useful), wo deprive ourselves of the abilities and oppor- 
tunities of doing that good we might have done with a 
meaner talent, which God thought sufficient for us, by hav- 
ing denied us the strength to improve it to that pitch, which 
men of stronger constitutions can attain to, we rob God of 
so much service, and our neighbour of all that help, which, 
in a state of health, with moderate knowledge, we might 
have been able to perform. He that sinks his vessel by 
overloading it, though it be with gold and silver and precious 
stones, will give his owner but an ill account of his voyage.— 

V The Office of the Society for the Diffusion of Obeful Knowledge b tt 
59, Lincoln'! Inn Fields. 


f riaUd »j Wiuum Qbowsi, fUafort Stmt, 

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Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



[February 23, 1833. 


[Principal Front of the Cathedral of Ndtre Dame.] 

The cathedral of N6tre Dame, the mother-church of 
France, occupies the south-east corner of the small island 
in the Seine, called the Isle de la Cite, or the Isle du Palais, 
and in consequently almost in the centre of Paris. It is 
a Gothic building, venerable for its antiquity; and also, 
in its architectural character, not destitute either of gran- 
deur or beauty, although it cannot be ranked upon the 
whole among the happiest specimens of the style to which 

it belongs. The site of the cliurch of Ndtre Dame appears 
to have been devoted to sacred purposes from very early 
times. In making some excavations under the choir, in 
March 1711, there were found, at the depth of fifteen 
feet below the surface, nine stones bearing inscriptions 
and figures in bas-relief, which seemed to have originally 
formed an altar dedicated conjointly to Esus, or Eus 
(the Celtic God of Battle and Slaughter), to Jupiter, 

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[Fmmn !3 

Vulcan, Castor, and Pollux. From the circumstance of 
ashes and incense being still found in the hole where the 
fire had been placed, it was inferred that the altar had 
stood on the same spot where its ruins were discovered. 
It is probable, however, that it stood in the open air ; 
for there is no reason to believe that any Pagan temple 
was ever erected within the bounds of this islet. These 
sacred edifices among the ancient Gauls were for the 
most part placed outside the towns; and this seems 
clearly to have been the case with those at Paris. The 
first Christian church which Paris possessed was erected 
on or close to the site of the present cathedral. Its 
date is assigned to about the year 375, in the reign of 
Valentinian I. This church was dedicated to St. Ste- 
phen, and it was for a long time the only one in the city. 
About the year 522, Child ebert I., the son of Clovis, 
erected another close beside it, which he dedicated to the 
Virgin. The present cathedral may be considered as 
uniting these two churches, covering as it does nearly 
the whole space which they formerly occupied. It was 
begun to be built, according to some accounts, about the 
year 1010, in the reign of Robert II. surnamed the 
Devout, the son and successor of Hugh Capet; while 
others refer it to the time of Robert's great-great-grand- 
sou, Louis VII. or the Young, in the year 1160. It is 
most probable, however, that it was not really com- 
menced till after the accession of Louis's celebrated son 
and successor Philip II., usually called Philip Augustus, 
who occupied the throne from 1180 till 1223. The 
work was carried on with the extreme deliberation com- 
mon in those times, in the case of structures which were 
intended for the utmost possible duration ; and it was not 
quite finished till the close of the reign of Philip VI., or 
about the middle of the fourteenth century. 

The principal front of the cathedral of NAtre Dame Is 
the west. It consists of three portals, surmounted by a 
pillared gallery, over which again are a great central and 
two side windows, from which the principal light for 
the body pf the church is derived. Over the windows is 
another gallery supported by columns; from the ex- 
tremities of which rise two towers, 204 feet in height, 
but more remarkable for solidity than elegance. The 
architecture of this front is altogether of a very florid 
description, and presents many grotesque ornaments. 
Originally a flight of thirteen steps used to lead up to 
the doors ; but such has been the accumulation of the 
surrounding soil, that it is now considerably higher than 
the floor of the church. The gallery immediately over 
the doors used formerly to contain twenty-eight statues 
of the kings of France, from Childebert to Philip Augustus 
inclusive ; but these were pulled down and destroyed 
in the early fury of the Revolution. The cathedral, 
indeed, sustained many other injuries besides this in the 
confusion of those times. Of its most ancient and curious 
ornaments, the greater number were carried away ; nor 
have all the efforts that have since been made, both by 
Bonaparte and the Bourbons, effected its restoration to 
its former splendour. 

The walls of the cathedral of Ndtre Dame are remark- 
ably thick. The dimensions of the interior are, 414 feet 
in length by 144 in width* The roof is 102 feet high. 
The columns from which the arches spring by which the 
roof and galleries are sustained amount in all to nearly 
three hundred, and each is formed of a single block of 
stone. Of forty-eight chapels* which it originally pos- 
sessed, thirty still remain. The choir, and especially the 
altar and the sanctuary in which it is placed, are deco- 
rated in a style of extraordinary richness; and many 
paintings by eminent French artists, some of which are 
ef considerable merit, ornament various parts of the 
church. The regalia of Charlemagne are still preserved 
here. The nave or body of the cathedral is singularly 
gloomy ; and a considerable part of its imposing effect 
is probably derived from that circumstance, The view 

from the summit of the towers is one of the most com- 
manding in Paris, and embraces the whole city and its 
surrounding villages. 


I was staying, about ten years since, at a delightful little 
watering-place on the southern coast, which, like many 
other pretty objects, is now ruined by having had its 
beauty praised and decorated. Our party had wandered, 
one sunny afternoon, to an inland village. There was 
amongst us all the joyousness of young hearts ; and we 
laughed and sang, under an unclouded sky, " as if the 
world would never grow old." The evening surprised 
us at our merriment ; and the night suddenly came on, 
cloudily, and foreboding a distant storm. We mistook 
our way, — and, after an hour's wandering through nar- 
row and dimly-lighted lanes, found ourselves on the 
shingly beach. The tide was beginning to flow ; but 
a large breadth of shore encouraged us to proceed with- 
out apprehension, as we soon felt satisfied of the direction 
of our home. The ladies of our party, however, began 
to weary; and we were all well nigh exhausted, when 
we reached a little enclosure upon the margin of the 
sea, where the road passed round a single cottage. 
There was a strong light within. I advanced alone, 
whilst my friends rested upon the paling of the garden. 
I looked, unobserved, through the rose-covered window. 
A delicate and graceful young woman was assiduously 
spinning ; an infant lay cradled by her side ; and an 
elderly man, in the garb of a fisherman, whose beautiful 
grey locks flowed upon his sturdy shoulders, was gazing 
with a face of benevolent happiness upon the sleeping 
child. I paused one instant, to look upon this tranquil 
scene. Everything spoke of content and innocence. 
Cleanliness and comfort, almost approaching to taste, 
presided over the happy dwelling. I was just going to 
knock, when my purpose was arrested by the young and 
beautiful mother (for so I judged was the female before 
me) singing a ballad, with a sweet voiee and a most 
touching expression. I well recollect the words, for she 
afterwards repeated the song at my request :— 


Bett, rest, thou gentle sea, 

Like a giant laid to sleep, 
Rest, rest, when day shall flee, 

And the stars their bright watch ktep i 
For hU boat is on thy wave, 

And he must toil and roam, 
Till the flowing tide shall lava 

Our dear and happy home. 

Wake not, thou changeful sea, 

Wake not in wrath and power 
Oh bear hia bark to me, 

Ere the darksome midnight lower ; 
For the heart will heave a sigh, 

When the loved one's on the deep, 
But when angry storms are uitch, 

What can Mary do, — but weep ? 

The ballad ceased ; and I entered the cottage. There 
was neither the reality nor the affectation of alarm. The 
instinctive good sense of the young woman saw, at once, 
that I was there for an honest purpose ; and the quiet 
composure of the old man showed that apprehension 
was a stranger to his bosom. In two minutes our little 
party were all seated by the side of the courteous, but 
independent fisherman. His daughter, for so we soou 
learnt the young woman was, pressed upon us their 
plain and unpretending cheer. Our fatigue vanished 
before the smiling kindness of our welcome ; while our 
spirits mounted, as the jug of sound and mellow ale 
refreshed our thirsty lips. The husband of the youu£ 
wife, the father of the cradled ehild, was, we found, 
absent at his nightly toil. The old man seldom notf 
partook of this labour.,." His Mary's husband,"* he said, 
" was an honest and generous fellow ; — an old fishertfiafl, 

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who had, for five and forty years been roughing it, and, 
• blow high, blow low,' never shrunk from his duty, had 
earned the privilege of spending his quiet evening in his 
chimney-corner; he took care of the boats and tackle, 
and (ieorge was a bold and lucky fellow, and did not 
want an old man's seamanship. It was a happy day 
when Mary married him, and God bless them and their 
dear child !" It was impossible for any feeling heart not 
to unite in this prayer. We offered a present for our 
refreshment, but this was steadily refused. The honest 
old man put us into the nearest path ; and we closed a 
day of pleasure as such days ought to be closed, — happy 
in ourselves, and with a kindly feeling to all our fellow- 

During my short residence at the village I have de- 
scribed, I made several visits to the fisherman's cottage. 
ft was always the same abode of health, and cheerfulness, 
and smiling industry. Once or twice I saw the husband 
of Mary. He was an extremely fine young man, pos- 
sessing all the frankness and decision that belong to a 
life of adventure, with a love of domestic occupations, 
and an unvarying gentleness that seemed to have grown 
in a higher station. But ease, and competency, and 
luxurious refinement, are not essential to humanize the 
heart. George had received a better education than a 
life of early toil usually allows* He had been captivated, 
when very young, by the innocent graces of his Mary. 
He was now a father. All these circumstances had 
formed him for a 'tranquil course of duty and affection. 
His snatches of leisure were passed in his little garden, 
or with his smiling infant. His wife's whole being 
appeared wrapped up in his happiness. She loved him 
with a deep and confiding love ; and if her hours of 
anxiety were not unfrequent, there were moments of 
ecstasy in their blameless existence, which made all peril 
and fear as a dim and forgotten dream. 

Seven years had passed over me, with all its various 
changes. One of the li^ht-hearted and innocent beings 
woo rejoiced with me in the happiness of the fisherman s 
nest, as we were wont to call the smiling cottage, was no 
more. I had felt my own sorrows and anxieties — as 
who has not ; and I was in many respects a saddened 
man. I was tempted once again to my favourite water- 
ing-place. Its beauty was gone. I was impatient of 
its feverish noise and causeless hurry ; and I was anxious 
to pass to quieter scenes. A recollection of deep pleasure 
was, however, associated with the neighbourhood ; and 
I seized the first opportunity to visit the hospitable 

As I approached the green lane which led to the little 
cove, I felt a slight degree of that agitation which gene- 
rally attends the renewal of a long suspended intercourse. 
I pictured Mary and several happy and healthy children ; — 
her husband more grave and careful in his deportment, 
embrowned, if not wrinkled, by constant toil ; — the old 
man, perchance, gone to rest with the thousands of 
happy and useful beings that leave no trace of their path 
on earth. I came to the little garden : it was still neat ; 
leas decorated than formerly, but containing many a bed 
of useful plants, and' several patches of pretty flowers. 
As I approached the house I paused with anxiety ; but 
I heard the voices of childhood, and I was encouraged 
to proceed. A scene of natural beauty was before me. 
The sun was beginning to throw a deep and yellow 
lustre over the clouds and the sea ; the old man sat upon 
i plot of raised turf at the well-known cottage-door ; a 
net was hung up to dry upon the rock behind him ; a 
dog reposed upon the same bank as his master ; one 
beautiful child of about three years old was climbing up 
her grandfather's shoulders ; another of seven or eight 
years, perhaps the very same girl I had seen in the 
cradle, was holding a light to the good old man, who 
wis prepared to enjoy his evening pipe. He had evi- 
dently been labouring in his business : his heavy boots 

were yet upon his legs ; and he appeared fatigued, 
though not exhausted. I saw neither the husband nor 
the wife. 

It was not long before I introduced myself to the 
" ancient" fisherman. He remembered me with some 
difficulty ; but when I brought to his mind the simple 
incidents of our first meeting, and more especially his 
daughter s song, while I listened at the opened casement, 
he gave me his hand, and burst into tears. I soon 
comprehended his sorrows and his blessings. Mary and 
her husband were dead ! Their two orphan girls were 
dependent upon their grandsire's protection. 

The ' Song of the Fisher's Wife* was true in its fore- 
bodings to poor Mary : her brave husband perished in a 
night of storms. Long did she bear up for the sake of 
her children ; but the worm had eaten into her heart ; 
and she lies in the quiet church-yard, while he has an 
ocean grave ! 

Beautiful, very beautiful, is the habitual intercourse 
between age and infancy. The affection of those ad- 
vanced in life for the children of their offspring, is gene- 
rally marked by an intensity of love, even beyond that 
of the nearer parents. The aged have more ideas in 
common with the young, than the gay, and busy, and 
ambitious can conceive. To the holy-minded man, who 
wears his grey locks reverently, the world is presented 
in its true colours : he knows its wisdom to be folly, and 
its splendour vanity : he finds a sympathy in the artless- 
ness of childhood ; and its ignorance of ewil is to him 
more pleasing than men's imperfect knowledge, and 
more imperfect practice of good. But the intercourse of 
my poor old fisherman with his two most dear orphans 
was even of a higher order. He forgot his age, and he 
toiled for them : he laid aside his cares, and ne played 
with them : he corrected the roughness of his habits, 
and he nursed them with all sweet and tender offices. 
His fears lest they should be dependent upon strangers, 
or upon public support, gave a new spring to his exis- 
tence. He lived his manhood over again in all careful 
occupations ; and his hours of rest were all spent with 
his beloved children in his bosom. 

Excellent old man ! the blessing of Heaven shall be 
thy exceeding great reward ; and when thou art taken 
from thy abode of labour and love to have thy virtue 
made perfect, thou shalt feel, at the moment of parting, 
a deep and holy assurance that the same Providence 
which gave thee the will and the ability to protect the 
infancy of thy orphans, shall cherish and uphold them 
through the rough ways of the world, when thou shalt 
be no longer their protector. 

Gradations of Drunkenness.— There is a Rabbinical tra 
dition related by Fabricius, that when Noah planted the 
vine, Satan attended and sacrificed a sheep, a lion, an ape, 
and a sow. These animals were to symbolise the gradations 
of ebriety. When a man begins to drink he is meek and 
ignorant as the lamb; then becomes bold as the lion ; his 
courage is soon transformed into the foolishness of the ape ; 
and at last he wallows in the mire like the sow.— Wartoris 
Dissertation on the Gesta Romanorunu 

Salt. — There are many countries on the habitable globe 
where salt has never yet been found, and whose comniercial * 
facilities being extremely limited, the inhabitants can onlv 
occasionally indulge themselves with it as a luxury. This 
is particularly the case in the interior of Africa. «• It would,'* 
says Mungo Park, * appear strange to an European to see 
a child suck a piece of rock-salt as if it were sugar. This, 
however, I have frequently seen ; although the poorer class 
of inhabitants art so Very rarely indulged with this precious 
article, that to say that a man eats salt with his provisions, 
is the same as saying he is a rich man, I have suffered 
great inconvenience myself from the scarcity of this article. 
The long use of vegetable food creates so painful^ a longing 
for salt, that no words can sufficiently describe hV*— Parffe 
travels into the Interior of Africa. 

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[Februah 23, 

[View of Ehrenbreitstein from the Rhine.] 

On the right bank of the Rhine, upon the summit of a 
rocky hill, directly opposite to the city of Coblentz, stands 
the Castle of Ehrenbreitstein ("the broad stone of 
honour"). It is now one of the strongest fortresses in 
Europe, both in respect of its natural position, and its arti- 
ficial defences. It was originally a Roman camp, was 
renovated in 1160, and afterwards repaired and enlarged 
by the Elector John, Margrave of Baden, who dug a 
well of the depth of 280 feet, which was afterwards 
sunk 300 feet further. During the revolutionary war, 
the castle was exposed to many hazards. General Mar- 
ceau blockaded it for a month when the French army 
first passed the Rhine, in September 1795. It was 
twice blockaded in 1796, and cannonaded the second 
time from the neighbouring heights of Pfaffendorf and 
Arzheim, without sustaining any injury. The French 
got possession of the height of Rellenkopf, but without 
any further success, and the retreat of General Jourdan 
obliged them to raise the siege. It was again blockaded 
in 1797 by the French General Hoche, who kept it so 
till the peace of Le'oben ; and in 1798 it was once more 
blockaded by the French, whilst the Congress of Rad- 
stadt was sitting, and was reduced to such a state of 
famine, that the defenders are said to have lived, among 
other things, upon cats and horse-flesh; cats being sold 
at three francs each, and horse-flesh at a franc per 
pound. In spite of the exertions of the commandant, 
Colonel Faber, and his earnest representations to the 
Congress, the castle was left to its fate, and finally surren- 
dered to the French in January 1799. The French 
blew up and otherwise destroyed great part of the 
works ; and the view above given shows it in the state 
to which it was reduced by them. The convention of 
Paris at the termination of the war, in 1815, determined 
to re-establish the fortifications, and Ehrenbreitstein, with 
the adjoining fortifications of the Chartreuse and Peters- 

berg, is now the most important fortress of the Gennan 
frontier. The ancient monastery of the Chartreuse com- 
mands the approaches from Mayence and Hundsruch , 
Petersberg, those of Treves and Cologne ; and Ehren- 
breitstein, the Rhine and the road from Nassau. The 
form and durability of the new works have been much 
admired. They have been constructed from the plans 
of Montalembert and Carnot, and the castle has received 
the official name of "Fort Frederic- William," from the 
present King of Prussia, The works are shown to 
visitors, on their obtaining permission of the com- 

The view from the summit of the castle is a very rich 
and extensive one. Before you is Coblentz, its bridge ot 
boats, and its two islands on the Rhine ; behind it, the 
village and the beautiful ruins of the Chartreuse, upon a 
hill covered with vines and fruit-trees. The scope of the 
view embraces more than thirty towns and villages. 
The Rhine flows majestically beneath it, and is here 
at about the widest part of its course. The space 
of about 120 miles between Mayence and Cologne, i» 
which Coblentz stands midway, is that where the Rhine 
is broadest, and its scenery the most picturesque. The 
view of this old castle naturally leads us to reflect on 
the degree in which modern Europe has ceased to re- 
semble the classic ages in which Ehrenbreitstein was 
founded, or the feudal ages to which so much of its 
history belongs. It still bears the name of " the broad 
stone of honour," though many say that the days °» 
honour have passed away with the days of chivalry. 
But if honour, in these times, has become rather a 
synonymous term for honesty and good faith, than tn e 
fantastic touchstone of chivalry, we have gained greatly 
by. the change. The middle ages were not without 
their virtues, but they were all of a romantic kind- 
In the present times, it is to the inculcation of practical 

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morality, the establishment of just laws, and the influence 
of a due sense of the plain and simple truths of religion, 
that we must look for the advancement of integrity and 
virtue among communities. The middle ages were loo 
fertile in oppression, in crime, and in misery, to be 
regarded with any thing like regret that their character 
and spirit have not been stamped upon the times in 
which we are living. 


[F-om an original drawing of an old Hottentot Jierdsman— taken 
from life.] 

Mild, melancholy, and sedate, he stands, 
Tending another's flock upon the fields, 
Hiii father's once, where now the white man builds 
His home, and issues forth his proud commands. 
His dark eye flashes not; his listless hands 
Loan on the shepherd's staff; no more he wields 
The Libyan bow — but to th' oppressor yields 
Submissively his freedom and his lands. 
Has he no courage ?— once he had — but, lo ! 
Hard servitude hath worn him to the bone. 
No enterprise ? — alas ! the brand, the blow, 
Have humbled him to dust— ev'n hope is gone. 
" He's a base-hearted hound— not worth his food"— 
His master cries — " he has no gratitude '" 

When the Dutch began to colonize the southern angle 
of the African continent, about the middle of the seven- 
teenth century, they entered the country as friends, and 
easily obtained from the natives, for a few trinkets and 
flasks of brandy, as much territory as was required for 
their infant settlement. The native inhabitants, after- 
wards known t by the name of Hottentots*, are de- 

• "The name," says Mr. Barrow, "that has been giren to this 
people is a fabrication. Hottentot is a word that has no place or 
meaning in their language ; and they take to themselves the name 
under the idea of its being a Dutch word. Whence it has its deri- 
vation, or by whom it was first given, I have not been able to trace. 
When the country was first discovered, and when they were spread 
over the southern angle of Africa, as an independent people, each 
horte had its particular name ; but that by which the collective 
body as a nation was distinguished, and which at this moment they 
bear among themselves in every part of the country, is Quaiqu*/' 
—Barrow'* Travel* in Southern Africa, vol. i. p. 100. 

scribed by the best authorities as being at that period 
a comparatively numerous people. They were divided 
into many tribes or classes, under the patriarchal rule of 
their respective chiefs or elders ; and as they did not, 
like the differs, cultivate grain or esculents, their only 
steady occupation was the care of their flocks and herds. 
Enjoying a serene and temperate climate, little clothing 
or shelter was sufficient for their wants. A mantle 
formed of sheep-skins sewed together with threads of 
sinew, and rendered soft and pliable by friction, sufficed 
for a garment by day and a blanket by night A hut, 
framed of a few boughs or poles covered with rush-mats, 
and adapted to be conveyed like a tent on the backs of 
their pack oxen, was a sufficient protection from the 
weather. A bow and poisoned arrows, and the light 
spear or javelin, now known by the name of assagai, 
were their only arms, and were used alike for war or the 
chase. They were then (as their descendants continue 
to be) bold and ardent huntsmen ; for, with the formida- 
ble beasts of prey which inhabit the country, they had to 
maintain incessant warfare in defence of their flocks, and 
in contending for the dominion of the desert They had 
also their quarrels and wars with each other ; but these 
appear to have been generally conducted with as moderate 
a degree of bloodshed and ferocity as is to be found 
among any people in a similar state of society. Yet, 
though of a mild and somewhat inert disposition, they 
were by no means deficient in courage. They defeated 
and slew Almeida, the first viceroy of the Portuguese in 
India, in an obstinate engagement at the Salt River, near 
the spot where Cape Town now stands; and in Dr. 
Philip's valuable 'Researches in South Africa' will be 
found recorded, upon the authority of their Dutch in- 
vaders, acts of bravery and heroic devotion exhibited by 
individuals oi this race, scarcely to be surpassed in the 
history of any other people. 

For a considerable period the intercourse between the 
European settlers and the natives continued on an 
amicable footing. The territorial occupation of the coun- 
try was not at first the object of the Dutch East-India 
Company, under whose control the settlement was 
placed ; and there was neither mineral wealth nor extra- 
ordinary fertility of soil, to tempt the forcible appro- 
priation of native labour in a way similar to what 
occurred in the West Indies, Mexico, and Peru. At 
length, however, the Dutch settlers discovered that 
though the country famished neither gold nor silver, 
nor any of the much prized tropical products, it was well 
adapted for the culture of corn and wine, and for the 
rearing of flocks and herds, almost without limit. Emi- 
grants accordingly began to flock to South Africa ; and 
the " white man's stride*," with or without the nominal 
acquiescence of the natives, was gradually extended. 
After the lapse of a century and a half, the European 
intruders had acquired possession of nearly the whole of 
the extensive region now embraced by the colonial boun- 
dary, including the entire country inhabited by the 
Hottentot race, with the exception of the arid deserts 
which afford a refuge to the wandering Nam acq u a and 
Bushman hordes, and which are too sterile and desolate 
to excite the cupidity of any class of civilized men. 

But it was not the soil of their country merely of 
which the Hottentots were deprived in the course of 
these encroachments. In losing the property of the 
soil, they also gradually lost the privilege of occupying 
even the least valuable tracts of it for pasturing their 
flocks and herds — their only means of subsistence. 
People without land could have no occasion for cattle — 
no means of supporting them. Their flocks and herds, 

* The usual mode of measuring out a new farm, during the 
Dutch occupation, was for the Veld-wagt-Meetter of the district to 
itride, or pace, the ground ; and half an hour's stride in each direc 
tion from the centre, or one hour's walk across the Veld (^country N 
was tip regulated extent of the farms*— See Barrow, roi. i. p. 29, 

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[Februaiy 28, 

accordingly, also passed by degrees into the possession of 
the colonists. Nothing then remained of which to 
plunder them save the property of their own persons ; 
and of that, the most sacred and unalienable of all pro- 
perty, they were also at length virtually deprived. The 
laws enacted by the Dutch Home Government, it is true, 
did not permit the Hottentots to be publicly sold, from 
owner to owner, as negro slaves and other farm stock 
were sold (and are still sold) in the same colony ; but by 
the colonial laws and usages they were actually deprived 
of a right to their own labour, and reduced to a condition 
of degrading, grinding, and hopeless bondage, in some 
respects even more intolerable than colonial slavery of the 
ordinary description. 

Le Vaillant has given a very lively, and upon the 
whole, a just and accurate description of the Hottentots 
in their wild or semi-nomadic state. Mr. Barrow has 
described, in a less ambitious style, but with equal force 
and accuracy, their character and condition as he found 
them at a somewhat later period (1797), after they had 
been as a people generally subdued under the colonial 
yoke ; and he exposes, with a warmth which does honour 
to his feelings, the iniquitous and inhuman conduct of 
their European oppressors. To enable the reader pro- 
perly to understand the situation of this people at the 
present time, we must give a brief view of them when 
Mr. Barrow was Auditor-General of Public Accounts at 
the Cape in 1798, — and this we cannot do in any other 
form so well as in that writer's own words. 

After mentioning the comparative happiness and more 
numerous population of the Hottentots in their inde- 
pendent state, which in the eastern part of the colony 
existed so late as to about twenty years before the period 
of his travels, Mr. Barrow thus proceeds :— 

" Some of these villages might have been expected to 
remain in this remote and not very populous part of the 
colony. Not one, however, was to be found. There is 
not, in fact, in the whole extensive district of Graaff- 
Reynet, a single horde of independent Hottentots ; and 
perhaps not a score of individuals who are not actually 
in the service of the Dutch. These weak people, the 
most helpless, and in their present condition perhaps the 
most wretched, of the human race, duped out of their 
possessions, their country, and their liberty, have en- 
tailed upon their miserable offspring a state of existence to 
which that of slavery might bear the comparison of hap- 
piness. It is a condition, however, not likely to continue 
to a very remote posterity. Their numbers of late years 
have been rapidly on the decline. It has generally been 
observed that wherever Europeans have colonized, the 
less civilized nations have always dwindled away, and at 
length totally disappeared." After specifying some other 
causes which he imagines may have contributed to the 
depopulation of the Hottentots, Mr. Barrow proceeds : — 
" To these may be added their extreme poverty, scan- 
tiness of food, and continual dejection of mind, arising 
from the cruel treatment they receive. 

** There is scarcely an instance of cruelty said to have 
been committed against the slaves in the West-Indian 
islands, that could not find a parallel from the Dutch 
farmers of the remote districts of the colony towards the 
Hottentots in their service. Beating and cutting with 
thongs of the hide of the sea-cow (hippopotamus) or 
rhinoceros are only gentle punishments, though these 
sort of whips, which they call sjambocs, are most horrid 
instruments, being tough, pliant, and heavy almost as 
lead. Firing small shot into the legs and thighs of a 
Hottentot, is a punishment not unknown to some of the 
monsters who inhabit the neighbourhood of Camtoos 

" By a resolution of the old government, as unjust as it 
was inhuman, a peasant (colonist) was allowed to claim 
as his property, till the age of five and twenty, all the 
children of the Hottentots in his service to whom he had 

given in their infancy a morsel of meat At the expira- 
tion of this period the odda are ten to one that the slave 
is not emancipated. But should he be fortunate enough 
to escape at the end of this period, the best part of his 
life has been spent in a profitless servitude, and he is 
turned adrift without any thing he can call his own, ex- 
cept the sheep's-skin on his back." Again, speaking of 
" those Hottentots living with the farmers of GraafF- 
Reynet in a state of bondage," Mr. Barrow adds, " it is 
rare to observe the muscles of his face relaxed into a 
smile. A depressed melancholy and deep gloom con- 
stantly overspread his countenance. 

" Low as they are sunk," he continues, " in the scale 
of humanity, their character seems to have been generally 
much traduced and misrepresented. It it true there are 
not many prepossessing features in the appearance of a 
Hottentot, but many amiable and good qualities have 
been obscured by the ridiculous and false accounts with 
which the world has been abused. They are a mild, 
quiet, and timid people ; perfectly harmless, honest, and 
faithful ; and, though extremely phlegmatic, they are 
nevertheless kind and affectionate to each other, and by 
no means incapable of strong attachments. A Hottentot 
will at any time share his last morsel with his com- 
panions. They seldom quarrel among themselves or 
make use of provoking language. They are by no 
means deficient in talent, but they possess little exertion 
to call it into action." [How could we expect exertion 
from men in the condition described ?] 

" The person of a Hottentot while young is by no 
means devoid of symmetry. They ar« clean-limbed, well- 
proportioned, and erect. Their hands, their feet, and all 
their joints are remarkably small. Their cheek-bones are 
high and prominent, and with the narrow-pointed chin 
form nearly a triangle. The nose is in some remarkably 
flat, in others considerably raised. The colour of the 
eye is a deep chesnut ; and the eyelids at the extremity 
next the nose, instead of forming an angle, as in Euro- 
peans, are rounded into each other exactly like those of 
the Chinese, to whom indeed in many other points they 
bear a physical resemblance that is sufficiently striking. 
Their teeth are beautifully white. The colour of the 
skin is that of a yellowish brown, or a faded leaf, but 
very different from the sickly hue of a person in the 
jaundice which it has been described to resemble : many 
indeed are nearly as white as Europeans. Some of 
the women, when young, are so well formed that they 
might serve as models of perfection in the human figure. 
Every joint and limb is rounded and well turned, and 
their whole body is without an angle or disproportionate 
protuberance. Their hands and feet are small and deli- 
cately turned ; and their gait is not deficient in easy 
and graceful movements. Their charms, however, are 
very fleeting." He then describes their ugliness gene- 
rally at a more advanced age. 

Such, with the omission of some details, is the descrip- 
tion of the Hottentots given by Mr. Barrow in his very 
instructive and able work on South Africa. To its accu- 
racy in almost every point the writer of this notice can 
bear witness ; and his object in introducing it here is 
partly with a view to counteract the exaggerated notions 
that still generally prevail in England respecting the 
physical deformity and moral debasement of this long 
oppressed and calumniated race of men ; and partly to 
enable the reader fully to appreciate the wretchedness of 
the condition from which they have been at length raised 
by the tardy justice of- the British government. Four 
years and a half ago, namely in July 1828, the Hot- 
tentot Helots of the Cape, 30,000 in number, were eman- 
cipated from their long and grievous thraldom, and ad- 
mitted by law to all the rights and privileges, ckH and 
political, of the white colonists. Their actual condition 
just before this important change took place, (of which 
the present writer had personally the very best opportu 

Digitized by 





aities of judging upon the spot,) and their progress since, 
>■ morals, religion, and industry— in all that distinguishes 
the civilized from the savage state of man,—- wSl form 
the subject of a subsequent article. ' 


No. 3. 
We wfll now suppose a daily sum to be given, of which 
we require to know the amount in a year. If the daily 
nun consist only of pence and farthings, the rule is ex- 
tremely simple, as follows : — Suppose I wish to know 
how much seventeen-pence three farthings per day will 
give in a year. Let every penny be turned into a pound, 
and every farthing into five shillings which gives -£ 17. 1 5s. 
Halve this, which gives £Q. 17 s. 6d. Now let every 
penny be a sixpence, and every farthing three half-pence, 
which gives £0. 8#. lOji. Add the three together — 
£. 8. d. 

17 15 
8 17 6 

8 10J 

This is too much by one day's allowance ; subtract there- 
fore one day's allowance, or 1*. 5£<f„ and the result is 
£26. 19#. 10|cZ. which is quite correct. 

This rule is founded on the accidental circumstance 
that the number of days in a year being made up of 
240, the half of 240, and 5, every penny per day gives a 
pound, half a pound, and 5 pence per year. 

When the number of pounds, shillings, and pence is too 
great to be conveniently reduced to pence, proceed as 
follows: — Take the pounds and shillings only, convert 
the shillings as in No. 1 of this series; that is, divide by 
2, and if there be a remainder, write a 5 after the quo- 
tient Thus, if the daily sum be £2. 7 s. 8|d. take £2. 7s. 
only, which converted, gives 235. Annex ciphers, so 
that there shall always he Jive places besides the pounds. 
This gives 235,000. (Had it been £2. 8s. we should 
have had 240000, with four ciphers.) Divide 235000 by 
4, which gives 58750 ; cut off one cipher from the divi- 
dend, which gives 23500 ; do this again, which gives 
2350; halve this, which gives 1175; add the four 
together ; so that the process stands thus : — 





Cut off the two last places, 75, and reconvert them into 
shillings by multiplying the first figure by 2, and adding 
1 if the second figure be 5, as in the present case. 
This gives 15 shillings. Let all the remaining figures 
he pounds, which gives ^857. 15*. the correct amount 
of £2. 7*, per day in a year. For the 8 pence 3 farthings 
which is left, proceed as in the first example. We give 
the steps irifuig from the first rule :— 

£. *. d. 

( 8 15 

Add. .{ 4 7 6 

I 4 4J 


At 8f d. per day 
At £2. 7*. per day 









871 1 If 

which is the amount of the whole. The "reader must 
not imagine that he will work the first example by this 
as quick as by the common method, but when he 
thoroughly knows the rule, he will not only work more 
quickly, but with much less chance of error. There are 
very few people who can multiply a number of pounds, 
shillings, pence, and farthings by 365 correctly, in any 
reasonable time. 

If it be judged sufficiently accurate to solve the question 
within a few shillings, the method for pounds, shillings, 
and pence may be used as follows, which will always 
give the result within 8 shillings: — Convert the shillings, 
pence, and farthings, as in No. 1, and put ciphers, solas' 
to make Jive places besides the pounds. Thus, for 
£2. 7s. Sfd. we have 238600 ; for £190. 17*. 6d. we 
have 190S7500; for £{7. 10s. we have 1750000. 
With this, follow exactly the second process in this 
paper ; we here give the one for £2. 7s. 8J<i.— 





... 1193 


Cut off the two last places, and annex a cipher, which 
gives 890 ; convert these into shillings and pence by 
No. 1, which gives 17*. 9 Jd. : make the other figures 
pounds, which gives £870. 17*. 9f d. f which is within 4 
shillings of the truth. 

We shall proceed in our next to the reverse process. 


Some centuries back by far the greater proportion of the 
middle classes in this country were wholly ignorant of 
passing public events, while the working classes seldom 
inquired about anything beyond their immediate callings. 

How much we are advanced as a nation in this respect 
may be seen from the following statement. 

The first attempt at periodical literature was made 
in England in the reign of Elizabeth. It was in the 
shape of a pamphlet, called the ' English Mercurie ;' the 
first number of which, dated 1588, is still preserved in 
the British Museum. There were, however, no news- 
papers which appeared in England in single sheets of 
paper as they do at present, until many years after that 
time. The first newspaper, called • The Public Intelli- 
gencer,' was published by Sir Roger L' Estrange, on the 
31st August, 1661. Periodical pamphlets, which had 
become fashionable in the reign of Charles I., were more 
rare in the, reign of James II. The English rebellion of 
1641 gave rise to a great number of tracts filled with 
violent appeals to the public : many of these tracts bore 
the title of Diurnal Occurrences of Parliament. The 
first Gazette in England was published at Oxford, on 
November 7th, 1665, the court being then held there. 
On the removal of the court to London, the title was 
altered to The London Gazette. The Orange Intelli- , 
gencer was the third newspaper published, and the first 
after the revolution in 1688. This latter continued to 
be the only daily newspaper in England for some years; 
but in 1690 there appear to have been nine London 
newspapers published weekly. In Queen Anne's reign 
(in 1709) the number of these was increased to eighteen; 
but still there eontinued to be but one daily paper, which 
was then called The London Courant. In the reign of 
George I. the number was three daily, six weekly, and 
ten published three times in the week. 

In 1753 the number of copies of newspapers annually 
published in the whole of England was 7,411,75? ; iu 
1760 the circulation had increased to 9,404,790; and 
in 1830 it amounted to 30,493,941. 

Digitized by 




[February 23, 1833 

The following Table shows the advance of news- 
papers during half a century . — 

Newspapers published in • 





England ... • • 


Ireland . . . . . 





Total of the United Kingdom . 

. 61 




Of the 369 newspapers now published in the United 
Kingdom, the following is the division : — 
In England: 

Daily, in London 13 

Two or three times a week 6 

Once a week ... 36 

Country newspapers ......... 180 

British Islands : — Guernsey, Jersey, and Man, (two 1 . « 
of which are twice a week, eleven weekly) • / 
In Scotland : 

Twice and three times a week 15 

Weekly 31 

In Iiirland: 
In Dublin, five daily ; — seven three times a week ; ) . g 

— six weekly J 

Rest of Ireland, thirty-five three times or twice a 1 *- 
week; — twenty-two weekly ••.../ 

' 369 


On the 24th, or, according to the inscription on his 
monument, the 23d of February, was born at Halle, in 
Lower Saxony, the great ; musical composer, George 
Frederic Handel. His father was. a physician, and 
was desirous of educating his son for the law ; but from 
his earliest years the boy showed a passion for music, 
which nothing was able to overcome. Forbidden to touch 
a musical instrument, he would spend the greater part of 
the night, after the rest of the family were asleep, in prac- 
tising upon a small clavichord, which he kept concealed iti 
a garret ; and in this way he attained such proficiency, 
that having, while yet a mere child, contrived to steal an 
opportunity of playing on the church organ before the 
court at Saxe Weisenfels, he surprised and charmed all 
who heard him with the excellence of his performance. 
On Jthis his father, prevailed upon by the request of the 
duke, consented to allow him to adopt the profession for 
which he seemed destined by nature. He was then 
placed under the care of a master, and profited so greatly 
by the regular instruction which he now received, that 
he was soon able to preside as leader of the choral ser- 
vices in the cathedral. When he first used, occasionally, 
to undertake this duty he was no more than nine years 
of age. He had also already begun to exercise his 
genius and theoretical knowledge as a composer, with 
striking success. When in his nineteenth y?ar he re- 
paired to Hamburgh, and there obtained an engagement 
in the orchestra of the opera. On the 30th of December, 
1704, he brought out at that theatre his ' Almira,' his first 
opera, and, in the February following, his • Nero.' These 
works, and his other professional exertions, at length 
brought him a sufficient sum of money to enable him to 
gratify his desire of making a journey to Italy. From 
that country, after having visited in succession, Florence, 
Venice, Naples, and Rome, he rehired to Germany in 
1710, and soon after, on. the invitation of several persons 
of distinction in England, came over here. The recep- 
tion which he met with induced him to make this 
country his home for the rest of his life. Queen Anne 
granted him a pension of £ 200 ; and that sum was 
augmented when George I. came to the throne. His 
first great patron was the Earl of Burlington, with whom 
he resided from 1715 till 1718; when he accepted 
from the Duke of Chandos the appointment of director 
of the choir which that nobleman had established at his 
seat at Cannons. In 1720 the Royal Academy of 

Music was instituted, and Handel placed at its head. 
His own compositions were the pieces principally per- 
formed ; but a violent quarrel with some of the other 
musicians broke up the institution after it had subsisted 
only for ten years — a period which has been characterized 
as the most splendid era of music in England. The next 
great event in Handel's life was the production of his 
master-effort, the oratorio of the Messiah, which he 
brought out in 1741. This magnificent composition 
was somewhat coldly received on its first representation : 
but it soon came to be more correctly appreciated ; and 
it has long ranked in the estimation of all competent 
judges as one of the most sublime works in the whole 
range of music. It deserves to be mentioned as an 
instance of Handel's liberality, that on the opening of 
the Foundling Hospital, he not only presented an organ 
to the chapel, but gave the institution the benefit of a 
performance of his ' Messiah' conducted by himself, and 
repeated the same kindness for several years. He also 
bequeathed the music of this oratorio to the hospital at his 
death. That event took place on the 14th of April 
1759, when (he illustrious musician was in the seventy- 
sixth year of his age. He had been for some time 
before wholly blind. In 1784, a century after his birth, 
a commemoration of Handel was performed in West- 
minster Abbey, where his remains had been interred; 
it was one of the grandest musical displays ever wit- 
nessed in any country. The music was all selected from 
his own works; and the vocal and instrumental per- 
formers together, were five hundred and twenty-five in 
number. The king and queen and a large proportion 
of the nobility attended ; and the whole number of per- 
sons present was not much under four thousand. The 
performance lasted for four days, namely, the 26th and 
29th of May, and the 3d and 5th of June. It was 
annually repeated for six years in the same place, and 
after that for a year or two in St. Margaret's Church. 
One celebration of it also took place in the Chapel Royal 
at Whitehall, which was the last. 

[Portrait of Handel] 

• # * The Office of the Society for the Diffusion of Utefal Knowledge u at 
69, Iineoln's-Ian Fields. 


Friated by Wilua* Clowis, Stanford Street. 

Digitized by 


Jlttmttite SsnppUmmt of 



Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 


January 31 to February 28, 1833. 


[Front of the Mint from Tower Hill.] 

Or* the north-east side of Tower Hill is situated the 
building erected some years since from the designs, and 
under the direction of Mr. Smirke, for conducting the 
business of the coinage, which was at that time removed 
from, the Tower. "The Royal, or National Mint," it 
is stated in the • Memoirs of the Tower,' by Britton and 
Brayley, " was formerly an appendage to the Tower, and 
appears to have been established there in or before the 
time of Edward I., when, according to Madox, there 
were no less than thirty furnaces employed. The pri- 
vilege of coining was frequently granted to corporate 
and ecclesiastical bodies, and to private noblemen ; which 
occasioning great inconvenience, it was enacted in the 
time of Queen Elizabeth, that all the provincial mints 
should be suppressed, and no coinage allowed but at the 
Royal Mint, in the Tower. This law, with the ex- 
ceptions of two cases of emergency, in the times of 
Charles the First and William the Third, was observed 
until about twenty years ago." In consequence, then, of 
the vast increase of business in this department, arising 
from the augmented population of the country, and 
other causes, the Goverment gave orders for the erection 
of the present edifice. It is a handsome structure, in the 
Grecian style of architecture, having a centre and wings, 
and an elevation of three stories. The centre is orna- 
mented with columns, (over which is a pediment contain- 
ing the British arms,) and the wings with pilasters. The 
roof is enclosed by an elegant balustrade. Tho prin- 


cipal officers of the establishment are provided with 
houses on each side of the building, which, being of 
brick, do not harmonize with the principal edifice. The 
interior is lighted with gas, and every advantage deriva- 
ble from mechanical contrivance has been here introduced 
to facilitate the operation of coinage ; but no visitor is 
admitted to inspect the works without a special order 
from the Master of the Mint, which office is at present 
held by the Right Hon. Lord Auckland. 


We have, from time to time, published remarks on Che 
more important of the pictures forming the Angerstein, 
or National Gallery, to which the public have free 
access. As many of our readers are aware, Parliament 
has voted a sum for the erection of a more suitable build- 
ing for their exhibition ; and we may therefore properly 
give a brief account of the formation of this collection, 
and of the advantages which are contemplated by the 
proposed expenditure of public money upon this object. 

The establishment of a National Gallery of Paintings 
to which, as public property, every individual should 
have free admission, was an event hailed with pleasure 
not only by the lovers of art, but by every man who 
felt for the honour of his country. It was a humiliating 
reflection that London was the only capital in Europe 
not possessed of «ucb en institution, and that every 

L O 



[February 28, 

other nation had preceded us in the just appreciation of 
the Fin* Arts, whether considered as a means of com- 
mercial advantage by the improvement of manufactures 
consequent on their cultivation, or as a source of social 
refinement and intellectual pleasure. Until a very re- 
cent period English history presents us with a dead 
blank in whatever relates to the Fine Arts. Some emi- 
nent foreign painters had at intervals found employment 
here, but no public gallery, nor institution of any kind, 
had been established, tending to the formation of public 
taste, or to stimulate and direct the talents of native ar- 
tists. During the earlier part of the reign of George III., 
however, much was done with the intention of promoting 
the progress of the Fine Arts; and it is not improbable 
that a National Gallery would have been established 
during the time of that monarch, but for the great 
events which agitated Europe, and which absorbed 
public attention, to the exclusion of all minor consi- 
derations. After the general peace Government found 
itself more at leisure for domestic improvement, and we 
are indebted to the administration of Lord Liverpool 
for the accomplishment of the desirable object of the 
establishment of a National Gallery. In the year 1823 
the fine collection of Mr. Angerstein was, in conse- 
quence of his death, offered for public sale, and Govern- 
ment determined to avail itself of the opportunity to 
commence the formation of a public collection. In the 
choice of his pictures Mr. Angerstein had availed him- 
self of the judgments of the most distinguished artists 
of the day — of Sir Thomas Lawrence, and Mr. West 
particularly ; and the collection, although not numerous, 
being of unquestionable excellence, was considered to be 
well calculated to form the nucleus of a National Gal- 
lery. The proposition of his Majesty's ministers met 
with the prompt acquiescence of Parliament, and a 
grant was made of .£57,000, the price demanded for the 
collection, which comprised thirty-eight pictures by the 
most eminent masters. In the session of 1825 a far- 
ther sum of 14 or i£l 5,000 was voted unanimously for 
the purchase of four pictures, in addition to those of 
Mr. Angerstein. The management of the establishment 
was intrusted, in the first instance, to the Marquis ef 
Stafford, Lord Farnborough, Sir George Beaumont, 
and Sir Thomas Lawrence ; since the death of the two- 
latter, Lord Dover has been added to the list. 

It was conjectured that the National Gallery would 
become enriched by gifts and bequests of fine works of 
art, presented from time to time by liberal and patriotic 
individuals. Nor has this expectation been disappointed. 
For the first example in the shape of donation the public 
is indebted to Sir George Beaumont, Bart. This gen- 
tleman, although not a professor, was distinguished by 
his practical talents in painting ; he was a liberal patron 
of the arts, and his taste and judgment are evinced in the 
choice of those pictures, sixteen in number, of which he 
made a free gift to the National Gallery. His example 
was followed by a munificent bequest of thirty-two pic- 
tures of a very high class by the Rev. Holwell Carr ; and 
an addition of twenty other paintings has been made, 
presented by different individuals, or purchased by Go- 
vernment. Among the recent donors of pictures to the 
National Gallery are to be enumerated — his Majesty, 
the Governors of the British Institution, the Marquis 
of Stafford, the Earl of Liverpool, Lord Farnborough, 
G. J. Cholmondely, Esq., M. M. Zachary, Esq., the 
Rev. William Long, and William Wilkins, Esq. 

That there is no natural inaptitude in the English 
people for the Fine Arts is evident from the fact that the 
importation of pictures into this country began almost 
with the resuscitation of the arts in Italy in 1500, and 
has ever since been continued almost without inter- 
mission. But the works thus imported, not having been 
consigned, as is usually the case on the Continent, to 
public galleries, little has been known of them; and it is 

only by accidental visits to the residences of noblemen 
and gentlemen who possess those treasures of art, that 
we obtain an idea of the almost boundless wealth of the 
country in this particular. We think it not hazarding 
too much to say that there is a greater number of fine 
pictures in England than in all the other countries of 
Europe together ; and we doubt not that the National 
Gallery will, in process of time, through Government 
purchases, gifts, and bequests, exhibit the most splendid 
collection of pictures which has ever been accumulated 
in one establishment. The collection at present consists 
of one hundred and ten pictures. 

Next to the acquisition of these fine pictures, it is a 
subject of congratulation that Parliament has given its 
sanction for the erection of a building calculated for 
their proper display, and worthy, we trust, to be called 
a National Gallery. The estimated expense of the 
building is £50,000. It will be 461 feet in length and 
56 feet in width, and it will consist of a centre and two 
wings. It is to be built on the northern side of the 
large open space at Charing-Cross. The western wing, 
it is said, will contain on the ground-floor rooms for the 
reception of records; above will be the picture gallery 
divided into four apartments ; and the length of wall as- 
signed for the hanging of pictures will be at least 700 
feet. This would admit three or four times as many 
pictures as the premises where they now are, so that 
abundant room will be left for new pictures, whenever 
they may be obtained, either by gill or purchase. 

The eastern wing, of similar extent, will contain, on 
the ground-floor, a hall of casts, the library and council 
room of the Royal' Academy, and a dwelling for the 

We have already adverted to the commercial advan- 
tages of the general cultivation of a love for the Fine 
Arts. It has been thought by some that we have be- 
stowed too much attention upon these subjects in this 
publication. Our principal object has been to raise; the 
standard of national taste, and open new sources of 
individual enjoyment; — but we beg to direct our readers 
to the following statement regarding the silk manufac- 
tures of Lyons, for the purpose of showing the direct 
importance of such subjects to the intelligent artisan— to 
him whose business is to unite elegance and usefulness. 

The cultivation of taste, as applicable to the manufac- 
ture of fancy goods, is made an object of much greater 
attention in France than in England. French silks excel 
ours in the beauty of their patterns rather than in the 
quality of their texture. Up to the period in which the 
pattern is produced, our neighbours have greatly the 
advantage over us ; they can claim no superiority after 
the pattern is produced, or, in other words, '* when the 
machine gets possession of the design." 

Dr. Bowring, in his evidence before a Select Com- 
mittee of the House of Commons on the Silk Trade, 
states that he was extremely surprised at finding among 
every body connected with the production of patterns, 
including weavers and their children, an attention 
devoted to every thing which was in any way connected 
with beauty, either in arrangement or in colour. He 
mentions having again and again seen the weavers 
walking about gathering flowers in the fields and 
arranging them in their most attractive grouping. 
These artisans are constantly suggesting to their masters 
improvements in their designs ; and, it is said that, in 
almost every case where the manufacturer has had great 
success there is always some individual in the factory 
who is the inventor of beautiful patterns. 

We do not possess in England the same means of 
developing taste which they have in France. There the 
beauty of the designs is not left to the chance aptitude ot 
individuals employed. The invention of patterns for 
fancy silks is treated as an object of so great importance, 
that in Lyons a school of art is established expressly far 




that purpose, and placed immediately under the pro- 
tection of Government as well as of the municipal autho- 
rities of the city. It is supported principally out of the 
funds of the city, assisted by an annual grant from 
Government; the students are instructed gratuitously. 
Any youth who shows the least aptitude for drawing, 
or for any other pursuit which may tend to the improve- 
ment of the manufacture) is gladly admitted into this 
establishment Prom one hundred and fitly to one hun- 
dred and eighty students* and sometimes as many as 
two hundred at one time, receive the benefit of instruc- 
tions here given in every branch; pertaining to the Fine 
Arts. Five or six professors are attached to this school. 
The professor of painting is a man highly distinguished 
in the world of art A number of the pupils are engaged 
in the study of anatomy. Many students are engaged 
in the delineation of the living human form. " I found," 
says Dr. Bo wring, M a very beautiful child of three or 
four years old with thirty or forty students sitting round 
it." In another department the professor of archi- 
tecture directs the studies of some of the pupils ; he 
makes them intimately acquainted with every variation 
of the different styles, and it is his principal aim to pre- 
vent their confusing these one with the other. The 
knowledge of architecture is considered of importance 
for the invention of patterns of a stiff and formal cha- 
racter ; as bv this means their ornaments are correct 
and appropriate. A botanical professor has thirty or 
forty boys under him, engaged in copying the most 
beautiful flowers. A botanical garden is attached to the 
school. The most tasteful grouping of flowers is made 
an object of attention. A general professor of drawing 
gives instruction in landscape, and, in fact, in all the 
departments of art which can in any way be made 
available to the production of tasteful things. The 
object of another professor is to show the young men 
how their productions may be rendered applicable to 
the manufactures ; that is to say, how, by machinery, 
they can produce on a piece of silk clotfi that which they 
have drawn on a piece of paper. The students receive 
a course of Ave years' instruction in this school ; they 
are supplied with every thing i)ut the materials on which 
they work, and their productions are regarded as their 
own property. 

The French manufacturer considers that his pattern 
is the principal element on which he is to depend for 
his Buccess ; the mere art of manufacturing may be easily 
effected. He goes therefore to this " taste*producing " 
school, where he may select, from nearly two hundred 
boys, one whose taste is most distinguished ; that boy is 
admitted into his house, probably at a small salary. The 
student thus taken out of the school soon obtains 1000 
francs, or about £A0 per annum. If his success is great 
his salary is increased to 2000, and then 3000 francs ; and 
very often the offer of partnership is made to those who 
have particularly distinguished themselves in their branch 
of the art It is said that a great number of the most 
prosperous manufacturers of Lyons were originally 
students of this school Thus all the painters, all the 
sculptors, and all the botanists at Lyons become manu- 
facturers, and scarcely ever go out of the manufacturing 
circle. They receive the best instruction gratuitously, 
and are then at once qualified to earn their subsistence. 
By applying their talents to the production of patterns 
they are almost sure of a certain means of advancement ; 
and thus there are few who are tempted into the higher 
walks of art where they would have to struggle with 
difficulty and uncertainty. 

The inventive powers of the designer are in constant 
requisition in France, as but comparatively few pieces of 
°ne pattern are manufactured. It is stated on good 
authority that the greatest number of pieces of the most 
approved pattern never exceeds one hundred — the aver- 
age number is considered to be about twenty-five. 

CARTOONS, &c.-No. 3. 


The judgment of Raffaelle is evinced as much in the 
choice of his subjects as in his manner of treating them. 

He seizes invariably on the leading points both of the 
general and the particular narrative, and the Cartoons 
may be said to furnish a compendium of the edrly 
history of the promulgation of the Christian faith. In 
the cartoon of lt Peter receiving the Keys," Christ 
delivers his last charge to his disciples ; in that of " Piiul 
preaching,'* we see that the divine mission is carried into 
effect. St Paul, however, appears at Athens only as 
the inspired preacher; but the superhuman attributes 
with which the disciples were invested after the death 
of Christ, are more strikingly exhibited in the cartoons 
of " the Healing the Cripple/' - « Elymas the Sorcerer, ,, 
and 4C the Death of Ananias." Here the Apostles act 
more obviously with the authority of divine power ; and 
the miracles which they perform illustrate the tenets 
and attest the truth of their doctrine. The consolation 
and relief announced to the poor and the afflicted fare 
given to the cripple who is healed at the gate of the 
temple ; whilst the penalties denounced on sin are exem- 
plified in the punishments inflicted on Elymas, and on 
Ananias. • 

After the miraculous preaching on the day of Pente- 
cost, and the astonishing cure of the cripple by St. 
Peter, proselytism increased rapidly, and converts came 
over in multitudes. These primitive Christians em- 
braced In the largest and most literal sense the benevo- 
lent and self-denying principles of the new creed; 
laying their goods at the feet of the Apostles, "they 
were of one heart and of one soul, and had all things in 
common." These events form the groundwork of the 
cartoon of the Death of Ananias. The Apostles are 
collected beneath a spacious but humble roof, suited to 
the humility of their temporal pretensions ; as preachers 
and instructors they stand on an elevated platform, 
which gives them their due place and importance in the 
composition; but to obviate the appearance of mere 
homeliness and meanness, this enclosure is hung with 
a slight drapery, and enclosed by a railing. On the 
right, groups of converts are entering, bearing offerings 
of various descriptions, which the Apostles are dis- 
tributing on the opposite side to various applicants. 
Among the proselytes came A nanias, a calculating and 
sordid spirit, who was willing to purchase the advantages 
of the new communion, but unable to resist the insti- 
gations of habitual avarice. He had sold a piece of 
land, the value of which he professes to offer to the 
Apostles; but while pretending to give the whole in 
the spirit of sincere and voluntary devotion, he cunningly 
secretes a part. The doom which awaits him, how- 
ever, is not inflicted merely as the punishment of bis 
avarice, nor even of the simple falsehood, but for the 
gratuitous hypocrisy and sanctimonious pretension which 
Christ himself had so earnestly and repeatedly denounced, 
and which, in this instance, was attempting to make its 
way over the threshold of his infant church. By the 
immediate inspiration of God, the Apostle detects the 
guilt of Ananias, and pronounces his doom. •' Was 
not the land thine own," said St. Peter to him, " and 
after it was sold, was it not in thine own power? Thou 
hast lied not unto men, but unto God ! And Ananias, 
hearing these words, fell down, and gave up the ghost." 
There is not »n the whole round of Ilaffaelle's works any 
thing more strikingly just, appropriate, and energetic, 
whether in relation to action, character, or expression, 
than his representation of this event. Were we un- 
acquainted with the subject, it would be impossible to 
mistake its general meaning. The authoritative attitude 
of St. Peter, his stern expression, the extended arm and 
uplifted finger, convey at once the impression that he is 

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giving utterance to some terrible denunciation; while 
the Apostles behind, with hands folded, or pointed to- 
wards Heaven, acknowledge, with devout astonishment, 
the manifest interposition of divine justice. The position 
of Ananias is a wonderful example of Raffaelle's intuitive 
perception, or of his acute observation of actual fact', or 
more properly, perhaps, of both. It is evident that the 
figure has been struck with sudden death ; the head has 
fallen on the shoulders, the eyes have lost their volition, 
the convulsions which contract the limbs are the spasms 
of mortal agony ; but the fulness and roundness of the 
muscles show that the blow has fallen on the delinquent 
while in the full possession of health and vigour. The 
whole action is consecutive ; he has been kneeling at the 
steps, has fallen backwards, and we perceive, notwith- 
standing his feeble and unconscious effort to sustain 
himself on his wrist, that in another moment he will be 
extended on the floor. So sudden has been the shock, 
that it has not been perceived except by the persons 
immediately adjacent to the spot. In these individuals of 
different sex and ages, the fear and astonishment, naturally 
excited by such an event, are finely pourtrayed ; the young 
man on the left, recoiling in dismay, affords an effective 
contrast in the fine extension of his limbs to the fore- 
shortened figure of Ananias. The two men on the right, 
in the midst of their amazement, appear to admit, by their 
gestures and expression, the justice of the infliction. It 
has been questioned whether the woman who is advanc- 
ing from behind was meant for Sapphira, as it is stated 
in the sacred record that three hours had elapsed after 
the death of Ananias before she entered the place. Not- 
withstanding this objection, it is most probable that 
Raflaelle intended this figure for the wife of Ananias ; 
and the slight inaccuracy is more than atoned for by the 
sublime moral, which shows the woman approaching the 
spot where her husband had met his doom, and where 
her own death awaits her, but wholly unconscious of 
those judgments, and absorbed in counting that gold by 
which both she and her partner had been betrayed to 
their fate. . . 

We have received several communications on the 
subject of the Cartoons, of which the following is 
the substance :—- 

One correspondent, remarking upon the cartoon en- 
titled M Paul preaching at Athens," affirms that this title 
14 is a misnomer. He was not preaching in our sense of 
the word, but pleading before a high court of justice. 
He was not brought before this court, like Socrates, on 
an actual charge of a breach of the law, but to give an 
account of his doctrines. The picture therefore rails, as 
it represents Paul addressing an indiscriminate audience, 
consisting of philosophers of the different sects then in 
high esteem, the women not being excluded." Our 
correspondent then proceeds to lament that in the de- 
scriptive account of the cartoon opportunity was not 
taken to point out an erroneous translation in the com- 
mon version of the New Testament, which makes Paul 
speak of his auditors as superstitious; and that his 
conduct and address were not contrasted with those of 
Socrates in a somewhat similar situation. He then pro- 
ceeds as follows : — 

" Taking the picture as it is supposed to be, the repre- 
sentation of a fact in a certain place, it has always 
appeared to me as one of the absurdest productions of 
modern art, offending without cause both in costume 
and locality. 

" Poets and painters have, as: Horace says, a very exten- 
sive range allowed to them, but it has its limits. What 
can be more absurd than to see in the celebrated picture 
of the Lord's Supper (of which I hope to see a print in 
your Magazine) our Saviour blessing a modern loaf, a 
loaf of leavened bread, a species of bread particularly 
interdicted at that time to be in the house." 

A second correspondent states that there are two other 
productions of Ranaelle, denominated Cartoons, in the 
Duke of Buccleugh's collection at Boughton House, near 
Kettering in Northamptonshire. " These cartoons," he 
says, ** are, I believe, very little known ; nor have I ever 
seen any copies or prints of them. They are paintings in 
water, much of the colouring of which has faded, whilst 
all the outlines and bolder' strokes are remaining. They 
are on paper, and, from the creases visible in the sheets, 
appear to have once been folded up for carriage, to 
be copied, like the other cartoons, in tapestry or upon 
glass. The subject 'of one of them is, I think, Ezekiel's 
Y-ision ; in which the person of the Almighty is won- 
derfully pourtrayed : it has exactly the same expression 
as the representations of the same being on the com- 
partments of the ceilings in the Vatican — judging from 
prints. Of the other I have but little recollection, 
except that it is a group, and very much in the style 
of those at Hampton Court — at least according to the 
copies in the Bodleian — never having seen the originals. 
The cartoons at Boughton are, I think, somewhat 
larger than the copies alluded to at Oxford, and are 
reversed in position, the shortest sides of the parallelo- 
grams forming the tops and bottoms." This corres- 
pondent wishes to know whether any other particulars 
are known respecting them, whether any prints or 
copies are known to exist of them, and by whom they 
were brought to England. A third correspondent 
informs us that he has repeatedly inspected these last- 
mentioned cartoons with great pleasure ; and adds that 
the subject of the second is either the Nativity or the 
Adoration of- the Magi, and that George III. wished 
to have added them to his collection. We shall en- 
deavour to give a more precise account of these works 
in a future number. 

In the introductory remarks on the Cartoons, in 
No. 43, deserved praise was given to the engravings of 
those at Hampton Court by the late Mr. Holloway. 
But the praise, it appears, should not have been confined 
to that gentleman, and we readily accede to a request of 
making known the parties to whom any share is due : 

** The fact is," says a correspondent, on whose correct- 
ness we can rely, •' the engravings have been almost 
entirely executed by his partners, Messrs. Slann and 
Webb, who have given up all their time, property, ahd 
talents, in executing and supporting the work which 
must otherwise have long ago sunk from insufficient 
patronage, and who will even at great pecuniary loss 
complete the seven engravings. To Mr. Holloway fully 
belongs the credit of commencing the work, and he, with 
his eldest nephew, made the beautiful drawings from the 
originals, and was the public man of the party ; but to 
his partners, who worked unseen and almost unknown, 
most justly appertains the credit of the engravings." 

It appears also that we were in error in stating that 
the tapestries brought from Spain by Mr. Tupper, and 
recently exhibited at the Egyptian Hail, had been sold to 
a foreigner, and by him taken to the Continent. They 
are yet in the possession of Mr. Tupper*s brother. 


There is no branch of education which stands more in 
need of revision and improvement than that which 
relates to the bodily health and growth of children and 
young persons, and which is now commonly known by 
the name of Physical Education. This is more espe- 
cially true of the education of girls, particularly such as 
are brought up at boarding-schools ; boys being com- 
paratively but little affected by the causes which act 
most injuriously on the young persons of the other sex* 

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The three grand sources of ill-health in female boarding- 
schools are, 1st, the want of sufficient bodily exercise ; 
2d, constrained postures ; and, 3d, the use of stays ; and 
they originate in the over-anxiety of parents, more par- 
ticularly mothers, to obtain for their children the three 
following benefits, or supposed benefits; 1st, a great 
number of accomplishments, as they are termed ; 2d, a 
genteel carriage; and, 3d, a line shape. Never were 
objects more completely defeated through injudicious 
methods of attaining them ; the actual results being, too 
often, in lieu of real substantial benefits, the following 
lamentable evils : 1st, a smattering of various kinds of 
knowledge, which are found of little practical utility in 
the actual business of life, with a great deficiency of 
those kinds of knowledge which would really be so ; 
2d, general impairment of the health ; 3d, a bad carriage 
and figure, and, too often, actual deformity of body. 

Although these evils are notorious to all who observe 
what is passing around them in society, aud although 
they have often been the theme of invective in the writ- 
ings of physicians and philosophic moralists, it cannot 
be imagined that those most interested in the subject, 
the fathers and mothers of the rising generation, are in 
reality aware of their causes, nature, or extent ; were 
they so, they could never be brought to countenance 
the system in which they originate. It is for this reason, 
and because it is in a particular manner among the 
middle classes of society that the evils most prevail, that 
we do not think our pages can be better appropriated 
than in making them more generally known, and in 
endeavouring to impress them forcibly on the minds 
of parents. We are enabled to do this in a very com- 
pendious and most authentic form, by means of a 
few extracts from a valuable work, now in course of 
publication*, and which, as it is written chiefly for the 
members of the medical profession, will not be accused 
of exaggeration or misrepresentation for personal ends. 
The subjoined quotations are from the article Physical 
Education, written by Dr. Barlow, an eminent physician 
at Bath, and which has appended to it some important 
notes by Dr. Forbes, of Chichester, one of the editors. 

I. Of Exercise, or rather of the want of Exercise, in 
Boarding Schools, and some of its consequences. 

" Boys enjoy exercise freely, and of the best kind, 
in the unrestrained indulgence of their youthful sports. 
By means of these every muscle of the frame comes in 
for its share of active exercise, and free growth, vigour, 
and health are the result. It would be happy for girls if 
some portion of such latitude were allowed to them also. 
But it is far otherwise. Even under the more favour- 
able circumstances of country life, they are too much 
restricted from the free exercise which health requires. 
Their very dress unfits them from taking it, and the 
alleged indecorum of those active movements to which 
youth and spirits instinctively incite, is a bar to even the 
attempt being made. At their age the measured, slow- 
paced, daily walk is quite insufficient even for the 
muscles specially engaged, while it leaves many others 
wholly unexercised. If this be true of the more hale 
and robust inhabitants of the country, how much more 
forcibly does it apply to the delicate and attenuated resi- 
dents of towns, and especially to the inmates of female 
schools. Of these establishments tlu systems and habits 
require much revision, and until some effective reforma- 
tion takes place, of which there is yet but little prospect, 
they will not fail to excite our sympathy and regret for 
the blanched aspects, shadowy forms, and sickly consti- 
tutions so continually presented, and which it is so pain- 
full to witness. Such beings are as little fitted for 
encountering the toils or fulfilling the duties of life, as 

* The ' Cyclopaedia of Practical Medicine,' published iu monthly 
parts, edited by John Forbes, M.D. F.R.S.. A. Tweeclie. M.D.. and 
John Gonolly, M.D. 

are plants of a hothouse for being- transferred to tjp 
open borders." 

To the above passage, the following interesting state- 
ment and important remarks are appended in the form 
of a note by Dr. Forbes, one of the editors : — 

" The amount of exercise, or rather the extent to 
which the want of exercise is carried, in many boarding- 
schools, will appear incredible to those who have not 
personally investigated the subject The following is 
the carte of a young ladies* boarding-school, drawn up 
on the spot, a few years since, from the report of several 
of its inmates :— 

At 6 in the morning the girls are called, and rite. 
From 6 to 8, learning or saying lessons in tchoof. 

8 to 84, at breakfast. 

8} to 9, preparing lessons out of school {tome of the giiis 
permitted to do so in the garden). 

9 to 1, at various tasks, in school. 

1 to 1$, out of school, but must not go oat of doors ; itadiq 

or working, and preparing tor dinner. 
1} to 2, at dinner. 

2 to 5, in school, various tasks. 
5 to 5 1, at tea. 

5 J to 6, preparing to go out ; dressing, or reading, or ptyvy 

in school. 

6 to 7, walking, generally arm-in-arm, on the high road, 

manj with their books in their hands, aaji 

" Two days in the week they do not walk in the even- 
ing at all, being kept in for dancing; but, by way of 
amends, they go out on two other days, from 12 to I, 
and then they miss writing. It is to be remarked that 
they never go out unless the weather is quite fine at tht 
particular hours allotted for walking. They go to 
church, all the year round, twice ev«ry Sunday, on which 
day no other exercise is taken. 

From 7 to 8, for the older girls, reading or working in schouT. 
(this is optional,) and then prayers; sbr the 
younger, play in school, and prayers. 

At 8, the younger go to bed. 

From 8 to 9, the older, reading or working, as before. 
9, to bed. 

" The twenty-four hours are, therefore, thus disposed 


In bed, (the olrler 9, the younger 10,) fi 

In school, at their studies aud tasks 9 

In school, or in the house, the older St optional studies or 

work, the younger at play 3J« 

At meals 1} I 

Exercise in the open air 1 


" The above account was taken from a second or 
third-rate school, and applies more particularly to tht 
season most favourable for exercise, — summer. It is to 
be remarked that the confinement is generally greater in 
these than in schools of a higher order. That the prac* 
tical results of such an astounding regimen are by no 
means overdrawn by Dr. Barlow, is sufficiently evinced 
by the following fact, a fact which we will venture to 
say may be verified by inspection of thousands of board- 
ing-schools in this country. We lately visited, in a large 
town, a boarding-school containing forty girls; and we 
learnt, on close and accurate inquiry, that tfiere was not 
one of the girls who had been at the school two years 
(and the majority had been as long) that was not more 
or less crooked! Our patient was in this predicament: 
and we could perceive (what all may perceive who meet 
that most melancholy of all processions — a boarding* 
school of young ladies in their walk) that all her com- 
panions were pallid, sallow, and listless. We can assert, 
on the same authority of personal observation, and on 
an extensive scale, that scarcely a single girl (more 
especially of the middle classes) that has been at a 
boarding-school for two or three years, returns iwroe 

* Younger only two hoar* and a half 

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with unimpaired health ; and, for the truth of the asser- 
tion, -we may appeal to every candid father whose 
daughters have been placed in this situation. Happily, 
a portion of the ill health produced at school is in many 
cases only temporary, and vanishes after the return from 
it In the schools in which the vacations are frequent 
or long, much mischief is often warded off by the 
periodical returns to the ordinary habits of healthful life ; 
and some happy constitutions, unquestionably, bid 
defiance to all the systematic efforts made to undermine 
them. No further proof is needed of the enormous evil 
produced by the present system of school discipline than 
ine fact, well known to all medical men, that the greater 
proportion of women in the middle and upper ranks of 
life do not enjoy even a moderate share of health ; and 
persons, not of the medical profession, may have sufficient 
evidence of the truth, by comparing* the relative powers 
of the young men and young women of any family in 
taking bodily exercise, more particularly in walking. 
The difference is altogether inexplicable on the ground 
of sex only. 

If. Of the Effects of the Attempts to produce " a good 

•' The first error is that of restraining the free motions 
of the body and limbs, so natural at this period of life, 
and in which the young of both sexes so much delight. 
The young lady is now to cultivate manners, to practise 
a certain demureness supposed to be becoming, to attend 
to her carriage, keeping her head erect, and her shoulders 
drawn back ; and if from inability to continue the mus- 
cular efforts necessary for this end, she fail to do what 
nature does not empower her to accomplish, negligence 
or obstinacy is imputed, reproach is cast, which, being 
felt as unjust, irritates the moral feelings ; and thus a 
slight error in physical discipline becomes a fruitful 
source not only of bodily injury but of moral depravation. 
It is a well established fact with respect to muscular 
energy, that the contractions of muscular fibres on which 
their actions depend, require intervals of relaxation ; that, 
if the contractions be prolonged without this relief, they 
ia a certain time fail, so that no effort of the will can 
continue them. In other words, the muscles tire, and an 
interval of repose is necessary to fit them for renewed 
effort. This is familiarly instanced by the experiment of 
holding the arm extended, when, even though no weight 
be held in the hand, the continued muscular action re- 
quired for maintaining this position cannot be sustained 
for many minutes. If this be true of the firm and robust 
muscles of adults, how much more forcibly does the prin- 
ciple apply to the tender and immature muscles of early 
life. To preserve a good carriage, to keep the head and 
shoulders continually in that position which the dancing- 
master approves, require considerable muscular powers, 
such as no girl can exercise without long, painful, and 
injurious training, nor even by this, unless other mea- 
sures to be hereafter noticed, be resorted to in aid of 
her direct endeavours. We would not here be under- 
stood as undervaluing a good carriage, which is not only 
pleasing to the eye, but is, when natural, absolutely con- 
ducive itself to health, as resulting from that relative 
position of the several parts connected exteriorly with 
the chest, which allows greatest freedom to the internal 
organs. To ensure a good carriage, the only rational 
way is to give the necessary power, especially in the 
muscles chiefly concerned ; and this is to be done, not 
by wearying those muscles by continual and unrelieved 
exertion, but by invigorating the frame generally, and 
more especially by strengthening the particular muscles 
through varied exercise alternated with due repose. 

rt Direct endeavours to enforce what is called a good car- 
riage necessarily fail of their effect, and instead of strength- 
ening they enfeeble the muscular powers necessary for 

maintaining it. This fact soon becomes perceptible; 
weakness is noticed, and instead of correcting this by the 
only rational mode, that of invigorating the weakened 
muscles, mechanical aid is called in to support them, 
and laced waistcoats are resorted to. These undoubtedly 
give support, — nay, they may be so used as almost 
wholly to supersede the muscular efforts, with the ad- 
vantage of not tiring, however long or continuously em- 
ployed. Improvement of carriage is manifested, the 
child is sensible of relief from a painful exertion, the 
mother is pleased with the success of her management, 
and this success appears to superficial observation fully 
to confirm the judgment which superintends it. In the 
present ignorance that prevails on all points of animal 
physiology, it would be quite impossible to convince any 
mother so impressed that she was doing otherwise than 
ministering to her child's welfare. Yet what are the 
consequences to which her measures tend, and which 
such measures are daily and hourly producing? The 
muscles of the back and chest, restrained in their natural 
and healthful exercise by the waiscoats called in to aid 
them, and more signally in after-life by the tightly laced 
stays or corsets, become attenuated, and still further en- 
feebled, until at length they are wholly dependent on the 
mechanical aid, being quite incapable of dispensing with 
it for any continuance. 

" At first, laced waistcoats are used rather for the con- 
venience of suspending other parts of the dress than with 
any view of giving support to weak muscles, or of in- 
fluencing the shape ; and confined to such use they 
would be perfectly harmless. In time, when weakness 
becomes inferred, not from any evidences of actual de- 
bility, but merely from the girls not being able to main- 
tain the unnatural and constrained posture which fashion 
and false taste enjoin, the advantage of compressing the 
chest by means of the waistcoast, so as to give support 
to the muscles of the back, becomes discovered, and the 
mechanical power supplied by the lace affords but too 
effective means of accomplishing this compression. The 
effect pleases the mother, promoting, as it does, her 
dearly-prized object — a good carriage ; it is endured by 
the girl as the lesser of two evils, for though at first 
irksome, it releases her from the pain of endeavours 
which she has not power to continue to the extent 

III. Of the Operation and Effects of Stays. 

" As years advance, various causes combine to render 
this practice more inveterate and more pernicious ; and 
still the potent instrument, the lace, lends its ready and 
effectual aid. Now a taper waist becomes an object of 
ambition, and the stays are to be laced more closely. 
This is still done gradually, and, at first, imperceptibly 
to the parties. The effect, however, though slow, is 
sure, and the powers of endurance thus exercised come 
in time to bear almost unconsciously what, if suddenly 
or quickly attempted, no heroism could possibly sustain. 

" The derangements to which this increased pressure 
gives rise must now be considered. The first is the 
obvious impediment to the motions of the ribs which this 
constriction of the chest occasions. For perfect respira- 
tion these motions should be free and unrestrained. In 
proportion as respiration is impeded, is the blood imper- 
fectly vitalised ; and in the same ratio are the nutrient 
and other functions dependent on the blood inadequately 
performed. Here, then, is one source of debility which 
affects the whole frame, reducing every part below the 
standard of healthful vigour. According, also, as each 
inspiration of air becomes less full, the wants of the 
system require, as a compensation, increased frequency ; 
and thus quickened respiration commences, disturbing 
the lungs, and creating in them a tendency to inflamma- 
tory action, The heart, too, becomes excited, the pulso 

igitize y ^Tg 



[February 28, 1898. 

accelerated, and palpitation is in time superadded. All 
these effects are capable of resulting from mere constric- 
tion of the che'at ; they become fearfully aggravated 
when, at a more advanced stage, additional sources of 
irritation arise in flexure of the spine, and in derange- 
ments of the stomach, liver, and other organs subservient 
to digestion. The foregoing disturbances are formidable 
enough, and sufficiently destructive of health, yet they are 
not-the only lesions (injuries) which tight lacing induces. 
The pressure, which is chiefly made on the lower part of the 
chest, and to which this part most readily yields, extends 
its malign influence to the abdominal viscera also. By 
it the stomach and liver are compressed, and, in time, 
partially detruded from the concavity of the diaphragm, 
to the great disturbance of their functions ; and being 
pressed downwards too, these trespass on that space 
which the other abdominal viscera require, superinducing 
still further derangements. Thus, almost every function 
of the body becomes more or less depraved. Nothing 
could have prevented the source of all this mischief and 
misery from being fully detected and universally under- 
stood, but the slow and insidious process by which the 
aberration from sound principle effects its ravages. 

" The mere weakness of back, so often adverted to, 
becomes in its turn an aggravating cause of visceral 
lesion. The body cannot be always cased in tightly- 
laced stays ; their pressure may be endured to any extent 
under the excitement of the evening display, but during 
the day some relaxation must take place. Under it, the 
muscles of the back, deprived of their accustomed sup- 
port, and incapable of themselves to sustain the incum- 
bent weight, yield, and the column of the spine bends, 
at first anteriority, causing round shoulders and an 
arched back ; but eventually inclines to one or other side, 
giving rise to the well-known and too frequently occurring 
state of lateral curvature. This last change most fre- 
quently commences m the sitting posture, such females 
being, through general debility, much disposed to seden- 
tary habits. As soon as lateral curvature commences, the 
lungs and heart become still more disturbed ; anhelation 
(difficulty of breathing) from slight exertion, short cough, 
and palpitation ensue; and at this time, chiefly in conse- 
quence of the pulmonary derangement, alarm begins to be 
entertained, and the approach of phthisis apprehended." 

The following figures, taken from a valuable wdrk in 
German, by the late professor Soemmering* on the 
Effects of Stays, cannot fail to make an impression on 
the mind of every parent and guardian of youth : — 


[Fig. 2.] 

Fig. 1. is an outline of the famous statue of the 
Venus de Medici, and may be considered as the beau 
ideal of a fine female figure. 

Fig. 2. is the skeleton of a similar figure, with the 
bones in their natural position. 

[Fig. 3.] 

[Kg. 4.] 

Fig. 3. is an outline of the'figure of a modern " board- 
ing-school miss," after it has been permanently re- 
modelled by stays. 

Fig. 4. is the skeleton belonging to such a figure as 
No. 3. * 

We are assured by medical men of the first authority 
that there is no exaggeration in these outlines. Such 
melancholy specimens are daily to be met with, both 
living and dead. 

Advantages of high Civilization. — We northern people 
are so much accustomed to the innumerable conveniences 
peculiar to a highly civilized state of society, and of which 
rich and poor all partake, more or less, as* of the air they 
breathe, that we are apt to undervalue or overlook them 
altogether ; and it is well that we now and thca should be 
made to feel the value of what is thus thanklessly enjoyed. 
We think too little of good and safe roads, lighted streets, 
public markets, where necessaries and luxuries of all sorts 
and at all prices arc found collected ; of cheap and speedy 
means of conveyance for persons and property ; and, above 
all, that happy division of labour by which the" wants of each 
individual and those of the aggregate mass are supplied 
with far more, ease, in greater abundance, and at infinitely 
less expense than when each individual is thrown on his 
own exertions for all he wants, yet has nobody to think on 
but himself. It is cheaper to travel in England in a po«a- 
chaise, accommodated each ni<rht with a good bed and 
supper, and thanked too by the landlord, than in Sicily on 
mules, carrying your own beds and cooking utensils, and at 
the end of each fatiguing dav's journey reduced to beg for a 
night's lodging at the door of a stranger.— Simond's Travels 
in Sicily. . 

•«• The Office of the Society for the Dlffbtlon of Useful Koowledge la &t 
&9, LincolnVJnn Field*. 


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Canterbury. Martin. 
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Derby, Wilkin* and Sox. 
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Exeter, Ballx. 
Falmouth, Fhii.f. 
Hull, Stkfhknuon. 
Jersey, John Carrk. Jan. 
Lredt, Bainkb and Nkwsomx. 
IAueoln, Brooke and Son*. 
Liverpool, Willmxx and Smith. 
Llandovery, D. R. and W. Rxx*. 
I<ynn, Smith. 

Manchester, Robinson; 

and Si mm*. 
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Charnlxt. 
Norwich, Jarrai.'d and Son; aid 

Wilkin and Fletcher. 
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Many of the narratives of the older naturalists a£e< 
little more than amusing fables. To deduce the leading 
characteristics of an -animal from a-minute investigation 
of its physical construction — to* watch its habits with 
anxious solicitude in its native haunts — formed no part 
oTltie^ca're of those who compiled books of natural his- 
\Jbry i century or! two ago. Whatever was imperfectly 
known was immftd' Q +? ] y mads the subject of a tale of 
wonder. The old accounts of the Birds of Paradise are 
striking examples of this disposition to substitute inven- 
tion Ji>r reajity. Now and then soma traveller brought 
to Europe the skin of a beautiful race of birds, of whose 
habits he knew nothing, except what he learnt from the 
natives who collected them. Their plumage was of the 
most brilliant lustre ; some were covered over the breast 
ano* back with tippets of the richest hues ; others had 
long delicate lines of feathers, prolonged from beneath 
their wings, or branching from the head ; and most of 
these trappings appeared too fragile for any use, and 
incapable of bearing up against the rude winds which 
visit the earth. The specimens also which came to 
Europe were deprived of feet Fancy had thus ample 
materials to work upon. These birds, tender as the dove 
and more brilliant than the peacock, were described as 
the inhabitants of some region where all was beauty and 
purity; where no storms ever ruffled their plumage; 
where they floated about on never-tiring wings in a 
bright and balmy atmosphere, incapable of resting from 
their happy flight, and nourished only by the dews and* 
perfumes of a cloudless sky. They were called Birds of 
Paradise: and the few specimens that Europeans saw 
were supposed to have accidentally visited some sunny 
spot of our world, rich with flowers and spices, but not 
thejr true abiding-place. Such were the tales that the 
old writers of natural history adopted ; and to which 
even scientific persons appeared to give belief, when they 
named one of the species, Pawdisea epo^t, the fatku 
Bird of Paradise, 

The most correct description of the Birds of Paradise 
is that given by Gaimard, one, of the naturalists who 
accompanied tho French expedition of discovery under 
Captain Freycinet, in J817, He observed many of these 
birds in the island of Valgum, one of the islands forming 
the group of which New Guinea, is the principal, They 
constitute a genus of the order of OmutivQ** (eating all 
things). Their principal food is fruit and insects; and the 
strength of their beaks and feet admirably fit them for sus- 
taining themselves iu the thick woods where they dwell 
They dehght in the most inaccessible parts of forests ; 
and when the weather is serene, they perch themselves 
on the topmast branches of the highest trees. They *y 
with great rapidity, although they constantly direct their 
course against the wind- This is a proceeding which 
they are compelled to adopt, in consequence of the 
luxurious trappings with which nature has clothed them ; 
for the wind, pressing in the direction of their long 
feathers, holds them close to their bodies ; in a contrary 
direction their plumage would be ruffled, and their 
loaded wings would act with difficulty. They, however, 
seldom venture from their retreats in foygh weather. 
At the approach of a storm they entirely disappear, in- 
stinctively dreading the hurricane, which they would be 
unable to meet, and before which H would be equally 
dangerous to fly. They are extremely courageous, ready 
to attack any bird of prey that excites their alarm. They 
have -never been, seen in a state of domesticity amongst 
any of the Papou tribes, inhabiting the islan<J# where 
they are commonly found. Of their nests, their mode of 
hatching, and their care of their young, nothing appears 
to be known. ..«..-.- 

In the wood-cut at the head of this article we have 
grouped together some of the more splendid of the Birds - 

df Paradise, as' given Jjy To VaiHaflf, fh his work pn 
Birds. The species, No. 1 , (Par, apodal) is very re- 
markable for the beauty of its plumage, which is of the 
most varied and brilliant colours. It is especially distin- 
guished 1>y the long icuwed~ fillet* which spring from 
beneath its wings, and extend in* length about two feet 
No. 2 (Le Sirilet) is so called from, the sjx fillets, 
which adorn its head. No. 3 and 4 are drawn and 
described by Le Vaillant The latter is represented 
displaying its splendid plumes as the peacock does his' 
tail. No. 5 (the Superb) exhibits pretty clearly the 
nature of the plumage of the Birds of Paradise. The 
sort of tippet upon its breast, and the fan-like ornaments 
of its shoulders, have no connection either with the wings 
or the tail. The bird has the power of raising or de- 
pressing them ; but they dp not appear to assist its flight. 
Those on the shoulders fold down over a part of the 
wings like a mantle. In dimensions the various species 
differ considerably. The bodies of most are not larger 
than that of a thrush, although the thickness of their 
plumage makes, them appear the site of a large 

One of the most beautiful of the Birds of Paradise is 
called the king-bird, (Par+ditQ r*gia). Of this 
species many curious stories are current in the islands 
where these birds are found. The natives aver, for 
example, that the two principal species of Paradise hisds 
have each their leader, whose imperial mandates are 
received with submissive obedience by a numerous fraia 
of subjects ; and that his majesty always flies above the 
flock to issue his orders for inspecting and tasxiqg the 
springs of water where they may drink with safety— the 
Indians being in the practice of taking whole flocks of 
birds by poisoning the water where they ieseit to drink. 
Le Vaillant considers that this notion originated from 
the casual observation of a strange species amongst a 
gregarious flock* This explanation accords with the 
account given by M. Sonnerat of the mamas* of the 
king-bird of Paradise; for being a solitary bird, going 
from bush to bush in search of the berries upon which it 
feeds, it may occasionally be seen near the flocks of those 
which are gregarious, where its singular plumage must 
render it conspicuous. 

These gorgeous trappings of the various species of 
the Birds of Paradise excite the cupidity of man. The 
feathered skins form a large object of commerce between 
the people of the New Guinea islands and the Malays. 
The natives entrap the birds or shoot them with Wunt 
arrows ; and they prepare the skins with considerable 
nicety, having removed the true wings, which are not, so 
brilliant a* the other feathers, and cut off the feet iand 
legs. The absence of feet in all the specimens brought 
to phirope, gave rise to the fable that the Birds of 
Paradise had no power of alighting, and were always on 
the wing. Their migratory habits may probably also 
have given some colour to this tale. At the nutmeg 
season they come in flights from the southern isles to 
India ; and Tavernier says* " The strength of the nutmeg 
so intoxicates them that they fall dead drunk to the 
earth : ,f 

About the gardens, faunk with that sw«A food 
Whose §ceut hath hW them o'er the sanunsr flood.* 

bi/tumo* qfDomsstfo Hakitt.— The man vho Bves in fee 
midst of domestic relations will have many rinsm^piitiss qf 
conferring pleasure; minute in 4eta3, yet net trivia^ isvtise 
amount, without interfering with the puroeeest of general 
benevolence. Nay, by kindling his sensibility, and harms- 
n i*iug his soul they may he expected, if he is endowed wUh 
a liberal and manly spirit, to render him more nrompLin the 
service of strangers and the public.— Godwins Preface to 
St. Leon. ' 

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An excellent institution exists in all the great manufac- 
turing towns of Prance, which, witn some few modifica- 
tions to suit the difference of circumstances, might be 
adopted with advantage in the manufacturing towns of 
other countries. This establishment consists of local 
tribunals charged with the discussion and settlement of 
all questions connected With the manufacturing interests 
of each particular district. An institution of this kiad 
formerly existed in France under the title of the ** Maitre 
Garde." This manufacturing tribunal was revived and 
re-modelled by a decree of Napoleon in 1806, and is now 
known by the name of " Conseil des Prud'hommes." In 
the evidence given by Dr. Bowring on the Silk Trade, 
the Conseil des Prud'hommes at Lyons is more par- 
ticularly described. The following brief notice of this 
tribunal is here given with the hope of making it better 
known ; as we believe that an institution of such a nature, 
with some few alterations, might lead to a permanent 
improvement in the morals and happiness of the inhabi- 
tants of our manufacturing towns. 

This society at Lyons is composed of nine silk manu- 
facturers and eight silk weavers. The representatives of 
the manufacturers have always been elected by the whole 
body of master manufacturers, but until lately a more 
exclusive system was practised with regard to the election 
of the weavers. Those weavers only were eligible to 
vote who had paid the patent duty; their number, 
amounting to sixty, formed only a small proportion of 
the whole body of working weavers, and it resulted in 
consequence that as these latter were not truly repre- 
sented, their interests were not properly considered, so 
that injustice and mismanagement sometimes occurred. 

After the events which took place at Lyons in Novem- 
ber 1831, this great grievance under which the weavers 
laboured was remedied, and the institution was re- 
organized. Accordingly, at the beginning of last year, 
the right of voting was much eularged, and extended to 
all weavers who possess four looms or more of their own. 
This number is at present seven hundred and seventy- 
eight, and the number of looms belonging to them 
collectively ia three thousand four hundred and thirty* 
five looms. ' This body of men is represented by the 
eight weavers In the "Conseil des PHid'homines," which 
is thus composed of workmen and masters ; the president 
always being a manufacturer. 

The business of this association is to conciliate and 
watch over the interests of all parties. Auy disputes 
about wages are settled by their authority ; all questions 
between masters and men, and masters and apprentices* 
and, in short, every thing which can in any way bear 
upon the question of the silk manufacture is referred to 
them. They are invested by Government with a certain 
defined power : in some cases they have the privilege of 
inflicting fines, and are allowed to punish by imprison- 
ment to the extent of three days ; a discipline which is 
repeatedly applied to refractory apprentices. They have 
also the power of summoning witnesses and compelling 
their attendance. This tribunal sits in open court ; its 
discussions are an object of great interest, and its deci- 
sions give general satisfaction. It acts as a court of 
conciliation. Dr. Bowring states, that he was much 
struck with the general good sense of the proceedings in 
this court. The men who represent the weavers ap- 
peared to be men of sound discretion and sober judgment, 
and the whole is well organized and extremely popular. 

Such an association, established in every manufacturing 
town, and tornaed of manufacturers and artisans chosen 
in equal numbers, and from the whole body of their 
respective classes, would do much towards promoting 
and continuing cordial good-will between masters and 
workmen. Such regulations and arrangements might 
be framed by their representatives as would best 
conduce to their mutual interest, and they would dis- 

cover that unity of purpose, while it created a kindly 
sympathy between the two parties, is one means oi 
guarding against fluctuations in trade, and of insuring 
prosperity to both the artisan and the manufacturer. 


[Continued from No. 54.] 

Another class of hard words in which our language 
abounds is those terms of art and science which are com- 
pounded of Latin and Greek words, especially the latter. 
These are now exceedingly numerous, and so frequently 
and so unavoidably used, that it is a matter of necessity to 
understand them, and of great use to pronounce them 

The meaning of these words is often understood simply 
because the thing and the name are at the same time 
presented to us. We see or learn from experience the 
properties of the thing, and we therefore attach definite 
ideas to the name by which it is signified. Most people, 
know very well what is meant by a telescope, a kalei- 
doscope, a microscope, and many other words ending in 
scope. But when a new name arises such as stelhescope t 
belonging to some art or science which is practised only 
by few, the thing is, to the generality of people, unseen 
and unknown ; and consequently the name conveys no 
idea with it. This is a great disadvantage in the present 
state of our language, that when a new name is intro- 
duced, which is compounded of two or more words, the 
name does not convey in itself, to an English reader, any 
description of what the thing is. This happens because 
the parts of which such words are composed are really 
Greek words, and therefore cannot be generally under- 
stood. If, instead of telescope, kaleidoscope, microscope, 
stethescope, we were to say a long-seer, a prettyseer, a 
small-seer, a breast-sect % these names themselves would 
convey some idea; but unfortunately we have so long 
abandoned this mode of making new words, that we 
believe it impossible ever again to use the materials of 
Our language for such a puqpose. The Germans have 
in this a great advantage over us, as a very large num- 
ber of their scientific terms ure formed of words already 
existing in the language, and familiar even to the poorest 
labourer. Thus, instead of geography, osteology, metal- 
lurgy, chronology, architecture, they can say, earth-de- 
scription, bone-knowledge smelling- art, time-reckoning, 
building-art; (hough they have also other words for 
many of these terms of art, which are the same as ours 
with some slight difference in orthography, such as geo- 
graphic, chronologic, Ac. Notwithstanding the number 
of hard words by which all our sciences are fenced in, 
just as if the intention had been to bar up the road and 
the approaches to knowledge, we believe that it is prac- 
ticable to make them all more intelligible to the least 
educated people, who possess common sense and a little 
industry, than they are at present to nine^tenths of those 
who so readily use these words, and only pretend to 
know their meaning. 

The recognised pronunciation of the vowels and con- 
sonants in such words as we have just alluded to, is, with 
few exceptions, the same as in real Greek words. Yet 
there are some exceptions : for instance, we pronounce 
arch in archbishop, in the same way as when the word 
signifies a curved piece of building, such as bridge or 
gateway. In other cases where the word arch precedes 
a vowel, it should be pronounced like ark, as in archi- 
trave, architecture. The pronunciation of c and g fol- 
lows the rules already given ; but when g precedes y, as 
in gymnasium, gymnastics, gypsum, and perhaps some 
few more instances, there is no absolutely fixed rule, 
though there ought to be : some people pronounce the 
g like j in jddgc, others like g in gone. The latter is 
undoubtedly preferable. Ch at the beginning of alf 
words derived from Greek, and, indeed, in any othej 

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[Maech 2, 

part of a word, should be pronounced like k, a* in 
chemistry, chondropterygii, acronychally, &c. 
• The syllable on which the main stress should be put, 
otherwise called the accented syllable, is pretty well 
determined in all words of common use, such as ther- 
mometer, barometer, astronomy, geography, geo'logy, 
telescope, chemistry ; and from these and other similar 
instances a useful rale may be deduced, which is this — 
in words of three or more syllables (and perhaps this 
comprehends far the greatest number of instances), the 
accent should be placed on the third syllable from the last. 
According to this rule the word oryctefropus, the scientific 
name for the Aard-vark (see Pen. Cy. p. .1), should be 
pronounced as we have marked it, with the accent on the 
last syllable but two, which is technically called the 
antepemtltima. There are, however, exceptions to this 
rule, as adamantine (which has two accents), a'eroUte 
(a word of four syllables), which has the chief accent on 
the first syllable, and also one on the last. This word 
a'^e-ro-Ute reminds us that we ought to remark, that 
when a and e are not united in one syllable, they should 
be pronounced perfectly distinct, as in the example given, 
and in a-e'-ri~al, a'-e-ro-nau't. Achromaftic, a word 
Signifying " without colour," diploma! tic, pragma f tic % 
and some other words of this clan are pronounced as 
We have marked them. 

We have still something more to say about orycte'ropu*. 

Many scientific terms have been formed by persons, who 
were only imperfectly acquainted with the Greek lan- 
guage, from which these terms are principally taken, 
and consequently they have not always been formed 
according to analogy, t. e. the makers of these new words 
have not in all ca^es attended to the same general prin- 
ciple on which all words of one kind should be con- 
structed. In addition to this, the pronunciation of 
many of these words, with respect to the accented syl- 
lable, is not always quite the same among the persons 
who 'profess the science to which it belongs: it is not 
always the same among people of the same country or 
nation ; and nothing is so common as for the people of 
one nation, such as the English or French, to follow t 
different practice from those of another nation, such as 
the German or Italian. There is, therefore, in some 
cases, though perhaps they are not very numerous, no 
established practice which all people will acknowledge 
to be right But more than this : a person well ac- 
quainted with the Greek language will often assert that 
many terms of art are wrongly pronounced by thost 
acquainted with the art. He will assert, for instance, 
that oryctt f ropns should be pronounced ory*cterojnSi; 
and he will be right according to the analogy of the 
Greek language. But usage, we think, ought to decide 
which mode of pronunciation ought to be adopted, and 
usage will undoubtedly be in favour of orycte'roput. 


[Remains of Kenilworth Caatle.] 

Kenilworth, or as it has been sometimes written, 
Killingworth Castle, in Warwickshire, about midway 
between the towns of Warwick and Coventry, and with- 
in five miles of each, is one of the most magnificent 
ruins in England. The town of Kenilworth appears to 
have had its castle even in the Saxon tjmes ; but no part 
of the present building was erected till after the begin- 
ning of the twelfth century, in the reign of Henry T. Its 
founder was Geffrey de Clinton, said to have been a 
person of humble origin, originally from Clinton in 
Oxfordshire. He raised himself, however, to importance 
by the superiority of his talents ; and after having held 
the office of Lord Chamberlain and Treasurer, he was 
finally elevated to that of Lord Chief Justice of England. 
In 11G5, however, in the reign of Henry II., the castle 
seems to have come into the hands of the crown ; but, 
soon after the accession of King John, it was restored 
to Henry de Clinton, the grandson of the founder. 
When or how it again became the property of the crown 
does not appear; but in 1254 possession of it was 
granted for life, by k^ejiry II{., to Simon do JJontfort, 

who had that year married his sister Eleanor, the Coun- 
tess Dowager of Pembroke, and whom he soon wto 
created Eari of Leicester. This bold and aspiring noble- 
man, having some time after headed an insurrection ° 
the barons, was, after the temporary success of that 
enterprise, slain at the great battle fought near Eveshafli 
in Worcestershire, on the 4th of August, 1265; the royal 
troops being commanded by Prince Edward, afterwards 
Edward I. In the following year the Castle of Kenil- 
worth maintained against the victorious prince one o 
the most obstinate defences recorded in our history- 
Although Simon de Montfort, the late earl's son, m 
already surrendered himself, a body of his father's to* 
lowers, who held possession of the castle, still continued 
to bid defiance to the royal authority. They s«^ m t0 
have been a band of men of the most determined an 
desperate character. While they occupied KenilwortJ 
they were the terror and scourge of the neighbourhood 
for many miles around, the parties whom they sent ou 
to forage in all directions doing their work of plunder 
and destruction with a recklessness and ferocity unprf 

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cedented even in thai barbarous age. Prince Edward and 
his army sat down before the castle on the 25th of June. 
Before this a herald whom the King had despatched to 
summon the garrison to surrender, had been sent back 
with his hand cut off. The besiegers immediately com- 
menced the assault of the fortress ; but they Were met 
with a resistance so vigorous as to render their utmost 
efforts unavailing. The place was well stored with pro- 
visions; and the tradition is, that various formidable 
engines of war were for the first time brought into use 
cm this occasion, by means of which the besieged were 
enabled to hurl enormous stones with the most destruc- 
tive force against their assailants. Some of these stones 
are still pointed out lying in the neighbourhood of the 
ruins. The Prince then determined to turn the siege 
into a blockade. Various overtures were made to the 
garrison ; and on the 24th of August a parliament was 
assembled in the camp, which promulgated an act for 
the general pardon of the rebels on certain specified and 
very lenient conditions. Even this declaration, however, 
known by the name of the Dictum de Kenilworth^ pro- 
duced no effect But famine and disease at last com- 
pelled them to capitulate about the beginning of No- 
vember. By this time they had been forced to eat their 
horses, and every man of them was reduced almost to the 
paleness and ghastliness of a corpse. 

Henry, upon thus obtaining possession of Kenilworth, 
bestowed it upon his second son, Edmund Earl of Derby, 
to which title was soon after added that of Earl of Lei- 
cester and Lancaster. Here, in 1279, in the reigu of 
Edward I., was held a grand tournament, known by the 
name of the Round Taole t from the manner in which the 
guests who attended the festival were placed, in order to 
prevent all disputes as to precedence. A hundred ladies 
were present; and as many knights, many of them 
foreigners, displayed their skill and prowess against each 
other with horse and lance. 

On the attainder and execution of Thomas Earl of 
Lancaster, son of Edmund, in 1322, his castle of Kenil- 
worth again reverted to the crown. When the weak 
and unhappy Edward II. fell into the hands of his insur- 
gent, barons, (headed by his infamous queen and Henry 
of Lancaster, the brother of the late Earl Thomas,) he 
was conveyed, to this strong hold, and. detained in close 
imprisonment for several months. Here he went through 
the ceremony of formally resigning the crown to his son. 
Kenilworth now returned to the family of Lancaster, 
Which also obtained the superior title of Duke ; and it 
remained in their hands till it fell to John of Gaunt, by 
his marriage' with Blanch, the daughter and heiress of 
Duke Henry, commonly called the Good Duke, the son 
of the Henry mentioned above. His son Henry IV. 
brought it once more back to the crown, from which it 
was not again separated till Elizabeth, soon after her 
accession, conferred it upon her favourite Robert Dudley, 
the celebrated Earl of Leicester. On his death, in 1588, 
it passed to his brother the Earl of Warwick, and shortly 
after to Sir Robert Dudley, Leicester s son by the Lady 
Douglas Sheffield, to whom it has been generally 
believed that he was married, though he never would 
acknowledge her as his wife. On Dudley persisting in 
remaining abroad without a licence, his manor of Kenil- 
worth was confiscated to the crown in the commencement 
of the following reign, and bestowed by James upon his 
eldest son the lamented Prince Henry. At this time, 
according to a survey which was made of it, the ground 
within the walls was found to consist of seven acres. 
The castle itself is described as built all of hewn free- 
stone, the walls being from four to fifteen feet in thick- 
ness. The circuit of the entire manor was not less than 
nineteen or twenty miles, within which were included 
nearly eight hundred acres of woods, " the like," say the 
surveyors, " both for strength, state, and pleasure, not 
Mng within the realm of England." 

The magnificeqt pile had in feet been reared by the 

labours of four centuries, almost every proprietor into 
whose hands it passed having added something to its 
extent, beauty, and grandeur. John of Gaunt, in par- 
ticular, and Dudley Earl of Leicester, had spared no 
expense to make it, what it was acknowledged eventually 
to be, the noblest mansion in England. Dugdale states 
that the sum expended on the building by the latter did 
not fall short of £60,000. At the commencement of 
the civil wars Kenilworth was in all its glory. But it 
was also on the eve of its destruction. On the ascendancy 
of the republicans, Cromwell bestowed the property upon 
some of his officers, who demolished the castle, and sold 
such of its materials as could be removed for what they 
would bring. For many years after this, its bare and 
crumbling walls were left exposed to the depredations of 
all who chose to make a quarry of them, till the place 
was reduced to the state in which it now is. 

Still, as we have said, the ruin is an extensive and 
magnificent one. Mr. Britton, in his Architectural An- 
tiquities, has given a ground- plan of the building, from 
which a good idea may be formed of what it was in its 
prouder days. Every thing essential to it, either as a 
residence or a fortress, seems to have been contained 
within the ample sweep of its encompassing battlements. 
Its south, east, and west sides were surrounded by a 
broad belt of water, which could also be carried round 
the north. Out-jutting towers of defence guarded it at 
every point The interior comprehended two ample 
courts, named the upper and the lower ward, a large, 
garden and a tilt-yard, surrounded with splendid gal- 
leries for the accommodation of the spectators. At the, 
end farthest removed from the chief buildings stood the 
stables ; near them was the water tower ; and not far 
off, another erection, probably used as the prison of the 
castle. The inhabited part consisted of various suites 
of apartments, many of which seem to have been of the 
most superb description. The great hall, which was 
built by John of Gaunt, and the walls of which are still 
standing, was of the dimensions of eighty-six feet in 
length by forty-five in width. 

The appearance of Kenilworth in its present dilapi- 
dated state is picturesque in the extreme. Much of it 
is covered and overhung with ivy and other clinging 
shrubs, intermixing their evergreen beauty with the 
venerable tints of the mouldering stonework. The noble 
moat, or lake, as it might more properly be called, in 
the midst of Which it once stood, and which in former 
times used to be stored with fish and fowl, is now almost 
dried up. But, besides the hall already mentioned, 
vast portions of the pile are still standing in the same 
dismantled state. The walls of the hall are perforated 
by a series of lofty windows on each side ; and spacious 
tire -places have been formed at both the ends. Another 
remarkable part of the ruin is a tall dark-coloured tower, 
near the centre, supposed to have been built by Geffrey 
de Clinton, and to be the only portion now existing of 
his castle. Like many of the old fortresses, both in this 
country and on the continent, it has obtained the desig- 
nation of Caesar's Tower, probably from the fancy that 
it was erected by that conqueror. One of the gate- 
houses, the work of the Earl of Leicester, is also still 
tolerably entire. The different ruins are still known by 
the names of Lancaster's and Leicester's buildings, in 
memory of their founders. One portion is called King 
Henry's apartments, being that in which it is said King 
Henry VIII. was wont to lodge. 

But the brightest era in the history of Kenilworth was 
in the reign of Elizabeth. The old fame of Leicester's 
splendid festivities has been lately revived among us by 
the graphic pen of Scott, whose rich fancy has also 
peopled the desolation of this fine ruin with some of its 
most vivid creations, although in this instance at the 
expense, it must be allowed, of no slight deviation from 
historic truth. But the hospitalities of Kenilworth had 
been Ce|ebrate4 ton^ ago both in prose and verse. 




Queen Ettssbeth thrice vbited Leicester after he had 
taken possession of this princely domain, fir* in 1565, 
again in 1572, and for the third time in 1575. It was 
on this last occasion, when the royal visit lasted for seven- 
teen days, that the entertainments were most remarkable 
for their cost and gorgeOusness. A long and minute 
account of them was soon after published by a person of 
the name of Laneham, who was in attendance on her 
Majesty ; and George Gascoiffne, the poet, who wrote 
a mask that was acted on the occasion, also sent his 
production to the press. Both works axe to be found in 
the first volume of Mr. Nichols's Progresses and Public 
Processions of Queen Elizabeth, published in 8 vols. 4to. 
in 1828. _______ 


We have shown that the crust of the globe is composed 
of two great classes of rocks, one of which consists of a 
series of beds of stone of different kinds, lying upon one 
Another in a certain determinate order of succession, 
called the Stratified Rocks or the 8trata ; the other of a 
Class of stones distinguishable from the strate by peculiar 
mineral composition, by never containing pebbles or the 
remains of animals and plants, and by never being 
arranged in parallel layers, and from which last chv 
racier they have been denominated the Unstratified 
Rocks. We shall now proceed to show in what manner 
these two classes of rocks are associated together. It is 
e^uhe evident that the mode of formation of the two 
must have been totally different. While the strata, by 
their parallel arrangement, the pebbles of pre-existing 
rocks, and remains of living bodies which they contain, 
demonstrate that they must have been formed under water, 

by deposition from the surface downwards, the whole 
characters of the unstratified rocks equally prove that 
they must have come to the surface from the interior of 
the earth, after the deposition of the strata; that is, that 
they have been ejected among the strata from below is 
a melted condition, either fluid or in a soft yielding state. 
Geologists have come to this conclusion, from a earcfal 
examination and comparison of the unstrained rocb 
with the products of existing volcanoes, or those burning 
mountains that have thrown out streams of melted stone 
or lava, both in past ages, as recorded in history, and in 
our own time. By this comparison they have discovered 
a great similarity, often an identity, of composition b* 
tweeu the unstratified rocks and lava, and the closest 
analogy in the phenomena exhibited by the masses of 
both kinds, and in their relatione to the stratified roda 
with which they come in contact. 

In every case the unstratified rocks lie under the stra- 
tified. Tree order has never been reversed, except in 
oases which have been afterwards discovered to be de- 
ceptive appearances, and where they have been ptotroded 
between strata, as will be afterwards mentioned. But it 
may be said that this fact of inferiority of position » no 
proof of ejection firom below, far less of posteriority of 
formation, for they might have been the foundation on 
which the strata are deposited; their eruption from the 
interior, and that that eruption took place after the 
strata were formed, are proved by other evidence, as we 
shall presently show. 

A section of the crust of the earth, where the stratified 
and unstratified rocks have been found associated together, 
has often exhibited the appearance represented by the 
diagram No. 4. 

[No. 4.] 

A and B are mountains of granite or of whinstone, 
with strata of limestone lying upon it. From A branches 
or shoots, connected with the principal mass are seen to 
penetrate into the superincumbent strata, and in the 
mountain B the granite overlies the limestone for a con- 
siderable way near the top, as if it had flowed over at 
that place> and lower down it has forced its way between 
two strata, ending like a wedge. Now as the pene- 
trating substance must necessarily be of subsequent 
formation to the body that it penetrates, it is evident that 
die granite must have been formed after the limestone, 
although the latter rests upon it. But if any doubt 
remained, it would be removed by the additional factthat 
the granite veins in the mountain A contain angular 
fragments of limestone, identical with the strata above, 
and the fractured ends are seen to fit the places of the 
continuous stratum from which they have been broken off. 

The posteriority of the formation of the unstratified 
rocks to the strata is thus made evident from their rela- 
tive positions; their forcible ejection from below is 
equally proved by the penetration of their veins or shoots 
into the superincumbent strata in an upward direction, 
often with the most slender ramifications to a great 
distance, and by the portions broken from the strata and 
enveloped in the substance of the vein. That they were 
ejected in a soft melted state, produced by the action of* 
heat, is shown by the close resemblance in mineral com- 
position of the unstratified rocks to the products of 
existing volcanoes, and by remarkable changes often ob- 
served to have taken place in the strata where they come 
in contact with granite and whinstone. Soft chalk is 
converted into a hard crystalline limestone like statuary 

marble ; clay and sandstone are changed into a sub- 
stance as hard and compact as flint, and coal is turned 
into coke ; all of them changes which are analogous to 
what takes place when the substances are subjected to ft 
strong artificial heat Under great pressure. In the case 
of coal it is very remarkable ; for when a bed of that 
substance, and a stratum of clay lying next it, come ia 
contact with whmstone, the tar or the coal is often driven 
into the clay, and the coal loses all property of giving 
flame, although, at a distance from the whinstone, it is of 
a rich caking quality. 

We have shown that we are enabled to fix a chrono- 
logical order of succession of the strata with a consider- 
able degree of precision, and although we have not the 
same accurate means of determining the relative ages of 
the unstratified rocks, there are yet very decisive proofs 
that certain classes of them are older than others, that 
different members of the same class have been ejected at 
distinct periods, and that the same substances have been 
thrown up at different times far distant from each other. 
Granite, in veins, has never been seen to penetrate be- 
yond the lower strata ; but whinstone and the lavas o» 
existing volcanoes protrude in masses, and send out 
veins through all the strata : veins of one sort of granite 
traverse masses of another kind, and whinstone and 
basalt veins are not only found crossing masses ana 
other veins of similar rocks, but cicu o»* granite. Upon 
the principle, therefore, before stated, that the penetrating 
substance must necessarily have been formed sabs** 
quently to the body penetrated, the above phenomena 
demonstrate successive formations or ewptiow « ** 
unstratified rocks. Digitized t 




As the highly elevated, broken and contorted positions 
of the strata are only explicable on the supposition of a 
powerful force acting upon them from below, and as 
they are seen so elevated and contorted in the neighbour- 
hood of the unstratified rocks, it is a very legitimate 
inference that the mountain chains and other inequalities 
on the earth's surface have been occasioned by the 
horizontally deposited strata having been heaved up by 
the eruption of these rocks, although they may not 
always appear, but be only occasionally protruded to the 
surface, through the rents produced by the eruptive force. 
The phenomena of earthquakes are connected with the 
same internal action, and these have often been accom- 
panied by permanent elevations of entire portions of a 
country. This theory of the elevation of mountains by 
a force acting from the interior of the earth is not a mere 
inference from appearances presented by rocks, but is 
supported by numerous events which have occurred 
repeatedly within the period of history down to our own 
time. In the middle of a gulf in the island of Santorino, 
ia the Grecian Archipelago, an island rose from the sea 
144 years before the Christian era; in 1427 it was 
raised in height and increased in dimensions; in 1573: 
another island arose in the same gulf, and in 1707 a 
third. These islands are composed of hard rock, and fa 
that last formed there are beds of limestone and of other 
rocks containing shells. In the year 1822, Chili was 
visited by a violent earthquake which raised the whole 
line of coast for the distance of above one hundred miles 
to the height of three or four feet above its former level. 
Valparaiso is situated about the middle of the tract thus 
permanently elevated. A portion of Cutch, near the 
mouth of the Indus, underwent a similar revolution in the 
year 1819, when a district, nearly sixty miles in length by 
sixteen in breadth, was raised by an earthquake about ten 
feet above its original level A volcanic eruption burst 

out in an adjoining part of India at Bhooi at the exact 
period wnen the snocjcs of this earthquake terminated. 
These cases must not be confounded with the production 
of new mountains, such as that of Jorullo in Mexico in 
the year 1759 ? which was raised to the height of 1600 
feet above the table land of Malpais by eruptions of 
scoriae and the outpouring of lava- The appearance of 
a new island off the coast of Sicily in the year 1831 is 
another phenomenon of the latter class, It rose from 
a part of the sea. which was known by soundings a few 
years before to have been 600 feet deep, to the height of 
107 feet above the water, and formed a circumference of 
nearly two-thirds of a mile. It was composed of loose 
cinders, and the part that rose above the level of the sea 
was washed away in the winter of the same year, but an 
extensive shoal remains. 

It must not be supposed that these internal move- 
ments only took place after the whole series of strata* 
represented in diagram No. 1*, had been deposited. 
There must have been long intervals between the termi- 
nation of the deposition of one member of the series and 
the commencement of that of the stratum immediately 
above it ; and internal movements, accompanied with dis- 
turbance of the already deposited strata, after they had 
come to consolidate into stone, appear to have taken 
place during the whole period that the strata, from the 
lowest to the uppermost in the series, were deposited* 
The clearest evidence of this is afforded by certain 
appearances exhibited by the strata in all parts of the 
globe that have yet been examined. The diagram. 
No, 5, represents a case of very common occurence* 
and will explain our meaning : it must be borne ia 
mind that it is an acknowledged principle in geology 
that all stratified rocks, in whatever position they are 
now found, must have bean originally deposited hori- 


[No. 5.) 


There are here five different series of strata, a, b, c, 
(2, e. Now, it is evident, that the series a must have 
been first disturbed ; that, after Ha change of position, 
the series 6 and c were deposited, covering the ends of 
the strata of the series a. But <? appears, to have been 
acted upon by two forces at distant points, when thrown 
out of its horizontal position, for the strata dip in oppo- 
site directions, forming a basin-shaped cavity* in which 
the series d was deposited. In like manner, after the 
disturbance of c, tjie series e was deposited, covering the 
ends of c ; but the internal force which raised the beds e 
from the depths of the sea to the summit of the moun- 
tain where they are now seen, appears to have acted in 
such a direction as to have carried up the whole mass 
without disturbing the original horizontally of the 
structure. It ia obvious that all the interior strata must 
have partaken of this last disturbance. There are, 
besides, numerous proofs that there have been not only 
frequent elevations of the strata, but also depressions ; 
that the same strata which had been at one time raised 
above the surface of the sea had again $unk down, pre- 
serving an inclined position ; that they, had formed the 
ground upon which new sediment was deposited, a/ui 
had again been raised up, carrying along them the more 
recently formed strata, 

In our next Boetiou we shall proceed to point cut cer- 
tain great divisions in the series of stratified rocks, which 
are ^Vmndwh trpon thn thrcmorogicetl ofdei of super- 

position, which we have described in this ar*W}|3*£re* 
ceding sections. 

Tmb 4th of March has been sometimes stated ft be the 
birth-day of Lord Somars ; but neither the day on 
which he was born, nor even the year, is known with 
certainty. It rather appears that the latter was 1650, 
although some accounts make it to have been 1652. 
The father of this distinguished lawyer and statesman 
was an attorney, residing in the town of Worcester. 
Here his son John, the subject of our present notice, 
was born. He was remarked from his earliest years for 
a sobriety and steadiness of disposition, which even pre- 
vented him from joining much in the sports of those of 
his own age ; but both at school and at the university 
he distinguished himself rather by his studiousness than 
by the brilliancy of his talents. He was entered as a 
Gentleman Commoner of Trinity College, Oxford, in 
16T4, and was called to the bar by the Society of the 
Middle Temple in 1676. He did not, however, com- 
mence the exercise of his profession till some years after 
•this; remaining at Oxford till 1681, when his father 
idied, and left him a small property. Meanwhile he had 
jbeen most industriously storing hrs mind both with 
j legal and general knowledge, and had even appeared as 
[a writer, by taking part in a translation of Plutarch's 

*Sse Fenny tegastae, Ifo.H, 

Digitized by l 



[Maich 2, 18& 

laves, and another, in verse, of Ovid's Epistles, which 
were published by Tonson. Some Tracts, on points of 
Constitutional Law, also proceeded from his pen about 
this time, which attracted much notice. Having re- 
moved to London in 1682, and soon after begun to 
practise at the bar, he rapidly rose to professional dis- 
tinction. In the great trial of the Seven Bishops, which 
took place in the Court of Kings Bench on the 29th of 
June, 1688, Somers was engaged as one of the counsel 
for the defendants. His appearance on this occasion 
brought him conspicuously before the nation, both as 
one of the ablest lawyers of the day, and one of the 
most formidable champions of the popular party iu the 
state. It is understood, indeed, that he was already 
one of the confidential advisers of the Prince of Orange. 
Accordingly, at the close of this year, when the Prince, 
after his landing, summoned the Convention, Somers 
was chosen as a representative to that assembly by his 
native town of Worcester. He took a leading part in 
the discussions which followed, and especially distin- 
guished himself in the conference between the Lords 
and Commons, on the famous resolution of the latter, 
that the King, James II., had abdicated the govern- 
ment, and that the throne was thereby become vacant. 
He also acted as chairman of the second of the two 
committees appointed to arrr ge the securities of the 
new settlement, ou whose report was founded the Decla- 
ration of Right; and is probably, therefore, to be con- 
sidered as one of the chief among " those, whose pene- 
trating style," as Burke has strikingly expressed it, 
" has engraved in our ordinances, and in our hearts, the 
Words and spirit of that immortal law." Soon after 
the accomplishment of the Revolution he! Was made 
Solicitor-General, and knighted. On the 2d of May, 
1692, he exchanged this office for that o( Attorney- 
General ; and on the 23d of March, in the following 
year, he was elevated to the dignity of Lord Keener of 
the Great Seal. He presided in the Court of Chi 
under this title till the 22d of April, 1697, when r 
appointed Lord High Chancellor, and raised ( 
peerage as Baron Somers of Evesham. The JKin 
bestowed upon him at the same time a grant < 
manors of Reygate and Howleigh in Surrey, 
about £600 per annum, together with an annu 
money of £2,100. The place which he now oc< 
was no higher than that to which the most com 
judges, and indeed the public generally, had loi 
garded him as both destined and entitled. '••' Thou 
had made a regular progress," says Addison, ( 4 
holder/ No. 39,) " through the several honours < 
long-robe, he was always looked upon as one 
deserved a superior station, till he arrived at the h 
dignity to which these studies could advance him." 
In the parliament, however, which met in Dece 
169S, the party to which Lord Somers had been j 
life opposed, appeared in great and unusual stn 
It was not long before they began to direct the 
violent and persevering attacks against the Chan 
Of their charges, we can only afford room to state 
they now seem to be considered, by historians 
shades of opinion, as entirely without foundation. J 
time, however, they served the purpose of their ai 
too well. After various other proceedings, on the 
of April, 1700, an address was moved in the Hoi 
Commons for the dismissal of the Chancellor. Ii 
negatived ; but King William, alarmed by the pertii 
of the enemies of his able and honest minister, 
actuated by the hope that by that sacrifice the clar 
of the faction might be appeased, a few days after 
Lord Somers to make a voluntary surrender of the 
His lordship did not think that it became him thus to 
assist by his own act those who wished to accomplish his 
degradation, and he respectfully refused to comply with 
the royal request The King then sent an express de- 
maud for the seals, when they were instautlj delivered. 

But even the dismissal of Lord Somers did not put 
an end to the persecution of which he was the ohject 
On the 14th of April, 1701, the House of Commons sent 
up articles of impeachment against him to the Lords. 
When the day for the trial came* however, nobody ap- 
peared to support the charges ; and his lordship was of 
course acquitted. He now retired altogether for some 
time from public affairs, devoting himself to those literary 
and scientific pursuits which in his busiest days he had 
never entirely neglected. He had always indeed shown 
himself in the days of his power a zealous patron of 
literature. Among the eminent persons whom his en- 
couragement contributed to bring into notice may be 
mentioned the celebrated Mr. Addison, who dedicated to 
him one of his early poems, and also, in 1 702, his Travels 
in Italy, in a very flattering address. The first volume 
of the Spectator is likewise dedicated to Lord Somers. 
In 1702 his lordship Was elected President of the Royal 
Society* of which he had long been a member. 

He afterwards returned to public life; and in 1706 
introduced a very important bill, for removing certain 
defects in the practice of the courts of law. He has also 
the credit of having been the chief projector of the union 
with Scotland, and he -certainly took an active part in 
the promotion of that measure. He was also again in 
place, as President of the Council, from 1708 to 1710; 
and even after his second dismissal from office, in the 
latter year, continued for some time to be an active and 
powerful debater in the House of Lords. His health, 
however, at length began rapidly to decline, and although 
he appeared at the Council Board after the accession of 
George I., both his body and mind were by that time so 
much enfeebled as to incapacitate him from taking any 
share in business. At last, on the 26th of April, 1716, 
a stroke of apoplexy terminated his sufferings in death. 
Lord Somers never was married, and hid esta'<s went 
to the .descendants nf a. nisier. 

%- rat unee or tut aoattj ror rut i*trwi<m or utera i 


^ PmUa4 b/ Wiu.iAM,Cww«, Stsafetf 8Um*, 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 



Society for. the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



[March 9, 1833. 


[Hotel de Ville of Brussels] 

Having in a former number given a brief description of 
the capital of Belgium, we shall now speak more parti- 
cularly of the Town-house of Brussels, or Hotel de Ville, 
as it is called in the French language. When we read' 
of the noble public edifices that adorn so many towns 
in the Low Countries, and the numerous useful works 
that have been executed to favour commerce and pro- 
mote the general welfare, we are naturally led to inquire 
-Vol. II. 

into the history of a people, who, though living on a 
very limited territory, have held a most important rank 
in Europe for many centuries. 

We find that before England had become the seat of 
manufacturing industry, and long before she had im- 
proved her internal communication by good roads and 
canals, the industrious people of the Lev Countries had 
acquired both these important instruments of wealth ; 

Digitized by VjO^OQIC 



[Maoto D, 

and though living in the midst of the remains of Jeudal 
tyranny, the towns had obtained privileges which their 
masters could not often venture to trample on, and the 
spirit of a democratic constitution tempered and cou- 
trolled the sovereignty of the monarch and (lie n6bles. 
The description* which we are about to give of this 
""building, and of its uses, applies to a period before the 
•first French Revolution, while the old magistracy of the 
town still existed, and Brussels belonged to the house 
of Austria. : - 

The Grand Place (by an oversight called the Place 
Royat ni the former article dtl Brussels), called also the 
great market, is an oblong square. Its chief ornament 
is the Hotel de Ville, or Town-hall, a Gothic building of 
a square form, and the handsomest structure of the kind 
in the Low Countries. This edifice was commenced in 
1400, and finished in 1442. The tower, which is of a 
pyramidal form, does not stand precisely in the centre of 
the building. Its height is 364 feet, and its summit is 
crowned with a gilded statue of St. Michael trampling a 
dragon under his feet. The statue itself is 17 feet high, 
and as it turns with the wind serves the purpose of a 
weathercock. Like all the rest of the edifice this tower 
is built of a very durable blue-coloured stone. 

The principal door is immediately under the tower, 
and an open piazza, which runs the whole length of 
the front, is formed by columns, which support a ter- 
race of the same depth as the piazza itself. This 
terrace is ornamented with a stone-sculptured balus- 
trade, loaded with ornaments. On the right side of 
the piazza is a staircase, by which we enter the rooms 
of the building, and this is properly the real entrance. 
The front has forty windows, and between each is a niche, 
designed to receive statues of the sovereigns and cele- 
brated men of Brabant The roof is -slated, and pierced 
with about eighty small windows, which have pointed tops 
or coverings, and gilded ornaments. On the entablature 
of the wall a balustrade rises breast high, and serves as 
the finish. The top of the roof is covered with lead, 
and variously ornamented. On passing through the 
principal door we come to an oblong square, or court; 
the buildings which form it were erected after the bom- 
bardmeut of 1695, when the French, under Marshal 
Vilieroi, destroyed fourteen churches, and several thou- 
sand houses. This court contains two fountains, each 
adorned with a statue of white marble, representing a 
river-god reclining in the midst of reeds, and resting 
one arm on an urn. All the rooms of the edifice are 
capacious and elevated, and each was appropriated to 
some particular purjwse. That in which the states of 
Brabant met, together with its appendages," is in the 
part constructed after the bombardment of 1695, and 
merits a particular notice. It is connected with four 
other apartments, one of which used to be occupied 
by the officers of the states; there was also the re- 
gistry room near it, and several other apartments of 
small size. The great room is reached by a gallery, 
containing six portraits of dukes of Brabant by C. 
Grange". In three of the chambers are tapestries,-ivhich 
were made from the designs of Le Brun, and hdVe 
reference to the history of Clovis. The ceiling of the 
second was painted by V. H. Janssens, and is an alle- 
gorical representation of the three estates of Brabant 
— the clergy, nobility, atid the tiers e*tat; which last 
consisted of the towns of Lou vain, Brussels, and Ant- 
werp. Over the chimney is a picture representing God- 
frey III., called the bearded, in his cradle, which is hung 
from a tree in the midst of his army. The sight of 
the cradle animated his soldiers to such a degree, that 
after three days' fighting they gained a decisive victory 
over the confederate princes of Grimberghe and Malines. 
Qrer tne chimney in the third room are the portraits of 
Maximilian of Austria and Maria of Burgundy. The 
fourth room, that in which the states assembled, and 
• Description 4* Bnixelles, 1743. Do, 1782, 

which" was called the states**chamber, is highly orna- 
mented : over the chimney is a portrait of a Prince of 
Lorrain, painted by Lins. The canopy and its adjuncts 
were of crimson velvet, ornamented "with ' $old fringe, 
Under the canopy is a standing portrait of Joseph 11., 
painted by Herreyhs of Antwerp. The ceiling, which 
was painted by Janssens, represents the assembly of the 
gods : the cornice is enriched with gilded scufptuo. 
Between the windows are painted the three chief towns, 
Louvain, Brussels, and Antwerp. All the part of the wall 
opposite the window is furnished with beautiful tapes- 
tries — one representing the inauguration of Charles VI., 
another the abdication of Charles V., and the third the 
inauguration of Philip the Good. These tapestries were 
executed by L. Legniers, after the designs of Janssens. 
On each side of the throne are two mirrors, under each 
of which is a table, made of a composition to imitate 
marble*, and on this composition the topographical 
maps of Brabant are cut with the greatest accuracy. 
The great table which was placed in the middle of the 
room was 12 feet wide and 40 long, and covered with 
velvet, which was ornamented with a deep fringe of 
gold, and hung down on the floor. 

The Hotel de Ville of Brussels enjoyed a large in- 
come, arising from the duties levied on provisions, 
drinkables, and the rents of permanent property, such as 
our corporations possess. The magistracy of the towa 
had at its head a functionary called Amman (amtmann 
in German, i. e. office-man), who, with his lieutenant, 
secretaries, registrars of the town and the treasury, were 
for life. The other officers of the town were changeable 
yearly, but could be continued at the pleasure of the 
sovereign. The amman, being the" first of the officers 
who composed the municipal body of Brussels, wa?, 
with his lieutenant, named by the sovereign ; and it was 
required that he, as well as his lieutenant, should be 
natives of Brabant, of noble birth, and born in wedlock. 

The burgomaster, the seven echevins (sheriffs), the two 
treasurers, and the superintendent of the Rivaget* were 
named by the sovereign out of seven patrician families, 
and, as we have said, could be continued iu office as 
long as the sovereign wished. The newly-chosen fM§& 
trates elected from among the burgesses, who compost 
the nation*, a burgomaster, nine counsellors, two re 
ceivers of the town, and the receiver of the Rivage, wh.i 
composed the large council. These men were tee re 
ceivers, not the treasurers of the town* and had t!e 
management of all the town money: they wceivel 
payed, and finally accounted before the tnagtatiates, & 
large council, and the deans of the nauoitffe The* 
nations represented the body of the Brussels fclrges^ 
and were nine hi number, each nation forming-. * ^ 
containing several trades. Each trade had m dean?, 
and its own separate council, composed of the ofcl dean*: 
and each nation also had its council* composed in 1& 
manner of old deans ; and every nation had the n» n]e 
of some male or female saint. When the moitetth ^ 
any demand, the nine nations joined the latfle council 
and the town magistrates, to deliberate if tw i&nw 
should be granted or refused. The magistrates et the 
town had one vote, and the large cotitidi and eftch oi 
the nations one, which in all made eleven. If the nw 
jority was in favour of the demand* it was grltated ; ij 
against, it was finally rejected. The natkms assembled 
at the Hotel de Ville at the sound of a bell, called the 
bell of the nations. 

To be made a citizen (burgess) of Brussels a person 
applied to the town magistrates, and on the payment ol 
a certain sum was admitted as a citizen. But if a man 
wished to carry on a trade, or some particular roecba* 

* Deux tromeaux de tres |fines glaces.— ZV#en/rft«i dt BruxrftH 
1743. Some sfty jasper. 

f A part of Brussels containing the corn-quay* the to^*^ 
and other places, to receive the commodities brought by the cku* 
or other communications, 

Digitized by VjOOQ IC ' 




nical business, it was not enough to be made a citizen : 
jt was necessary to be admitted also into the community 
of the business or art which he wished to follow. Some 
professions however were open, such as that of banker 
and agent The Hotel de Ville then, it appears from 
this statement, served, among other purposes, as a place 
of - deliberation for the representatives of the city of 
Brussels, whenever any business of great importance 
called them together. The complicated form of go- 
vernment which formerly prevailed in these old cities 
may be imagined from the little that we have stated 
about it ; and the system of privileges and restrictions 
as to the free exercise of trade, whatever advantages it 
umy have had at first (for such things sometimes have 
their rise in a really useful principle, though more fre- 
quently they have rested on erroneous notions), must 
have ultimately proved detrimental to these cities. The 
History of Aix-la-Chapelfe, with the factions and feuds of 
the contending interests, is one of the most curious and 
instructive that we can refer to. 


Afar in the desert I love to ride, 

With the silent bush-boy alone by my side, 

When the sorrows of lire the soul o'ercast, 

An 1, sick of the present, I turn to the past ; 

When the eye is suffused with regTetful tears 

From the fond recollections of former years, 

And shadows of things that have long since fled 

Flit over the brain, like ghosts of the dead ;— 

Bright visions of glory that vanished too soon, — 

Day-dreams that departed ere manhood's noon, 

Attachments by rate or by falsehood reft, — 

Companions of early days lost or left ; 

And my native land — whose magical name 

Thrills to the heart like electric flame, — 

The home of my childhood, — the haunts of my prime, — 

All the passions and scenes of that rapturous time 

When the feelings were young, and the world was new, 

like the fresh bowers of Eden unfolding to view ;— 

All — all now forsaken, forgotten, foregone ! 

And I — a lone e*ile remembered of none — 

If y high aims abandoned,— my good acts undone,— 

Aweary of all that is under the sun, — 

With that 8*4ness of heart which no stranger may scan, 

I j to the desert afar from man I 

Alar Jn the detert 1 love to ride, 
With the silent bush-boy alone by my side, 
When the ways of the world oppress the heart, 
And I'm tired of its vanity, vileness, and art ; 
Whea the wild turmoil ofthis wearisome life. 
With its somes of oppression, corruption, and strife,— 
JW ppwid man's frown, and the base man's fear, — 
ne a^orners laugh, and the sufferer's tear, — 
Mad malice, and meanness, and falsehood, and tolly, 
Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy $ 
yfhfsi my bosom is mil, and my thoughts are high, 
Aad my soul is sick with the bondinau's sigh— 
Oh I then there is freedom, and joy, and pride, 
A£ur in the desert alone to ride I 
3rocf» is rapture to vault on the champing steed, 
A*4 i* bound away with the eagle's speed, 
With the death-fraught firelock in my hand- 
The only law of the desert land ! 

Afer in the desert I love to ride, 

With the silent bush-boy alone by my sido 

Away — away from the dwellings of men, 

By the wildieer's haunt, by trie buffalo's glen ; 

By valleys remote where the oribi plays, 

Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the hartfcbeest graze, 

And the gemsbok and eland unhunted recline 

By the skirts of grey forests overhung with wild-vine , 

Where the elephant browses at peace in his wood, 

And the river-horse gambols ungeared in the flood, 

And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will 

In the v'ley* where the wild-ass is drinking his fill. 

Afar in the desert I love to ride, 

With the silent .busrwboy alone by my side,' 

O'er, the brown Karroo, where the bleating cry 

Of the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively ; 

Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane 

As he scours with his troop o'er the desolate plain 5 

* P^ley, or vM, a lake or marsh. 

And the timorous quagha's whistling neigh 

Is heard by the fountain at foil of day ; : 

And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste 

Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste, 

Hying away to the home of her rest 

\\ here she and her mate have scooped their nest. 

Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's view ' 

In the pathless depths of the parched Karroo. 1 

Afar in the desert I love to ride, 

With the silent bush-boy alone by my side; 

Away — away — in the wilderness vast, 

Where the white man's foot hath never passed, 

And the quivered Coranna or Bechuan 

Huth rarely crossed with his roving clan : 

A region of emptiness, howling and drear, 

Which man hath abandoned from famine And fear; 

Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root, 

Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot ; 

And the bitter-melon, for food apd drink, " 

Is the pilgrim's fare by the salt-lake's brink : 

A region of drought, where no riversides, 

Nor rippling broolf with osiered sides ; 

Where reedy pool, nor palm-girt fountain, 

Nor shady tree, nor cloud-capt mountain, 

Is found, to refresh the aching eye : 

But the barren earth, and the burning sky, 

And the blank horizon, round and round, 

Without a break — without a bound, 

Spread — void of living sight or sound. 

And here, while the night-winds round me sigh, 
And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky, 
As I sit apart by the desert stone, 
Like Elijah at Horeb's cave alone, 
" A still small voice" comes through the wild- 
Like a father consoling his fretful child — 
Which banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear,— 
Saying — " man is distant, but god is near \" 

\* The above poem was written about ten years ago at the Cape 
of Good Hope. It first appeared in the 'South African Journal* 
for April 1824; and has been since reprinted, sometimes very in- 
accurately, in several collections of fugitive poetry. The present 
copy has been revised by the author (Mr. T. Fiingle) for this 


No. 4. 
Previously to showing the way of finding how much a 
given sum per year will yield per day, we will make one 
remark on the use to be made of the remainder in 
division. When the remainder is to be thrown away, if 
it be as great as half the divisor, the last figure of the 
quotient should be increased by 1. Thus 97 dividecUby 
11, which gives the quotient 8 and the remainder 9, or 
8 ft-, should rather be written 9 than 8, when the fraction 
is to be thrown away. 

Again, division by 20 is the same as division by 2, 
if the quotient be removed one place more to the right 
than would be the case in division by 2. Thus, 

78 rem. 13 
or 79 rejecting the fraction. 

To And how much a given sum, say .£2739. 19$. Sf d. 
per year, will yield per day, first convert this sum as in 
No. 1, retaining only the first figure found from the • 
shillings, or annexing a cipher if there be less than 
two shillings, which gives 27399. Divide first by four, 
then by eleven, then by twenty, repeating the successive 
divisions by eleven and twenty, until there is no longer 
any quotient, and attending to the above remark in 
disposing of the remainder. Add all the quotients as 




* This ought to be 6849, with a remainder 3. Throw AKay ths 
3, and increase the quotient by 1, which gives 6850. 


6850 < 






Digitized by 




[Much 9, 

Cut off the three last places 507, which convert into 
shillings, pence, and farthings, as in No. 1, and let 
all the remaining places be pounds. This gives 
*£7. 10*. Ijrf., which is within one farthing of the truth. 
Suppose it required to find how much sixty millions 
of pounds sterling gives per day. Annexing a cipher 
by the rule, dividing by 4, &c. we have 


















which gives ,£164,383. 11*. 2f<*., within a farthing of 
the truth. In such a case as this, where the pounds 
only are of consequence, we might have neglected the 
three columns on the right, which Would have saved 
two divisions and shortened the rest We should have 
begun, in that case, by striking off two ciphers instead 
of annexing one. 

A near guess, sufficient fo* most purposes, may be 
obtained in the following wary. The number of pence 
per day is very nearly two thirds of the number of 
pounds per year. Hence subtract one-third of the 
pounds from the pounds, and let the result be pence. 
This result is too great by about a farthing for every 
eighteen pence in it, and too little by a farthing for every 
eight shillings rejected in taking the pounds. For 
example, £ 100 gives above two thirds of lOOd. per day, 
or about 67d., or bs. Id. This contains eighteen pence 
about three times, so that St. 6JA is nearer the truth, 
which is about 5*. 5|ci. 


[North Front of Chelsea Hospital.] 

Thb opposite banks of the noble river which flows 
through the British metropolis, could not be more fitly 
adorned than they are by those two great monuments of, 
the public beneficence, the Hospitals of Greenwich and 
Chelsea, Both these retreats are splendid places; the 
former, especially, is one of the most magnificent palaces 
in the country ; and yet their inmates are, for the most 
part, merely private soldiers and sailors. It may be said 
that they are, after all, but the abodes of persons of 
poor and low degree, and that there is an unsuitableness 
in giving those a palace to dwell in, whose mode of life 
in other respects is about on a level with that of the 
inhabitants of cottages. Thus might those argue who 
looked to the matter with a reference only to physical 
considerations, and could not, or would not, view it in its 
moral bearings. But we should not, we confess, be 

satisfied to see the institutions founded by the bounty of 
the nation for the shelter of its veteran defenders, con- 
sist merely of so many ranges of hovels. The economy. 
we apprehend, would neither be appropriate nor pro- 
fitable. Every time one of our gallant seamen now 
casts his eye upon Greenwich, every time he has the 
gorgeous pile before him in fancy, it is an inspiration to 
him of the same character with that which is derived 
from the anticipation of public honours in any other 
profession in which they may be gained. He feels 
proudly that in his old age he will not be accounted a 
burthen by his country, but that he shall receive from 
her, and be held worthy of, something more than mere 
bread. - 

Chelsea Hospital is a very inferior structure to that oi 
Greenwich as a display of architectural beauty ; but » 

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is at least a convenient and neat building, and alto- 
gether, with its airy and spacious courts and walks, far 
from being destitute of imposing effect The design is 
said to have been Sir Christopher Wren's. It consists 
of three courts, two of which are complete quadrangles, 
while the central one is open on the side next the river. 
In the part of the building which fronts this opening 
are a large hall on the one side and a chapel on the 
other, both of which contain some pictures, though none 
of any great merit. The chapel is 110 feet in length 
by 30 in width, and the hall is of the same dimensions. 
The only other large apartments in the building are 
some of those forming the lodgings of the governor, 
which are at the extremity of the eastern wing of the 
principal court In the centre of the court stands a 
bronze statue of Charles II., in a Roman dress. 

Hie wards of the pensioners are sixteen iu number, 
each being 200 feet in length and 12 in breadth, and 
containing twenty-six beds. They occupy the greater 
portion of the two wings of the principal court, each of 
which is 365 feet in length. The officers have small 
separate apartments. The other two courts contain an 
infirmary, furnished with hot and cold baths, and apart* 
ments for the treasurer, chaplain, apothecary, and other 
functionaries. The regular number of in*pensioners is 
four hundred and seventy-six, of whom twenty-six are 
captains, thirty-two Serjeants, thirty-two corporals, and 
the rest privates. But the institution also supports some 
thousands of out-pensioners. 

Tbe ground on which Chelsea Hospital now stands 
was formerly occupied by a college, founded in 1609 by 
Dr. Matthew Sutcliffe, Dean of Exeter, for a somewhat 
singular purpose. It was ordained to consist of a pro- 
vost and nineteen fellows, all to be in holy orders except 
two, whose business it should be to wage a constant war 
of the pen with Roman Catholics, Arminians, Pela- 
gians, and other heretics. James I., who took a keen 
interest in the scheme, granted it a charter in 1610, in 
which it is declared that it should go under the name of 
King James's College at Chelsea. It seems also to 
bave been called the Controversy College. This insti- 
tution had the honour of enrolling among its members 
Camden, who was nominated its historian, Sir Henry 
Spelman, Antonius de Dominis the celebrated Arch- 
bishop ot &palatro, and many learned divines ; but it 
uerer arrived at any prosperity. The subscriptions 
which Were solicited for its support could not be ob- 
tained » And, although the founder left it a considerable 
amoam of property at his death, in 1629, it was found 
that daily a small part even of this bequest could be re- 
covered. Buildings, however, of considerable extent had 
been erected. Soon after the restoration the property 
appears to have been estreated to the crown, which 
indeed had frequently before this assumed the power of 
making use of the place for purposes of its own. For 
some time it was used as a receptacle for foreign pri- 
soners. At length, in 1669, Charles II. granted it to 
the newly incorporated Royal Society. They retained 
possession of it till 1682, when they sold it back to the 
King for £1,300. The old buildings were immediately 
thrown down, and on the 12th of May, in the same 
year, the first stone of the present fabric was laid by 
Charles himself, attended by a great number of the prin- 
cipal nobility and gentry. The crown, however, was 
not at the whole expense of the erection. Large con- 
tributions to the work were made by several public- 
spirited individuals. Sir Stephen Fox, the ancestor of 
the present noble family of that name, gave no less a 
sum than £ 13,000. According to tradition the person 
who first suggested the project was the notorious Nell 
Gwyn. She, according to the common story, is said to 
have prevailed upon the King to undertake the work, 
her compassion for the destitute situation of the dis- 
banded veterans of the army having been strongly 

excited by one of them coming up one day to the door 
of her coach, and soliciting charity, with a piteous tale 
of the wounds he had received in the royal cause. The 
edifice was not completed till the year 1690, in the 
reign of William and Mary. For a fuller account or 
this hospital the reader may consult Lysons s Environs 
of London, and Faulkner's History of Chelsea. 


In a preceding number of the Magazine we gave a phort 
description of the structure and use of the human lungs ; 
and we shall now make a few observations on the prin- 
cipal diseases to which they are liable, — namely, catarrh, 
pleurisy, inflammation of the lungs, and consumption. 

The first three are all of the nature of ordinary in- 
flammation, but as they have their seats in different parts 
of the lungs or their immediate connexions, medical men 
have assigned to them different names. That the reader 
may have an idea of the source of these distinctions, he 
must be informed that the pulmonary organs have been 
divided by anatomists into three distinct textures, which 
may be individually or collectively the seat of disease. 
In the first place, branches of the windpipe perforate 
the lungs in every direction, and these as well as the 
windpipe are lined throughout by a delicate membrane 
similar to the lining of the mouth and nostrils; in- 
flammation of this membrane constitutes catarrh or 
common cola\ Secondly, the outside of each lung is 
covered by a still more delicate' membrane, 'thin and 
transparent like " silver " paper, called the pleura ; inflam- 
mation of this membrane constitutes pleurisy. Thirdly, 
there is a texture contained between the internal and 
external membranes just described, which consists of the 
vessels and other proper substance of the lungs ; inflam- 
mation of this intervening texture is what is known in 
technical language by the name of inflammation of the 
lungs. Consumption is a disease of a nature quite apart 
from that of ordinary inflammation. 

No class of diseases have afforded, under certain cir- 
cumstances, more difficulty in their discrimination than 
those of the chest. The various inflammatory attacks 
when they existed in a severe degree, have befen at times 
confounded with each other ; and the protracted effects 
of inflammation in the living body, are still frequently 
mistaken by the public for the presence of consumption. 
A patient may have violent cough, frequent expectoration 
of purulent matter, shortness of breath, sense of pain or 
oppression in the chest, wasting of the flesh, hectic fever, 
and yet all these symptoms may be the consequence or 
an extensive and long continued attack of catarrh ; or 
this (and it less rarely occurs) with the effects of a 
dangerous pleurisy, or of inflammation of the proper 
substance of the lungs. The difficulty experienced in 
attempting to discriminate these diseases is explained in 
the fact that they have many symptoms in common. 
Every severe derangement of the lungs and their con- 
nexions is sure to be accompanied with cough, shortness 
of breath, and one or more of the other symptoms 
enumerated above. The difficulty of discrimination is 
further accounted for in the peculiar position of the 
lungs. As the lungs are contained within a bony case 
formed by the ribs, we are unable, when any portion of 
their structure is changed by disease, to ascertain either 
by our sight or our touch the exact character and seat of 
the morbid change, and, if we have no Other means of 
forming an opinion, we are obliged to depend on the 
external symptoms, which may, as has been previously 
observed, occasionally deceive us. 

Until the year 1816, indeed, no better way had been 
discovered of discriminating pulmonary diseases ; but at 
this period, Dr. Loennec, an eminent physician of Paris, 
hit upon a new method. It consisted in applying the 
ear to the purposes of discrimination, and the originality 

Digitized by 




IMaIor $, 

and strangeness of the discovery excited great surprise 
and no little incredulity amongst the profession of the 
day. Dr. Lcennec was led to enter on this new path by 
a very simple circumstance. By bringing his car near 
to the chest of a patient, he observed that certain sounds 
Were emitted from the chest during the act of breathing. 
Following up the hint, he constructed an instrument on 
the principle of an ear-trumpet that the sounds might be 
heard the more distinctly, and with this instrument, 
called a stethoscope, he commenced a series of observa- 
tions. These observations, after having been prosecuted 
with astonishing assiduity for several years, ended in 
Lcennec's giving publicity to the fruits of his labours. 
Their general result showed that the lungs when in a 
healthy state always emit during respiration sounds of a 
peculiar character; and in the progress of their diseases 
that lhey emit sounds of a different description, each 
disease, singular to say, having Us own variety of sounds. 
This, the acoustic mode of discrimination, has since had 
an extended trial, and its claims to utility are now recog- 
nised by professional men in various parts of the world. 

The inflammatory diseases of the chest are as curable 
as inflammation in other parts of the body ; but the 
consumptive disease is one of the most intractable with 
Which we are acquainted. Conscientious medical men 
at once admit that patients in whom consumption has 
been established very rarely recover; yet there are 
quacks who pretend to be able to cure every instance, 
and, what is still more to be regretted, such persons have 
often succeeded in bringing over a portion of the public 
to believe in their pretensions. It is not difficult, how- 
ever, to account for this apparent success. An affec- 
tionate mother for instance, who has delicate female 
children, is exceedingly apt, should any of them become 
subject to cough to take alarm, and to immediately con- 
clude that the cough is a sign of the commencement of 
consumption. If, while under this impression, the mother 
obtains the opinion of a quack, she is certain to have her 
suspicions corroborated. The child is then submitted to 
his treatment, and though the complaint be a common 
cold or any other complaint equally curable, he will 
publish the case, as soon as recovery comes about, as a 
cure of consumption, and the mother who was at first 
deceived by her own affectionate solicitude, and after- 
wards duped by the cunning of the impostor, will volun- 
tarily attest his certificate of skill. This is a fair sample 
of the manner in which quackery secures its advocates 
and its victims. On the list of the honourable practi- 
tioner we never find these " surprising cures." No, 
when he is consulted in such cases, he assures the mother 
that her impressions are groundless, prescribes for the 
patient, and, when the affection is removed, the only 
credit he claims or receives is the credit of having sub- 
dued a catarrh, or other result of common inflammatory 

Although the nicest judgment of the scientific physi- 
cian be occasionally required to discriminate consumption 
in the living body, from the chronic effects of pectoral 
inflammation, there is no difficulty in their discrimination 
when we come to examine the contents of the chest after 
death. In an examination of a consumptive patient 
after death, the lungs are found in a state which cannot 
be produced by any other known disease. Were the 
public in possession of any rational conception of this 
state, it would effectually shield them from the designs 
of those unprincipled persons who pretend to have a 
specific for its removal. In the language of medicine 
the lungs of consumptive patients are said to contain 
tubercles or small tumors, and we shall presently lay 
before the reader a sketch of the progress of these ex- 
traordinary and destructive bodies. 

The seeds of the disease, which will eventually estab- 
lish consumption, may be deposited in his lungs a con- 
siderable time' before the patient is aware of any altera- 

tion in his genera! health. He may be engaged for 
weeks in the routine of business or of pleasure, previous 
to his receiving any warning of the pulmonary danger, 
Unless, perhaps, in a trifling irritation about the top of 
the windpipe, accompanied by a dry tickling cough. A 
sight of the lungs, during this early stage, can be ob- 
tained only in case the patient be destroyed by the 
inroad of some other disease, or by an accident. Then, 
on opening the chest, the following appearances present 

In the upper half of both lungs, great numbers of 
roundish bodies, somewhat resembling* small pearls, arc 
seen scattered. They are of a pale grey colour, and 
vary in size from that of a millet to that of a hempseed. 
They feel hard, and adhere to the substance ofthelun^s, 
in which they are set after the manner of currants in the 
surface of a pudding. These are the remarkable bodies 
called tubercles. Their structure is altogether foreign to 
the healthy structure of the lungs ; but the functional or 
organic change of the latter, which must necessarily 
precede their formation, is not as yet clearly explained. 
In the obscurity of their origin, they resemble certain plants 
that suddenly spring up in places where their species were 
previously unknown. It is certain, however, that the 
elements of tubercles are not derived from the atmo- 
sphere, for they are often found in parts of the human 
frame, such as the bones, to which the atmospheric air 
cannot gain admission. 

This early stage, we have remarked, may or may 
not be attended with slight external symptoms. The 
tubercles are too small and too slow in their growth to 
disturb as yet, in any marked degree, the vital functions 
of the surrounding parts. The substance of the lungs 
quietly yields to their pressure, and the respiration is not 
sensibly affected by their morbid encroachment But, 
once created, tubercles will, in a longer or shorter time, 
proceed through their accustomed course. Their pro- 
gress may be conveniently divided into three stages, of 
which two stages remain to be described. 

In the first stage, the tubercles had attained the sue 
of millet and of nempseeds. In the second stage, they 
continue to increase in size, and, drawing nearer to each 
other, they appear arranged into irregular groups. A 
yellow speck soon becomes developed -in the centre of 
each tubercle, and, extending it slowly, encroaches on 
the grey structure, of which the tubercle seemed ori- 
ginally composed, until the grey colour completely dis- 
appears in the yellow. Individually the size of the 
tumours may now be included between that of a pea and 
a filbert. Their structure is still firm, and several may 
be seen either coalescing or united into one mass. 

The third stage is at hand. The groups of tubercles 
pre united into homogenous masses, generally equal in 
size, or rather larger than a walnut. The structure of 
each mass becomes gradually softer and moister, and if 
pressed between the fingers at this time, it feels greasy 
like new cheese. Continuing to soften, it gradually 
passes from the solid to the fluid state. The fluid first 
forms in the centre of the mass, and its quantity steadily 
augments until the solid portions of the tubercles are 
completely broken down. In a short time, these fluid 
tubercles Durst into the air tubes, and are expectorated in 
a violent fit of coughing, leaving hollow ulcers in the 
substance of the lungs. 

This is the history of genuine consumption, on the 
tubercular disease of which more than a fourth of the in- 
habitants of Great Britain are said to perish. Com- 
mencing, as we have seen, in small hard grains, the 
tubercles gradually increase in size, and change their 
colour from grey to yellow. They then unite into irre- 
gular masses. The centres of these masses become 
soft, and afterwards fluid. The fluidity eventually in- 
volves the whole mass, and this is the final transform^- 
'tioii which tubercles undergo before they burst into the 

Digitized by 





air tubes and are expectorated. The constitution of the 
patient generally begins to suffer in the second stage. 
In the third stage the symptoms are still more severe. 
Harassing cough has then set in, and fever, with co* 
pious night-sweats, &c. A temporary relief may succeed 
to the expectoration of the first fluid tubercles ; but new 
crops will continue to form and go through the same 
process, until the lungs of the patient are no longei. 
capable of sustaining life, and his body is reduced to 
almost the figure of a skeleton* 

As we have not space at present, we shall perhaps 
. make Borne remarks hereafter on the medical treatment 
suitable to consumption. 


Os the 11th of March, 1544, was born at Sorrento, 
near Naples, Torquato Tasso, the great author of the 
Gerusalemme Liberata (Jerusalem Delivered). His 
father was Bernardo Tasso, also a scholar and a poet, in 
his own day of considerable repute. The life of Tasso 
was almost from its commencement a troubled romance. 
His infancy was distinguished by extraordinary pre- 
cocity ; but he was yet a mere child when political events 
induced his father to leave Naples, aud, separating 
himself from his family, to take up his abode at Rome. 
Hither Torquato, when he was only in his eleventh year, 
was called upon to follow him, and to bid adieu both to 
what had been hitherto his home, and to the only 
parent whom it might almost be said he had ever known. 
The feelings of the young poet expressed themselves 
upon this occasion in some lines of great tenderness and 
beauty, which have been thus translated :— 

a Forth from a mother's festering breatt 
Fate plucks me in my helpless years : 
With sighs I look back on her tears 
Bathing the lips her kisses prest; 
Alas ! her pure and ardent prayers 
The fugitive breeze now idly bears I 
No longer breathe we face to face, 
Gathered in knot-like close embrace ; 
Like young Ascauius or Camill', my feet 
Unstable seek a wandering sire's retreat." 

He never again saw his mother ; she died about 
eighteen months after he had left her. The only near 
relation he now had remaining besides his father was a 
•sister; and from her also he was separated, those with 
whom she resided after her mother's death at Naples 
preventing her from going to share, as she wished to do, 
the exile of her father and brother. But after the two 
latter had been together for about two years at Rome,! 
circumstances occurred which again divided them. Ber- 
nardo found it necessary to consult his safety by retiring 
from that city, on which he proceeded himself to Urbino, 
and sent his son to Bergamo, in the north of Italy. The 
favourable reception, however, which the former found at 
the court of the Duke of Urbrno, induced him in a few 
months to send for Torquato ; and when he arrived, the 
graces and accomplishments of the boy so pleased the 
Duke, that he appointed him the companion of his own 
son in his studies. They remained at the court of 
Urbino for two years, when, in 1559, the changing fortunes 
of Bernardd drew them from thence to Venice. This 
unsettled life, however, had never interrupted the youth- 
ful studies of Tasso ; and after they had resided for some 
time at Venice, his father sent him to the University of 
Padua, in the intention that he should prepare himself 
for the profession of the law. But all views of this kind 
were soon abandoned by the young poet Instead of 
perusing Justinian he spent his time in writing verses ; 
and the result was • the publication of his poem of 
-Rinatdo before he had completed his eighteenth year. 
•We cannot here trace minutely the remaining progress of 
his shifting and agitated history. His literary industry 
in the -foldst of almost ceaseless distractions of a*ll kinds 
was most .extraordinary, His great poem^ * ne J eru 

salem Delivered, is said to have' beeri 'begun in hfs 
nineteenth year, when he was at Bologna. In 1565 lie 
first visited the court of Ferrara, having been carried 
thither by the Cardinal Luigi d'Este, the brother of the 
reigning duke Alphonso. This event gave a colour to 
the whole of Tasso's future existence. It has been sup- 
posed that the young poet allowed himself to form an 
attachment to the princess Leonora, one of the two 
sisters of the Duke, arid that tHe object of his aspiring, 
love was. not insensible to that union of eminent personal 
graces with the fascinations of genius which courted her 
regard. Bnt there hangs a mystery over the story 
which has never been completely cleared away. What 
is certain is, that, with the exception of a visit which he 
paid to Paris in 1571, in the train of the Cardinal 
Luigi, Tasso continued to reside at Ferrara, till the com- 
pletion and publication of his celebrated epic in 1575. 
He had already given to the world his beautiful pastoral 
drama the Aminta. the next best known and most 
esteemed of his productions. 

From this period his life becomes a long course of 
storm and darkness, rarely relieved even by a fitful gleam 
of light. For several years the great poet, whose fame 
was already spread over Europe, seems to have wan- 
dered from city to city in his native country, in a state 
almost of beggary, impelled by a restlessness of spirit 
which no change of scene would relieve. But Ferrara 
was still the central spot around which his affection* 
hovered, and to which, apparently in spite of himself 
he constantly after a brief interval returned. In this 
state of mind much of his conduct was .probably extrava- 
gant enough ; but it is hardly to be believed that he really 
gave any cause, for the harsh, and, if unmerited, most 
atrocious measure to which his former patron and friend, 
the Duke Alphonso, resorted in 1579, of consigning him 
as a lunatic to the Hospital 6f St. Anne. In this recep- 
tacle of wretchedness tne poet was confined for above 
seven years. The princess Leonora, who has been sup- 
posed to have been the innocent cause of his detention, 
died in 1581; but neither this event, nor the solicitations 
of several of his most powerful friends and admirers, 
could prevail upon Alphonso to grant Tasso his liberty. 
Meanwhile the alleged lunatic occupied, and no doubt 
lightened, many of his hours by the exercise of his pen. 
His compositions were numerous, both in prose and 
verse, and many of them found their way to the press. 
At last, in July, 1586, on the earnest application of 
Don Vincenzo Gonzaga, son of the Duke of Mantua, he 
was released from his long imprisonment He spent the 
close of that year at Mantua ; but he then resumed his 
wandering habits, and, although he never again visited 
Ferrara, his old disposition to flit about from place to 
place seems to have clung to him like a disease. In this 
singular mode of existence he met with the strangest 
vicissitudes of fortune. One day he would be the most 
conspicuous object at a splendid court, crowned with 
lavish honours by the prince, and basking in the admi- 
ration of all beholders ; anbther, he would be. travelling 
alone on the highway, with weary steps and empty purse, 
and reduced to thfe necessity of bbrrowing, or rather 
begging, by the humblest suit, the means of sustaining 
existence. Such was his life for, six or seven years. -At 
last, in November, 1594, he made his appearance a* 
Rome. It was resolved that the greatest living poet of 
Italy should be crowned with the laurel in the imperial 
city, as Petrarch had been more than two hundred ami 
fifty years before. The decree to that effect was passed 
by the Pope and the Senate ; but ere the day of triumph 
came, Tasso was seized with an illness, which he in- 
stantly felt would be mortal. At his own request, he 
was conveyed to the neighbouring monastery of St. Ono- 
frio, the same retreat in which, twenty years before, his 
father had breathed his fast ; and here, surrounded by the 
: consolations of that faith, which had been through life 
i hi* constant support, he patiently awaited what he firmly 

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IMarch $, 1S33. 

believed woiild be the issue of his malady. He expired 
in the arms of Cardinal Cinthio Aldobrandini, on the 
25th of April, 1595, having just entered upon his fifty- 
second year. The Cardinal had brought him the Pope's 
benediction, on receiving which he exclaimed, " This is 
the crown with which I hope to be crowned, not as a 
poet in the Capitol, but with the glory of the blessed in 

Critics have differed widely in their estimate of the 
poetical genius of Tasso, some ranking the Jerusalem 
Delivered with the grandest productions of ancient or 
modem times, and others nearly denying it all claim 
to merit in that species of composition of which it pro- 
fesses to be an example. Nothing certainly but the 
most morbid prejudice could have dictated Boileau's 
peevish allusion to " the tinsel of Tasso," as contrasted 
with " the gold of Virgil;" but although the poem is 
one of surpassing grace and majesty, the beauty and 
loftiness both of sentiment and of language by which 
it is marked are perhaps in a somewhat artificial style, 
and want the life and spell of power which belong to the 
creations of the mightier masters of epic song, — Homer, 
Dante, and Milton. His genius was unquestionably far 
less original and self-sustained than that of any one of 
these. It is not, however, the triumph of mere art with 
which he captivates and imposes upon us, but some- 
thing far beyond that, it is rather what Wordsworth, in 
speaking of another subject, has called " the pomp of 
cultivated nature." 

[Portrait of Tasso.] 

yational Education, Saxe-Weimar.—Hy astatute of the 
Grand Duchy every head of a family is compelled either to 
send his children to school, or else to prove that they receive 
adequate instruction under his own roof. Heavy penalties 
are attached to any breach of this statute, which is as old as 
the very infaney of Protestantism. In fact, it was designed 
as one of its safeguards ; and even at the present day, it may 
be defended on the score of sound policy ; for what means 
can be pointed out which are more admirably adapted to 
promote social order and individual happiness than universal 
education, in harmony with rational Christianity? The 
immediate effect of the statute in question is to establish a 
schoolmaster in every village and hamlet throughout the 
country. There is not so much as a secluded corner, with 
\ dozen houses in it, without its schoolmaster. None, 

therefore, can urge t'ne want of opportunity in excuse of a 
breach of the law ; and unless the parent can adduce the 
proof, which exempts him, ho is bound to send his children 
to school after they have attained to their sixth year. Niv 
more, in order that the enactment may not be evaded, the 
commissioner of each district makes a regular periodical 
report, to the municipal authorities, of the children in his 
district who havo reached, what may be termed, their 
" scholastic majority.' 4 Even in the smallest vUlages, every 
child pays twelve groichen (about 1*. 6rf.) a-year to the 
master of the school. Though the amount is inconsideahlei 
it partakes of the nature of a tax on every head of a family, 
and it is obligatory upon him to pay it, unless his circumstanrei 
are extremely limited; in this case the district is bound to 
advance it. The master of the school makes out a list of 
the children in arrear of their fees every quarter, and trans- 
mits it to the Grand-ducal Government, by whom the amount 
is immediately advanced. The minimum of allowance to 
the master of a country school is 100 dollars (167.) a-year, 
independently of lodging and firing ; and that, to the master 
of a town school, is from 125 to 150 (19/. to 23/.), accord, 
ing to the size of the town. So soon as this minimum 
is exceeded, the instruction becomes gratuitous, and the 
district is no longer bound to pay up the quota for indigent 
children. There are, however, certain districts which are too 
poor to make any advances of that nature, and, in their case, 
recourse is had to the district church, which is in general 
possessed of monies, arising from ancient Catholic endow- 
ments, and is, therefore, expected to assist the district, 
where the education of its inhabitants requires such aid 
Again, where this resource does not exist, there is a public 
fund, called " Landschulen Fond*' (fund for country schools), 
which assists the church, district, or families of the district, 
in completing the minimum of the masters allowance. 
This fund arises from voluntary donations, legacies, and the 
produce of certain dues which the State assigns to it; such 
as for dispensations in matters of divorce, or marriage between 
relatives, &c. This is the only portion of the expense which 
the State itself is called upon to contribute, and it is of very 
inconsiderable amount ; though there are as many schools as 
villages in the Grand Duchy, and every master has a com- 
petent remuneration, as well as a claim to one-half of his 
allowances in the season of old age or infirmity. Besides 
this, there is a fund for the assistance of his widow and chil- 
dren, which has been raised out of his own statutory contri- 
butions of ?s. 3d. per quarter and those of his colleagues: 
to which are added 350 dollars a-year from the State and 
Landschulen Fond ; and certain dues laid aside for it hy 
the Superior Consistory. All the national schools are under 
the superintendence of the local clergy, and the whole system 
is subject to the immediate control and direction of the 
Superior Consistory. — Quarterly Journal of Education, 
No. IX. 


Several letters have been received, making complaint of the dis- 
appointment experienced in there not being constantly Six Number* 
of the Penny Magazine in a wrapper, and assuming that the price 
charged for the wrappers and stitching is exorbitant The following 
statement may remove such a misconception : — 
Cost of Wrappers and Stitching, for 80,000 Paris, Penny Mngaxi*e> 

Forty Reams, Paper and Printing, at £2. 5*. Orf. . 90 
Stitchiug, at£1.5*. Or/, per 1000 . .... 100 

Deduct Profit upon Advertisements, each Part 30 

160 6 

Multiply by twelve Parts . . . . 12 

Per Annum ... .' £1920 


The price paid by 80,000 Subscribers is Set. per 
annum for the wrappers ....'; . 

The price received by the Publisher, deducting > 1666 13 4 
about 40' per cent, from the nomlual price, 
allowed to Retailers, is 5</. . . . . . 

Loss upon the annual charge of &d. 1 
for the wrappers . • . • . j 

£253 6 8 

%• The Offee of the Society for the Diffhiion of Useful Knowledge » »* 
69, Lincoln's Inn Fields. 


Fruited, by Wiz*xam Clowss, Stamford Street. 

Digitized by vjOOx IC 



or THE 

Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 

61.] PUBLISHED EVERY SATU RDAY. [March 16, 1833. 


(W«t Front of Lichfield CafthedraL] 

The Cathedral of Lichfield has no pretentions to vie in 
architectural grandeur with that of York and several 
others in England ; but it is not without considerable 

beauties, both in Hs external appearance and in its inte- 
rior. It makes no great show when seen from a dis- 
tance ; but k possesses one advantage, in which it is 

Vol. IL O 

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W A*<S W, 

' almost singular among such buildings iu this country, 
namely, the open space which it has to a considerable 
distance around it, enabling the spectator to obtain from 
the immediate neighbourhood nearly a perfect view of 
it on every side. It stands on a spot which is elevated 

.Above the rest of the city, and surrounded by a wall 
which in former times was fortified, in imitation of the 
manner in which convents and other ecclesi a s t ical pos- 
sessions used often, in Prance and other foreign coun- 
tries, to be secluded and converted .into a sort of forts, 
or strong- holds. This portion of the city of Lichfield 
is still known by the name of the Close, just as in old 
Paris there were the Clos of the Augustines, the Cloa 
of the Jacobins, &c. The Close contains a considerable 
number of houses besides the cathedral ; but they nei- 
ther crowd upon the sacred edifice, as they do in most 
other cities, nor are they of so mean a description as to 
present a disagreeable or unsuitable contrast in its vici- 
nity. Some old trees ornament the northern side of the 
lawn, in the midst of which the cathedral stands, which, 
together with a sheet of water on the opposite side, give 
something of a rural air to the place. 

The cathedral does not stand due east and west, as is 
usual with sacred buildings, but varies from the right line 
by an angle of about twenty-seven degrees, or not much 
less than the third part of a whole quarter of the com- 
pass. It is built in the customary form of a cross, the 
principal bar containing the nave of the church, the 
choir, and what is called the Lady Chapel. The ex- 
treme length is 403 feet ; the shorter bar, or the tran- 
sept, is 177 feet long. The width of the nave inside is 
about 66 feet The principal front is the west It is 
surmounted by two pyramidal spires ; and a third, of 
the same form, rises from ttye centre of the building. 
The former are each 192 feet high ; the latter rises to 
the height of 252 feet 

If tradition may be trusted, ttye spot on which Lichfield 
stands has a claim to be regarded as one of the most 
sacred in our island. Here it is said a thousand Chris- 
tian martyrs were put to death at one time, in the per- 
secution which raged in the beginning of the fourth 
century, under Diodes! an and Maximian. A field in 
the neighbourhood, which still bears the name of Chris- 
tian Field, is pointed out as the scene of this slaughter; 
and etymologists have foupd a memorial of the same 
event in the name of the town itself. Lichfield, they 
contend, signifies, in Saxon, the Field of the Dead. 
Dr. Johnson, himself a native of Lichfield, has taken 
care to record this derivation in his Dictionary, with, the 
circumstance by which it is supposed to be countenanced. 
But other writers have given other interpretations of the 
term. In the Saxon times Staifprdshire was a part of the 
extensive and powerful kingdom of Mercia, which, ac- 
cording to Bede, was Chrisipaniaea abput the middle of 
the seventh century, upon it| conquest by Oswy, king pf 
Northumberland. Lichfield is said tp have been erected 
into a bishopric in $56 ; the person first appointed tp pre- 
side over the see being named Diuroa. His immediate 
successors were CeIlach,Trurohere, Jaruman, andpeadda, 
commonly called St Chad, who was consecrated in 669, 
and held the bishopric for two years, tie obtained 
great renown pn account of his piety, and for many ages 
after his death a miraculous atmosphere was believed to 
surround even the tomb that held his remains. The 
first cathedral is supposed to have been begun by his 
predecessor, Jaruman ; but it was not completed till the 
year 700, in the time of Bishop Hedda. About the 
end of the eighth century the influence of King OfFa 
obtained from the Pope the erection of Lichfield into an 
archbishopric; but it did not retain this dignity for 
more than two or three years. The diocese was origi- 
nally one of great extent, comprehending nearly the half 

-of England; but several other bishoprics have been 
formed out of it in later times. The diocesan used to 
style him—If gomsjupet Bishop of Ltchpcld, sometimes 

of Coventry, having a cathedral, a palace, and a chapter 
in each city, till at last the common form came to be 
Bishop of Coventry and Lichfield. Bishop Hacket 
who was appointed to the see immediately after the 
Restoration, changed the order of the two names ; and 
the designation of the diocese ever since has beeq^ the 
Bishopric of Lichfield and Coventry. 

The founder of the present cathedral is usually stated 
to have been Roger de Clinton, who came to the see iv 
1128. But the style of architecture indicates that very 
little of what now remains could have been erected by him. 
Mr. Britton is of opinion that it must have been mostly 
built in the course of the thirteenth and fourteenth cen- 
turies. Fuller tells us, in his Church History, that it was 
completed in the time of Bishop Hey worth, who came to 
the see in 1420. No documents, or hardly any, referring 
to its erection exist : all its records were destroyed either 
at the time of the Reformation, or during the civil wars in 
the seventeenth century. On the former occasion it was 
despoiled of all its ornaments which could be easily con 
verted into another use ; its richly decorated shrines and 
gold and silver vessels being all confiscated to the crown. 
At the commencement of tho civil war the Close of Rich- 
field was fortified by the royalists* and the command 
intrusted to the Earl of Chesterfield. In March, 1643, 
the garrison here was attacked by Robert Greville, Lord 
Brooke, a zealous puritan, who is said to have endeavoured 
to invoke the aid of Heaven by a vow, that if he should 
succeed in bis attempt he would level the cathedral with 
the ground. But on the 2d of the mouth, which hap- 
pened to be St. Chad's day, and therefore, we may well 
believe, made the circumstance seem to many a very 
remarkable judgment, his lordship was shot dead as he 
walked along the street below, by a gentleman stationed 
on the great tower of the church. The garrison, how 
ever, were obliged to surrender on the third day after, 
when the parliamentary soldiers entered and took pos 
session of the place. These followers pf Lord Brooke 
did not quite throw down the cathedral, but they in 
dieted upon it both desecration and injury to no small 
extent They exercised their barbarism, says Qugdale, 
(' Short View pf the Late Troubles,') " in demolishing 
all the monuments, pulling dqwn the curious carved work, 
battering in pieces the costly windows, anij destroying 
the evidences and records belonging tp tbat church; 
which being done, tjiey stabled theif: fiprses in the/ body 
of it; kept courts of guar*} in tye erqsa aisles; broke 
up the pavement ; ft f and every day hunted a 
cat with fipunds t|u?qug|fput the pjiufxjfcu delighting 
themselves in the echo frpm fhe jrpitfJly vaulted roof." 
The parliamentary jotcm pent possession of" the Close 
ti|l the 2 J st of April* when they were again driven out 
by the rqyalists. It remained jn the ^anjis of the latter 
tfll Jujv, l(>46*f wf*eo if was pneempre attacked, and 
c^mpelle^ tp sxhnit a WW garrisoi}, fitar a brief re- 
sistance. The catheujraj Bu$jreoJ gr<? atjy frqjn these suc- 
cessive sieges. It was reckoned that up pw$r thap two 
thousand cannou-s&qt £nd one thousan4 pvs hjindred 
hand grpna^es bad been a^schargpf} $ptfnst it ; and the 
effect was that the three sWe> were, nearly entirely 
battered down, and hardly any thing left standing except 
the wails. Even fhey were eypry wftece defaced and 

The restorer of the t>$|din£ f as fte excellent ftuihop 
Hacket, already meutipned as having Wen appojpted to 
the see arlter the return qt Charles Jf . Ju tlte course of 
eight years, by unsparing exertipn and liberality, he had 
succeeded, as for as }t was possible, in repairing the sad 
devastations of the preceding quarter of a century. The 
structure has since, however, undergone considerable 
alterations at various times ; and in particular about the 
close of the last century it received a complete renovation 
under the direction of the (ate $fr. Wyatt 

The finest parts of Lichfield Cathedral are the west 
front, which is very rich and splendid) and the Lady 

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Chapel, the painted glass in the windows of which, brought 
from the chapel oi the nunnery of Herckenrode, in 
Liege, may probably vie with anjf thing of the kind in 
this coutitry. The church contains a considerable num- 
ber" bf tbmbs, but few of them interesting from their 
anbqiilty. Among those bf modern date are one to the 
mernbtvbi* Pr. Johnson, and another to that of Lady 
Mart wbrttev Mdntague, who was also a native of 
LJchneld. Tnere is also one in commemoration of the 
twb female children of the Rev. W. Robinson, which is 
one 6t Chahtrey's very finest works. For fhrther in- 
forthatidn on (he subject, *)f the cathedral, the reader may 
consult Mr. Bfitton's History of its Architecture and 
Antiquities, Jackson's History of Lichfield, and Shaw's 
History of Statibrdshire. 

THEORY And practice. 

[From the American Quarterly Eerie*.] 

The science bf political economy, like other sciences, 
is a collection of general truths and principles, deduced 
from an extensive and accurate observation and collation 
of facts — not the limited 1 experience of a single indi- 
vidual — but the extended experience of nations; not 
the facts of a single district or of one age, imperfectly 
observed and falsley reasoned from by an unformed 
mind — but facts from all countries and many centuries, 
diligently and minutely analyzed and compared, and the 
principles and truths deduced by many able men, whose 
minds, stored with various knowledge, accustomed to 
investigation, and trained to the art of reasoning, were 
devoted intensely, for years, to the subject. But there 
seems it the preseril day, even among persons suffi- 
ciently enlightened upon other matters, a great rage 
for what is called "practical knowledge" — a term dif- 
ficult to define, but which, from the way in which it 
is generally used, appears to be synonymous with in- 
tuitive knowledge. 

The professors of this species of knowledge term 
themselves " practical irien," and seem to be of opinion 
that there is not any thing in heaven or earth not 
circumscribed within the limits Of their philosophy. 
What they see % they believe — the facts bf their own 
experience, the events which are passiiig around them, 
are the data upon which they build that theories ; and 
their imperfect and confused deductions, from scanty 
and inaccurately observed ffcets, are by the Vanity of 
ignorance preferred to the discoveries of science, and the 
conclusions of reason. •• Practical knowledge" is, bf 
these philosophers, opposed to theoretical knowledge. 
Theoretical appears, in their vocabulary, to mean any 
thing that is written in a regular methodical manner — 
and practical knowledge, the information gained, and 
the conclusions drawn from individual observation, and 
from reading newspapers and speeches in Coiigress. 

It ought to be more generally known, that theory is 
nothing more than the conclusions of reason from 
numerous and accurately observed phenomena, and the 
deduction of the laws which connect causes with 
effects ; — that practice is the application of these general 
truths and principles to the common affairs and purposes 
of life ; and that science is the recorded experience and 
discoveries of mankind, or, as it has been well defined, 
"the knowledge of many, orderly and methodically 
digested and arranged, so as to become attainable by 
one. w 

Every man who observes a phenomenon, and attempts 
to account for it, or draws a conclusion from its occur- 
rence, is guilty of theorizing. The " practical man," 
however, goes no further than the fact before him — he 
gives a reason for its occurrence, if he can, which not 
being capable of further application, and not com- 
prehending any other facts, even if it be correct, is 

comparatively useless. The scientific man, not content 
with observing one fact, collects many, and by disco- 
vering their points of resemblance, and tracing(he 
chain of causes and effects, arrives at a general ptfn 
ciple or law, capable of extensive application and varied 

A •• practical man" sees the lid forced off from a vessel 
of water, when the water is heated ; if he attempts tc 
give a reason, he says, that it was because the steam 
could not escape, and he resolves the next time to leave 
it a vent. The philosopher, from this phenomenon, is 
led to the examination of others, and through a train of 
investigation and discovery which terminates in the 

The " practical man" goes to market in the morning, 
and always finds as many commodities as he wishes to 
purchase. If he thinks about so ordinary an occur- 
rence, he supposes, very justly, that the owners of the 
commodities come to market because they expect to 
meet purchasers, and that they sell their goods, because 
they prefer having his money. A scientific man, from 
this phenomenon, and from a careful analysis of it and 
analogous facts, discovers the true principles which re- 
gulate demand and supply, with all their important 

A " practical man" is told by his neighbour that he 
intends to withdraw from the business in which he is 
engaged, and invest his capital in another, where he has 
good reason to expect more profit. He commends the 
prudence of his friend, and perhaps looks closer to his 
own afTairs. The scientific man, upon being told the 
like thing, meditates a little more deeply, and reasoning 
from particulars to generals, arrives at length at the 
conclusion that the industry of a country will be most 
productive when least interfered with. 

The " practical man," if he happens to live near a 
manufactory, upon the introduction of an improvement 
in machinery, whereby the work formerly performed by 
six men can now be done by two, sees a number of poor 
labourers thrown out of employment, and a number of 
families reduced to want. He is induced to suppose 
that labour-saving machinery is an evil, and productive 
of poverty and Wretchedness — and if he is a passionate 
man as well as a practical one, he thinks the workmen 
would serve their employers right by destroying the 
machines. The scientific political economist, on the 
contrary, from the examination and comparison of many 
facts, and from a train of comprehensive and accurate 
reasoning, is convinced, that notwithstanding the partial 
Bhd transient evil caused by their introduction, every 
improvement in machinery by which the cost of pro- 
duction is diminished, is a permanent advantage to all 
classes of society. 

Stage- Coaches.— TYie public have now been so long fami- 
liarized with stage-coach accommodation, that they are led 
to think of it as having always existed. It is however, even 
in England, of comparatively recent date. The late Mr. An- 
drew Thomson, sen., told me, that he and the late Mr. John 
Glassford went to London (from Glasgow) in the year 1739, 
and made the journey on horseback. Then there was no 
turnpike-road till they came to Grantham, within one hun- 
dred and ten miles from London. Up to that point they 
travelled on a narrow causeway, with an unmade soft road 
upon each side of it They met from time to time strings 
of pack-horses, from thirty to forty in a gang, the mode by 
which goods seemed to be transported from one part of the 
country to anotheh The leading horse of the gang carried 
a bell to give warning to travellers coming in an opposite 
direction ; and he said, when they met these trams of horses, 
with their packs across their backs, the causeway not afford- 
ing room, th: y were obliged to make way for them, and ' 
plunge into the side road, out of which they sometime* • 
found it difficult to get back again upon the causeway. 

[An extract from 1V». D. J3annatyne'8 Scrap-Book, a* gi* en ha 
Dr. Cleland's Statistical Account of Glasgow.] 


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[March 16 

[P«lar Bean and Seal.] 

In those desolate fields of ice which lock op the polar 
seas during a great part of the year, the White Bear 
(the Ursu* Maritimus of Linnaeus) finds an' abode con- 
genial to his hardy nature. Prowling over the frozen 
wastes, he satiates his hunger on the marine animals, 
such as seals, who break through the ice to breathe the 
open air ; or he plunges into the sea in pursuit of his 
prey. Possessing an astonishingly acute scent, great 
activity and strength, and equal cunning, he contrives to 
support existence in regions where it might be thought 
that so large a quadruped must necessarily perish. Ever 
watchful, he ascends the hills of ice, called hummocks, 
to extend his range of observation over the wide plain 
where a solitary seal may perhaps be resting ; or to snuif 
the tainted air, by which he knows that some remains of a 
whale, or a walrus (sea-horse), deserted by the fishermen 
of Europe or the native Eskimaux, will afford him an 
ample feast He doubtless often suffers long and extreme 
hunger ; for the seal, which forms his chief subsistence, 
is as vigilant as the bear ; and he is often carried out to 
sea upon some small island of ice, where he may remain 
for days without the possibility of procuring food. The 
Polar Bear has been seen floating in this way at a 
distance of two hundred miles from any land. Swimming 
excellently, he, however, often travels from one island of 
ice to another ; or visits the shore, where he commits 
fearful ravages. In Iceland, where these destructive 
animals sometimes land, the inhabitants immediately 
collect together to destroy them. Near the east coast of 
Greenland, according to Captain Scoresby, in his account 
of the Arctic Regions, they have been seen on the ice in 
such quantities, that they were compared to flocks of 
sheep on a common. 

In the Zoological Gardens there is a polar bear, from 

which the representation of one in the preceding wood 
cut was taken. In the British Museum there is a stuffed 
specimen of considerably larger dimensions. The animal 
is ordinarily from 4 to 5 feet high, and from 7 to 8 feet 
long, weighing from 600 lbs. to half a ton. Barents, an 
early voyager in these regions, killed two enormous 
white bears in 1596, the skin of one of which measured 
12 feet, and that of the other 13 feet. The cubs of this 
powerful animal are, however, not larger than rabbits. 
Hearne, a traveller of great authority, states that he has 
seen their foot-prints on the snow not larger than a crown- 
piece, when the impression of their dam's foot measured 
14 inches by 9. 

The polar bear generally retreats from man; but 
when attacked he is a formidable enemy. Captain 
Scoresby, in his Voyage to Greenland, gives several in- 
teresting anecdotes, which strikingly exhibit the power 
and courage of the animal. Our readers will be grati 
fied by these extracts : — 

" A few years ago, when one of the Davis's Strait whales 
was closely beset among the ice at the ' south-west,' or<» 
the coast of Labrador, a bear that had been for some time 
seen near the ship, at length became so bold as to approach 
alongside, probably tempted by the offal of the provision 
thrown overboard by the cook. At this time the people were 
all at dinner, no one being required to keep the deck ia the 
then immoveable condition of the ship. A hardy fellow who 
first looked out, perceiving the bear so near, imprudently 
jumped upon the ice, armed only with a handspike, with a 
view, it is supposed, of gaining all the honour of the exploit 
of securing so fierce a visitor by himself. But the bear, 
regardless of such weapons, and sharpened probably ty 
hunger, disarmed his antagonist, and seizing him bytbe 
back with his powerful jaws, carried him off with such ce- 
lerity that en his dismayed comrades rising from their meal 

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and looking abroad, be was 10 far beyond their reach as to 
defy their pursuit" 

" A circumstance communicated to me by Capt Munroe 
of the Neptune, of rather a humorous nature as to the result, 
arose out of an equally imprudent attack made on a bear, 
in the Greenland fishery of 1 820, by a seaman employed in 
one of the Hull whalers. The ship was moored to a piece 
of ice, on which, at a considerable distance, a large bear was 
observed prowling about for prey. One of the ship's com- 
pany, emboldened by an artificial courage, derived from the 
free uSe of rum, which in his economy he had stored for 
special occasions, undertook to pursue and attack the bear 
that was within view. Armed only with a whale-lance, he 
resolutely, and against all persuasion, set out on his adven- 
turous exploit. A fatiguing journey of about half a league, 
over a yielding surface of snow and rugged hummocks, 
brought him within a few yards of the enemy, which, to his 
surprise, undauntedly faced him, and seemed to invite him to 
the combat. His courage being by this time greatly subdued, 
partly by evaporation of the stimulus, and partly by the 
undismayed and even threatening aspect of the bear, he 
levelled his lance, in an attitude suited either for offensive 
or defensive action, and stopped. The bear also stood still ; 
in vain the adventurer tried to rally courage to make the 
attack ; his enemy was too formidable, and his appearance 
too imposing. In vain also he shouted, advanced his lance, 
and made feints of attack ; the enemy, either not understand- 
ing or despising such unmanliness, obstinately stood his 
ground. Already the limbs of the sailor began to quiver ; 
but the fear of ridicule from his messmates had its in- 
fluence, and he yet scarcely dared to retreat Bruin, how- 
ever, possessing less reflection, or being regardless of conse- 
quences, began, with audacious boldness, to advance. His 
nigh approach and unshaken step subdued the spark of 
bravery and that dread of ridicule that had hitherto upheld 
our adventurer ; he turned and fled. But now was the time of 
danger ; the sailor's flight encouraged the bear in turn to 
pursue, and being better practised in snow-travelling, and 
better provided for it, he rapidly gained upon the fugitive. The 
whale-lance, his only defence, encumbering him in his retreat, 
he threw it down, and kept on. This fortunately excited the 
bear's attention ; he stopped, pawed it bit it and then re- 
newed the chase. Again he was at the heels of the panting 
seaman, who, conscious of the favourable effects of the lance, 
dropped one of his mittens ; the stratagem succeeded, and 
while Bruin again stopped to examine it the fugitive, im- 
proving the interval, made considerable progress a-head. 
Still the bear resumed the pursuit with a most provoking 
perseverance, except when arrested by another mitten, and 
finally, by a hat which he tore to shreds between his 
fore-teeth and paws, and would, no doubt soon have 
made the incautious adventurer his victim, who was now 
rapidly losing' strength, but for the prompt and well- 
timed assistance of his shipmates — who, observing that 
the affair had assumed a dangerous aspect sallied out 
to his rescue. The little phalanx opened him a passage, 
and then closed to receive the bold assailant Though 
now beyond the reach of his adversary, the dismayed fugi- 
tive continued onwards, impelled by his fears, and never 
relaxed his exertions until he fairly reached the shelter 
of his ship. The bear once more came to a stand, and 
for a moment seemed to survey his enemies with all the 
consideration of an experienced general; when, finding 
them too numerous for a hope of success, he very wisely 
wheeled about and succeeded in making a safe and honour- 
able retreat** 

The sagacity of the polar bear is well known to the 
whale fishers. They find the greatest difficulty in en- 
trapping him, although he fearlessly approaches their 
vessels. The following instances of this sagacity are 
very curious :— 

" A Mai lying on the middle of a large piece of ice, with 
a hole just before it was marked out by a bear for its prey, 
and secured by the artifice of diving under the ice, and 
making its way to the hole by which the seal was prepared 
to retreat The seal, however, observed its approach, and 
plunged into the water; but the bear instantly sprung upon 
it and appeared, in about a minute afterwards, with the seal 
in its mouth. 

" The captain of one of the whalers being anxious to pro- 
cure a bear, without wounding the skin, made trial of the 
stratagem of laying the noose of a rope in the snow, and 

placing a piece of kreng within it A bear, ranging the 
neighbouring ice, was soon enticed to the spot, by the smell 
of burning meat He perceived the bait approached, and 
seized it in his mouth ; but his foot at the same moment 
by a jerk of the rope, being entangled in the noose, he 
pushed it off with the adjoining; paw, and deliberately 
retired. After having eaten the piece he carried away with 
him, he returned. The noose, with another piece of kreng, 
being then replaced, he pushed the rope aside, and again 
walked triumphantly off with the kreng. A third time the 
noose was laid ; but, excited to caution by the evident obser- 
vation of the bear, the sailors buried the rope beneath the 
snow, and laid the bait in a deep hole dug in the centre. 
The bear once more approached, and the sailors were assured 
of their success. But Bruin, more sagacious than they 
expected, after snuffing about the place for a few moments, 
scraped the snow away with his paw, threw the rope aside, 
and again escaped unhurt with his prize.'* 

The female polar bear is as fierce in her hostility as 
the male; but nothing can exceed the affection which 
she feels for her young. The difficulty of procuring 
food for them, and the hardships to which they are ex- 
posed, no doubt call forth this quality. Some of the 
instances upon record are as singular as they are affect- 
ing. The following Is related in one of the Polar 
Voyages : — 

" Early in the morning, the man at the mast-head 
save notice that three bears were making their way very 
fast over the ice, and directing their course towards the ship. 
They had probably been invited by the blubber of a sea- 
horse, which the men had set on fire, and which was burning 
on the ice at the time of their approach. They proved to be 
a she-bear and her two cubs ; but the cubs were nearly as 
large as the dam. They ran eagerly to the fire, and drew 
out from the flames part of the flesh of the sea-horse, which 
remained unconsumed, and ate it voraciously. The crew 
from the ship threw great pieces of the flesh, which they 
had still left, upon the ice, which the old bear carried away 
singly, laid every piece before her cubs, and dividing them* 
gave each a share, reserving but a small portion to herself. 
As she was carrying away the last piece, they levelled their 
muskets at the cubs, and shot them both dead ; and in her 
retreat they wounded the dam, but not mortally. 

" It would have drawn tears of pity from any but unfeeline 
minds, to have marked the affectionate concern manifested 
by this poor beast in the last moments of her expiring young 
Though she was sorely wounded, and could but just crawl 
to the place where they lay, she carried the lump of flesh 
she had fetched away, as she had done the others before, 
tore it in pieces, and laid it down before them ; and when 
she saw they refused to eat she laid her paws first upon one, 
and then upon the other, and endeavoured to raise them up. 
All this while it was piteous to hear her moan. When she 
found she could not stir them, she went oft; and when at 
some distance, looked back and moaned; and that not availing 
to entice them away, she returned, and smelling around 
them, began to lick their wounds. She went off a second 
time, as before, and having crawled a few paces, looked 
again behind her, and for some time stood moaning. But 
still her cubs not rising to follow her, she returned to them 
again, and with signs of inexpressible fondness, went round 
first one and then the other, pawing them, and moaning. 
Finding at last that they were cold and lifeless, she raised 
her head towards the ship, and growled her resentment at 
the murderers, which they returned with a volley of musket 
balls. She fell between her cubs, and died licking their 
wounds. ' 

The subjects which it is the province of the geologist to 
investigate, are by no means confined to questions con- 
cerning mineral substances, but embrace a wider field, 
involving many considerations intimately connected with 
the history of several tribes of animals and plants. As 
it is not possible to give even a brief outline of the doc- 
trines of geology without referring to the great orders 
and classes into which naturalists have divided the ani 
mal kingdom, before proceeding, as we proposed in the 
last section, to describe the divisions of the stratified 

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tacks which geologists have established, and which are 
founded mainly upon the distinctive characters afforded 
by the remains of organized bodies contained in the dif- 
ferent strata, it will be necessary to say a few words upon 
the classification of animals, in order to render the terms 
we must employ more intelligible to those of our readers 
who are unacquainted with the subject. 

Animals are divided into four great branches, distin- 
guished by the terms Vertebrated, Molluscous, Articu- 
lated, and Radiated. The first division includes all 
those animals which are provided with a backbone ; and 
because the smaller bones or joints of which it is com- 
posed are called by anatomists vertebra (from a Latin 
word signifying to turn) the individuals that belong to 
this division are called Vertebrated Animal*. It is subdi- 
vided into four classes ; 1 . Mammalia, comprehending 
man, land quadrupeds, and the whale tribe ; that is, all 
animals which give suck to their young ; the term being 
derived from mamma, the Latin name of that part of 
the body from which the milk is drawn. 2. Birds, of 
all kinds. 3. All those animals called Reptiles by natu- 
ralists: the word means nothing more than that they 
creep, and is derived from the Latin verb •' to creep," 
but it has in common language a far more extended sense 
than that to which it is restricted in natural history. 
Frogs, serpents, lizards, crocodiles, alligators, tortoises, 
and turtles, are reptiles, in the sense of the word as used 
by naturalists. 4. Fishes, of all kinds, except the whale 
tribe, which belongs to the class mammalia. 

The second division includes tribes of animals which 
have no bones, and because their bodies contain no hard 
parts, they are called Molluscous Animals, from a Latin 
word signifying soft. But with a few exceptions they 
have all a hard covering or shell to which they are 
either attached, or in which they can enclose themselves, 
and be preserved from injuries to which, from their soft 
nature, they would otherwise be constantly exposed. 
There are six classes in this division, founded on certain 
peculiarities of anatomical structure in the animal, but 
these we shall not notice ; for, without a much longer 
description than we can enter upon, it would be a useless 
enumeration of hard names. It will answer our present 
purpose much better to say, that the animals belonging 
to this division may be classified according to differences 
in the forms of their hard covering or shells, for it is the 
hard parts of animals which furnish the records of their 
fonner existence ; these only are preserved imbedded in 
the strata, all traces of the flesh or other soft ports, as 
for as form is concerned, having entirely disappeared. 
Molluscous Animah, therefore, are divisible into, 1. 
Univalves, that is, animals armed with a shell or valve 
forming one continuous piece, such as snails and whelks. 
2. Bivalves, or those having two shells united by a 
hinge, such as oysters, cockles, &c. 3. Multivalves, 
or those having more than two shells, of which the com- 
mou barnacle is an example. 

The third division is assigned to what are called 
Articulated Animals, these having a peculiar anatomical 
structure, called articulations, from articulus, Latin for 
a little joint. It is subdivided into four classes; 1. 
Annelides, or those having a ringed structure, from 
annulus, Latin for ring : leeches and earth-worms are 
examples. 2. Crustacea, or those which have their soft 
bodies and limbs protected by f a hard coating or crust, 
which in common language we also call shell, such as 
lobsters, crabs, and prawns. 3. Spiders, which form a 
class by themselves. 4. Insects, such as flies, beetles, 
bees, and butterflies. 

The fourth division comprehends a great variety of 
animals which have an anatomical structure like an 
assemblage of rays diverging from a common point, and 
from which they are called Radiated Animals, radius 
being Latin for ray. It contains five classes, but as 
three of these are animalg without hard parts, we may 

pass them over ; of the remaining two, \hi one contain 
the echini or sea urchins ; the other, the very numerous 
tribe called ioophites, from two Greek words signifying 
animal and plant, because the animal is fixed to the 
ground and builds its strong habitation in the form of a 
shrub or branch or leafy plant Corals and sponges 
belong to this class, and among all the different animal 
remains that are found in the strata, there is ho class 
which bears any proportion in point either of frequency 
of occurrence or in quantity equal to this last 

The great divisions of animals, so far as the remains 
of species found in the strata are concerned, or as it is 
termed in a fossil state, are therefore briefly these ; 

I. Vertebrated Animals ; Classes — Mammalia, Buds, 
Reptiles, Fishes. 

It. Molluscous Animals; Clastet — Univalve, Bivalve, 
Multivalve Shells. 

III. Articulated Animals; Classes — Crustacea, Insects. 

IV. Radiated Animals ; Classes — Echini, Zoophites. 
Each class is farther divisible into several families, 

each family into several genera ; each genus into several 
species, according as greater or minor points of resem- 
blance and difference bring individuals near to each other. 
There are certain other great distinctions which it is 
necessary to mention, viz. that some animals eat animal 
food, the Carnivorous ; others vegetable food, the 
Graminivorous ; some can live both in the air and in 
water, the Amphibious. Among fishes, molluscs, and 
Crustacea, some live in the sea, some in fresh water, some 
in both ; and of those inhabiting fresh water some are 
peculiar to rivers, others to lakes. There are also land- 
shells, such as the common garden-snail. It is scarcely 
necessary to remind our readers that certain species are 

Ceculiar to particular regions of the earth, being adapted 
y their nature to the different temperature and other 
peculiarities that exist in different countries. 

The number of distinguishable genera and species of 
fossil plants bears but a small proportion to that of fossil 
animal remains, and the notice we shall be called upon 
to take of them in the present brief outline of geology, fe 
not such as to require us to enter into any previous 
explanation of the great divisions of the vegetable king- 
dom : this too we could not give so as to serve any useful 
purpose without entering into details that would lead us 
far beyond the limits to which we must restrict ourselves. 
We shall therefore now proceed to point out the great 
divisions into which the various stratified rocks hare 
been separated, referring our readers to diagram No. 1, 
Section 2. 

The lowest members in the order in which the stratified 
rocks are placed one above another, are distinguished bj 
the great predominance of hard slaty rocks having a crys- 
talline or compact texture, but chiefly by this circumstance, 
that they have not been found to contain any fragments 
of pre-existing rocks, or the remains of organized bodies. 
On this account they have been called the primary 
strata, as if formed prior to the existence of animal life, 
and as containing no evidence of other rocks having 
existed before them. That we. cannot now discover ani- 
mal remains in these strata is, however, no proof that 
they had not previously existed, because we meet with 
rocks containing organic remains which are so altered 
by the action of heat in those parts where they happen 
to have come in contact with a mass of granite or whin- 
stone, that all traces of the organic remains are oblite- 
rated, those parts of the rocks acquiring a crystalline cha- 
racter analogous to what prevails in the primary strata. 
These last may have contained the remains of animal*, 
but being nearest to the action of volcanic heat, they 
may have been so changed as to obliterate the shells aud 
corals by their being melted as it were into the substance 
of the crystalline rock. The absence of the fragments 
of pre-existing rocks is a less questionable ground of dis- 
tinction. From whence the materials composing these 

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primary strata were derived, is a questiou that it is not 
iery likely any geological researches will enable us to 
solve ; that they were in a state of minute division, were 
suspended in and gradually deposited from a fluid in an 
horizontal arrangement, and that they were subsequently 
elevated, broken, and contorted by some powerful force, 
prior to the deposition of the strata that lie over them, is 
beyond all doubt There may also be beds of rock of 
great thickness, in which neither fragment nor organic 
remain has been found throughout a great extent of 
country, which nevertheless may not be primary, for if 
ia any part of the same mass a single pebble or a single 
shell should afterwards be discovered, indubitably im- 
bedded in it, one such occurrence would be as conclusive 
is a thousand, that a prior state of things had existed. It 
follows, therefore, that until the whole of an extensive 
district of such rocks were carefully examined, we could 
never be sure that they mfcht not one day be discovered 
to be of secondary origin ; there is nothing in the mineral 
structure of any one stratified rock that entitles us abso- 
lutely to say that other rocks and living bodies could not 
have existed prior to its formation. But as there are 
large tracts of country occupied by strata, in which nei- 
ther fragments of pre-existing rocks nor organic remains 
have yet been discovered, geologists are justified in desig- 
nating them the primary strata ; to call them primitive, 
as they used to be, and indeed still are by some geolo- 
gists, is to employ a term which expresses much more 
than we are entitled to assert 

The unstratified rock most usually associated with the 
primary strata is granite, of different varieties of compo- 
sition, usually lying under them in great masses, and 
bursting through, forming lofty pinnacles, as in the Alps, 
and sometimes sending forth shoots or veins, which pene- 
trate the superincumbent strata in all directions. 

Immediately above the primary strata there com- 
mences another series, very like many of the rocks below 
them, in respect of mineral composition, but containing 
the remains of shells, and some pebbles, and interstratified 
with thick beds of limestone, including shells and corals. 
These rocks are penetrated also by granite, and, in com- 
mon with the primary strata, form the great deposit of 
the metallic ores. They are, for want of a better term 
by which the class can be distinguished, usually called 
the transition strata, a name given by the elder geolo- 
gists, because they were supposed to form a step or tran- 
sition from the primitive state of the globe to that con- 
dition when it began to be inhabited by living bodies ; in 
strictness they form the lowest members of the next great 
division of the strata, which is distinguished by the name 
of the Secondary Rocks. These will be treated of in our 
next section. 


On the 21st of March, 1556, Archbishop Cranmer 
underwent his death at Oxford by being burned at the 
stake. Thomas Cranmer was born in 1489, at Aslacton, 
in Nottinghamshire, of a family which is said to have 
come over with William the Conqueror. Having been 
entered of Jesus College, Cambridge, in 1503, he ob- 
tained a fellowship, but lost it on his marrying. His 
wife, however, having soon after died, be regained the 
appointment He seems now to have made up his 
mind to a life of celibacy, and, applying himself to the 
study of divinity, commenced doctor in 1523* It was 
in 1529 that an accidental meeting at Waltham Abbey, 
in Essex, with Edward Fox, the king's almoner, and 
Stephen Gardiner, his secretary, occasioned his intro- 
duction to Henry VIII., then in the midst of his efforts 
to obtain a divorce from his first wife Catherine of 
Arragon. Cranmer is said to have suggested the plan 
of submitting the matter to the universities of Christen- 
dom instead of to the Pope; an expedient which as soon 

as the Ring was informed of, he exclaimed with an oath, 
44 That man lias the sow by the right ear." The author 
of the proposa. was immediately scut for to court, made 
one of the royal chaplains, and rewarded with other 
ecclesiastica preferments. The following year he went 
abroad to manage the scheme which he had suggested 
or consulting the universities and the most learned 
divines ; ana on this commission he traversed a con- 
siderable part of France, Italy, and Germany. In the 
latter country he contracted at Nuremberg * second 
marriage with Anne, the niece of the wife of Osiander, 
an eminent protestant divine. There can be no doubt 
indeed that Crarrmer's mind was by this time quite made 
up in favour of several of the most fundamental articles 
of belief maintained by the reformers — especially then; 
denial of the necessity of celibacy in the clergy, and of the 
supremacy and dispensing power claimed by the Bishop 
of Rome. He had probably already formed the plan of 
employing his best endeavours to establish the Refor- 
mation in England. While he was still abroad the 
archbishopric of Canterbury became vacant in August, 
1532, and the King immediately nominated him to the 
see, and commanded him to return home. On the 23d 
of May, 1533, he pronounced the sentence of divorce 
between Henry and Queen Catherine ; and on the 28th 
of the same month he publicly confirmed the marriage 
which the King had previously contracted with Anne 
Boleyn. He now exerted himself strenuously to forward 
every innovation in the discipline of the church which 
tended to weaken the strength of its existing constitution; 
and in this spirit both the translation of the Scriptures 
and the dissolution of the monasteries were promoted by 
him with great zeal. So long as Henry lived, however, 
he dared not attempt any direct change in the articles of 
religion. He was also during the whole of this reign 
obliged to keep his marriage a secret ; and in 1539, on. 
a statute (commonly called the Act for the Six Articles) 
being passed in parliament, notwithstanding his anxious 
opposition, enforcing among other things the celibacy of 
the clergy, he deemed ty safest to send back his wife to 
Germany. After the accession of Edward VI. his 
power was much more unrestrained ; and he exerted it so 
as to effect the thorough reform of the church both in 
discipline and in doctrine. On the death of Edward, 
Cranmer was induced, but not till after many importu- 
nities, to follow the example of all the other members of 
the Privy Council, and to sign the instrument declaring 
the crown to have fallen to Lady Jane Grey. After the 
failure of the attempt to accomplish this settlement, the 
share which he had thus reluctantly taken in the affair 
was gladly made the pretence for destroying so formidable 
an enemy as he was likely to prove of that restoration of 
the old religion which was now contemplated. Accord- 
ingly, being brought to trial, he was foun,d guilty of 
high treason ; on which the revenues of his archpishopric 
were immediately sequestrated. Having, however, ac- 
knowledged (lis offence, and earnestly petitioned for 
mercy, he received her majesty's pardon, put this show 
of clemency was pnly iutended to prepare the way for his 
ruin on a stil) more odious charge. On the 20th of April, 

1554, he \yas brought along with Ridley and Latimer 
before commissioners appointed by the Queen, and after 
a short examination condemned with them as a heretic. 
It was found, however, that in consequence of the 
Pope's authority not being yet re-established in Eng- 
land, this sentence was void in law ; and Cranmer was 
therefore retained in custody till the 12th of September, 

1555, when he was again brought up before a commis- 
sion which sat in St. Mary's Church, Oxford. The result 
was, that he was commanded to appear at Rome to de 
fend himself within eighty days ; — a cruel mockery of 
justice, inasmuch as, even had he been disposed to trust 
his cause to the decision of the Pope, he had no power 
of repairing to the appointed tribunal, being kept all 

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[March 16, 1&3& 

the while in close confinement. At the end of the 
assigned period he was condemned as contumacious, 
and was immediately subjected to the ceremony of de- 
gradation, which was performed by Bishops Bonner and 
Thirlby. Dressing the old man in archiepiscopal robes 
made of coarse canvas, they then stript them off him, 
piece by piece, and put on in their stead a thread-bare 
yeoman's gown, and a common cap. He was then re- 
manded to prison. But the malignant ingenuity of his 
persecutors was not yet satisfied — they hoped to disho- 
nour their victim still farther before consigning his body 
to the flames. In this view they assailed him by the 
most incessant and artful importunities, till they at 
length succeeded in their object of prevailing upon him 
to sign a recantation of his alleged errors, on an assur- 
ance that his life should be saved. No sooner had they 
obtained what they desired, than the paper was printed, 
and every where dispersed about Meanwhile, on the 
14 th of February, an order was issued for the execution 
of the now doubly unfortunate man on the 21st of the 
following month. On that day, accordingly, he was 
brought first into St. Mary's Church, and there placed 
upon* an elevated stage or platform opposite to the 
pulpit. Being called upon to repeat his confession, he 
expressed instead, with floods of tears, his penitence for 
the shameful weakness which had allowed it to be ex- 
torted from him. He was then led in haste to the spot 
intended for his execution, over against Baliol College. 
Here being stript to his shirt, and having his shoes 
taken off, he was tied to the stake, and the fire lighted. 
He held out his right hand steadily all the while, amidst 
the keenest of the flames, often repeating " This unwor- 
thy hand," in allusion to his recantation, which it had 
subscribed. The last words which he uttered were, 
* 4 Lord Jesus, receive my spirit 1" which he ejaculated 
oftener than once, looking up beseechingly to heaven. 

[Portrait of Cranmcr.] 

Steam-Engines. — Engineers estimate the force of steam- 
engines by a measure which they term the horse-power. 
This power is the force required to raise or move 528 cubic 
feet of water, which weighs 33,000 lbs., through one foot of 
space per minute. The power of a man may be assumed 
equal to that of raising 60 cubic feet, which weighs 3750 lbs. 
avoir., through the space or height of one foot in a minute, 

or a proportionate weight to any other height, so that the 
height multiplied by the weight may give the product 3750lbs. 
A stout labourer will continue to work at this rate during eight 
hours per day *. A dav's labour of a man working thus 
continuously may therefore be reckoned at 28,800 cubic feet 
of water being raised one foot high ; and in this proportion a 
one-hundred-and-fourteen-horse power is equal to the power 
of about one thousand men. The horse-power of the steam 
engine, thus assumed, is beyond the usual power of an ordi 
nary horse, a two-horse power being equal in reality to that 
of three horses. For instance, the power of a ten-horse 
steam-engine is equal to the force exerted by fifteen horses 
acting together; and if the engine work night and day, 
while each horse can only work during eight hours out of the 
twenty-four, it will really perform the work of forty-five 
horses ; for it would require that number of horses to be 
kept to execute the same quantity of work. Any statement 
of the comparative cost of steam, horse, and manual labour, 
can be, of course, only an approximation to the truth, as 
this cost must necessarily depend on the prices of fuel con 
sumed by steam-engines, and on the expense of their wear 
and tear, of the keep of horses, and of the wages of manual 
labour— all of which vary with circumstances, and that not 
in a relative proportion. Data for ascertaining this point 
have been given by different writers. It is estimated that a 
heavy horse, working ten hours, will consume 15 lbs. of oats 
and 14 lbs. of hay in the course of the day. An engine of 
thirty horse power, working ten hours, will consume about 
2952 lbs. ; or, as nearly as possible, one chaldron of New 
castle coals. 

* Farey on the Steam-Engine. 


It is the first mild day of March ; 
Each minute sweeter than before, 
The red-breast sings from the tall larch 
That stands beside our door. 

There is a blessing in the air, 
Which seems a sense of joy to yield 
To the bare trees, and mountains bare, 
And grass in the preen field. 

My sister ! ('tis a wish of mine) 
Now that our morning meal is done, 
Make haste, your morning task resign, 
Come forth and fuel the sun. 

Edward will come with you, and pray, 
Put on with speed your woodland dress ; 
And bring no book : for this one day 
We'll give to idleness. 

No joyless forms shall regulate 
Our living calendar . 
We from to-day, my friend, will date 
The opening of the year. 

Love, now an universal birth, 
From heart to heart is stealing, 
From earth to man, from man to earth. 
It is the hour of feeling. 

One moment now may give us more 
Than fifty years of reason : j 
Our minds shall drink at every pore 
' The spirit of the season. "- ' 

Some silent laws our hearts will make, 
Which they shall long obey : 
We for the year to come may take 
Our temper from to-day. 

And from the blessed power that rolls 
About, below, above, 

We'll frame the" measure of our souls : f 

They shall be tuned to love. 

Then come, my sister ! come, I pray, 
With speed put on your woodland dress ; 
And bring no book : for this one day 
We 'U give to idleness. 


' The.Offic* of the Sorttty for the Diffusion of Usefol Knowledge is at 
59, Ltncoln's-Isn Field*. 


Printed by William Clows*, Stamford Street. 

Digitized by 




Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



[March 23, 1833. 


[View of the Cathedral of Aix-la-Chapelle.] 

Aix-la-Chapelle was once the royal residence of Charle- 
magne, the place where the Emperors of Germany were 
crowned, and a city of great importance as the centre of 
an extensive trade. At one period it is said to have 
contained above 100,000 inhabitants; but its principal 
Vol. II. 

attractions now are the monuments of its former gieat 
ness, and the natural springs to which it owes its name. 
Aix-la-Chapelle, or the waters of the church or chapel, 
is the French name of this city, so called from its cele- 
brated springs, and a chapel in the cathedral which con- 
Digitized by vjrOCV 




Wins a great number of relics. The name Aix has the 
same signification as the Latin ' aqua' (water), and is 
given to a place in the south of France, and to another 
in Savoy, both noted for their warm springs. Our town 
of Bath, in England, was known to the Romans by the 
name of Aquae Solis, Waters of the Sun. The German 
name of Aix-la-Chapelle is Aachen, which also signifies 
* waters.' Bath receives its present name from its 
springs. Baden, which i% evidently akin to our word 
Bath, is the name of several places in Germany, and one 
in Switzerland, which have warm springs. 

Aix-la-Chapelle is now the chief city of the district of 
Aix-la-Chapelie, one of the three divisions of the Prussian 
province of the Lower Rhine. It is in N. Lat. 50° 47', 
E. Long. 6° 3', and is about 75 miles E. by S. of Brussels. 
Its situation is very agreeable, being surrounded by hills 
which are ornamented with forests, buildings, and culti- 
vated fields. The town consists of two parts, the inner 
and outer town, and contains seventy-five streets, some 
of which are tolerably well built ; that called the New 
Street is the handsomest. The ramparts by which the 
city is surrounded serve as promenades. 

The mineral springs of Aix-la-Chapelle attract a con- 
siderable number of strangers, who visit them for health 
or for pleasure as the English do Bath and Cheltenham. 
The hot springs have a temperature of about 143 degrees 
of Fahrenheit ; and are strongly impregnated with sul- 
phur, especially that called the Emperor's spring. In 
the market-place there is a fine source and a gilded 
bronze statue of Charlemagne : the bronze basin of 
the fountain is twenty-five feet in circumference. The 
cathedral, an ancient Gothic building, is more noted for 
its relics and the historical associations connected with 
it, than for its beauty, though it contains many object* 
which will attract a visitor's attention. It is loaded with 
small ornaments, which form a striking contrast with 
its pillars of granite, marble, and porphyry. The chair 
is still preserved in which so many German Emperors 
have been crowned since the time of Charlemagne : it is 
made of white marble of indifferent quality, and has no 
beauty of form to recommend it Many of the orna- 
ments of tins cathedral were carried to Paris by the 
French, but restored after the downfal of Bonaparte. 
The tomb of Charlemagne is in the cathedral, under 
the altar of the choir, and is made of white marble. 

This great Emperor chose as his burial-place the city 
which was his favourite residence, and which was in- 
debted to him for its restoration from ruins, and for 
many of its edifices which remain to the present day. 
lie spared no expense in procuring the most costly 
materials to beautify the place of his own choice, which 
lie had erected into the capital of all his dominions north 
of the Alps. Till the dissolution of the Germanic empire, 
Aix-la-Chapelle was the place in which the coronation of 
the Emperors of Germany by right was celebrated, 
though in some instances this ceremony took place at 

The cathedral has doors of bronze, about which there 
is a curious story told. " The citizens of Aix-la-Chapelle, 
as the story goes, being unable to raise money to com- 
plete the building, borrowed some from the devil, and 
surrendered in return the first soul that should pass the 
church-doors. When the building was finished, no- 
body could be found to fulfil the conditions of this wicked 
bargain ; and so great was the fear of Satan's clutches 
in this most believing town, that the church might have 
stood empty till to-day, if a priest had not hit on the 
lucky device of hunting through the church a wolf which 
they had fortunately caught alive. The devil, full of 
spite at finding himself thus outwitted, slammed the 
bronze doors behind him with such violence that they 
cracked. To put unbelievers to shame, who might be 
bold enough to conjecture that the crack in the doors 
was caused by the wind violently shutting the doors, 
two bronze figures htand on the outside before the 

entrance, one of which is the wolf and the other the 
condemned soul of the wolf in the form of a monstrous 
pine cone*." 

Aix-la-Chapelle is still a considerable town with a 
population of more than 36,000 people, and some manu- 
factures of woollen cloth, needles, Prussian blue, hats, 
&c. It has a handsome theatre and a public library of 
10,000 volumes. 

About a quarter of a mile to the east of Aix-la-Cha- 
pelle, on the slope of a steep hill, is the little town of 
Burtschied, connected with the city by a pleasant walk. 
This place also contains springs both hot and cold, with- 
out any sulphur in them. The temperature of the two 
hot springs is respectively 158° and 127° of Fahrenheit 
This place also manufactures woollen cloth and needles: 
the population is about 5000. 

" The abbey of Burtschied," says Forster, a writer at 
the close of the last century, " is beautifully situated, and 
finished with all ecclesiastical splendour. Close by, a 
small wood runs towards a large reservoir, and as you 
advance you come to a narrow valley enclosed by woody 
hills, where several warm springs are soon discovered by 
the vapour that rises from them ; and a large reservoir 
is quite filled with hot water. As you walk along k 
series of beautifully shaded reservoirs, you see the 
romantic ruins of the old castle of Frankenberg." 

[Bronze Statue of Charlemagne.] 


We lately gave an account of the wandering Italians 
who are so frequently found in our streets; and we 
now propose to attempt a short description of a pastoral 
people in the South of Italy, who, though they do not 
quit their own country, make annual migrations with 
their flocks on an extensive scale and to considerable 

* George Forster, Ansichten von Niederrhein, &c Neue annate. 
Berlin, 1800. We are not quite sure that Forster (whose descrip- 
tion is somewhat confused) alludes to the doors of the cathedral ol 
Aix-la-Chapelle^ which he calls the collegiate church. The cathe- 
dral has, howoTer, bronse doors. 

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These are the Abruzzesi, or peasants of the Abruzzi, 
two mountainous provinces in the kingdom of Naples, 
which, comparing things with our own, may be called 
the Highlands of that country. The plains about Sul- 
mona and Chieti, two of the most important cities in 
these parts, indeed the whole of the valley of the Pescara ; 
the flats and the declivities of the hills that surround the 
beautiful lake of Celano ; some strips of laud along the 
coast of the Adriatic, and a few other places, are suscep- 
tible of profitable cultivation, and are well cultivated ; 
but, generally speaking, the country is mountainous and 
rugged in the extreme, offering little to rural economy, 
save almost boundless sheep-walks and browsing grounds 
for goats. Nature has therefore made the inhabitants of 
this country a pastoral people, and they are so to a degree 
which can hardly be imagined but by those who have 
visited these much neglected but interesting provinces. 
Entering fairly into the Abruzzi, above the romantic 
town of Castel di Sangro (as you, do, coming from 
Naples), the traveller finds himself in a new world, the 
simple, primitive manners of which are most striking. 
He no longer sees the vines hung in festoons from the 
elm-trees, nor the broad-bladed vividly green Indian 
corn, nor the exuberant soil bearing two crops, nor 
the flowering orchards and shady Italian pines, nor the 
thronging, noisy population he has left behind him in 
the agricultural and most fertile province of the Terra di 
Lavoro or Campagna Felice, but he sees immense flocks 
of sheep spread over the mountain pastures, he hears 
the continual tinkling of goat-bells from the mountain 
summits, he observes that the cottages and hamlets, 
instead of being surrounded by gardens and cultivated 
fields, are flanked and backed by sheep-cotes and 
stables ; and thv t almost the only quality of person he 
meets on his way is a shepherd clad in his sheep-skin 
jacket, with sheep-skin buskins to his legs, and followed 
by his white, long-haired sheep-dog. Instead of the 
water being carried along in stone or brick aqueducts for 
the purposes of agriculture and horticulture, as in the 
lowlands, he sees it, here and there, caught and con- 
ducted in hollowed trees, cut from the mountain's sides, 
which are fashioned not like our pipes but like open 
troughs, so that the flocks may drink out of them at any 
part of their course. Besides these simple ducts, he 
occasionally passes little stone fountains equally rustic in 
their structure, before which are placed a number of 
hollowed trees for the convenience of the sheep. In 
short, the aspect of the country is essentially pastoral. 

Manufacturing and (though in a much less degree) 
even agricultural populations are found gradually to 
adapt themselves to the changes which are introduced 
into society and manners, and to keep somewhat near to 
the march of the age in which they live ; but it is far 
different with a pastoral race inhabiting a wild and 
secluded country, and passing the greater part of their 
time in almost absolute solitude on the mountain's side : 
consequently the primiti veness of manners which we have 
mentioned as existing here is indeed most striking, and 
carries back the imagination to the early ages of the 
world. The Abruzzesi peasantry have the same taste 
for romantic traditions that distinguishes our highlanders 
and the inhabitants of mountainous countries generally ; 
they are as superstitious — they 'have the same love of 
music, and their instrument is the same as that of our 
northern brethren, for their zampogna scarcely differs in 
toy thing from the highland bag-pipe, which instrument, 
be it said, is also found in nearly all the mountainous 
countries of the world. Some of their superstitions are 
evident remnants of classic paganism; others are a 
compound of monkish legends and paganism, and the 
mass is, of course, what has arisen from the Romish 
church. They have a traditionary reverence for the 
name of their countryman Ovid, but, like the poor 
Neapolitans who believe that Virgil was a great ma- 
gician, they make their poet's fame depend upon his 

having been a mighty adept in necromancy. In the 
town of Sulmona, the place of the poets birth, they 
keep a rude stone statue which people have chosen 
to call Ovidio Nasone, though it is more probably the 
effigy of some portly abbot of the fourteenth century. 
As the writer of this article was standing before it one 
day, a shepherd boy, who was returning from the market 
in the town, took off his hat to it, as though it had been 
the image of a saint. The traveller did not then know 
Ovid's fame as a magician, and was much delighted at 
what he thought a mark of popular reverence to genius, 
and asked himself the question whether an English 
peasant would doff his cap to the statue of Shakspeare 
or pf Milton. 

The Abruzzesi shepherds are a fine race of men, and 
make excellent soldiers, particularly cavalry ; though they 
are naturally averse to the military service. The best 
disciplined and steadiest troops in Murat's army were 
raised in this part of his kingdom. In former times the 
country was much infested by banditti, and one of the 
most famous robber chiefs mentioned in modern history 
— Marco Sciarra — was an Abruzzese. Except in times 
of execrable misgovernment, as under some of the 
Spanish viceroys, these depredations were almost con- 
fined to the frontiers and to the mountain passes tliat 
lead into the Roman states, and the troops of brigands 
were rather composed of Roman and Neapolitan outlaws, 
invited there by the facilities for plundering, and the 
security offered in those mountainous wilds, than of the 
native peasantry. Of late years scarcely an instance 
of brigandage has been heard of— except in the case of a 
band that came from a different part of the kingdom, 
and was soon suppressed, mainly by the peasants them- 
selves. In 1823 the writer of this short account tra- 
velled through the greater part of the country — in the 
wildest places alone on horseback, or only with such a 
guide as he could pick up among the peasantry, and 
instead of robbers and cut-throats he found every where 
honest people, who were civil, and even hospitable. 

Winter is felt in these mountains in great, and in some 
places in its utmost rigour. The lofty summits of the 
Gran Sasso d' Italia (the Great Rock of Italy, the highest 
peak in the Peninsula) are nearly always covered with 
deep snow — so are the mountains above Aquila, the 
capital of the provinces, and many others of the ridges ; 
while the crevasses (rifts) in the superior parts of Monte 
Majello that towers above Sulmona offer enduring and 
increasing fields of ice and glaciers that may astonish 
even the traveller who has seen those of the Alps. 
Among the wild beasts the bear and the wolf are still 
found in considerable numbers. The " Piano di cinque 
miglie," or the Plain of five miles, which is a narrow flat 
valley almost at the top of the Apennines, but flanked 
by the summits of these mountains, and which is the 
principal communication with Naples, is subject to drifts, 
and those hurricanes called tourmeru. Accumulations of 
snow frequently render the road impassable, and some- 
times endanger and destroy life. The winds that blow 
from these mountains even so early as the end of summer, 
are often bleak and piercing. The numerous flocks that 
feed on, and beautify their pastures in summer, would 
droop and perish if exposed there in the winter. Con- 
sequently, at the approach of that season, the Abruzzesi 
peasants emigrate with them into the lowlands of 

The plain of Puglia is an immense amphitheatre, 
whose front is open to the Adriatic Sea, and the* rest of 
it enclosed by Mount Garganus and a semicircular 
sweep of the Apennines, prominent among which is the 
lofty cone of Mount Vultur (an extinct volcano, the craters 
of which are now romantic lakes). The mountains, 
however, generally defend the plain from the worst winds 
of winter, and the climate is as mild and genial through- 
out the year as might be expected from the favourable 
latitude of the place, and its trifling elevation above the 

P2 O 



[March 23, 

sea. The want of water, and tho entire absence of trees 
which would attract humidity to the thirsty soil, have 
been reasons why this immense flat has been led 
almost untouched by the plough or spade. The gTeat 
expanse presents the appearance of an eastern desert, 
over which, when not sparingly enlivened by the pre- 
sence of the Abruzzesi and their flocks, you may travel 
in all directions for miles and miles without meeting a 
human being, or any signs of human industry — without 
seeing a tree or a bush, or any elevation in the dead flat, 
to mask the view of the Adriatic and the surrounding 

It is said by the Neapolitan historians, that their 
king, Alfonso of Arragon, seeing this immense plain des- 
titute of men, determined to people it with beasts ; but 
it is probable, from the advantages it offers, and the 
difficulties of their own mountain climate, that the shep- 
herds of the Abruzzi have in all ages resorted to it in 
winter as they now do, and that Alfonso merely regu- 
lated some laws and duties, whose principal tendency 
was to enrich the exchequer of the state by deriving 
some revenue from waste lands. In modern times a 
department of government has been appointed exclu- 
sively to the charge of the "Tavogliere di Puglia," as it 
is called in Neapolitan statistics ; and the head of this 
department, who was generally a person of rank, was 
obliged to reside occasionally at Foggia. Of late years 
some changes have been introduced in this branch of the 

Every flock of sheep as it arrives is counted, and has 
to pay a certain sum, proportionate to its number, for 
the right of pasture ; and small as are these rates, from 
the immense droves that come, they form an aggregate 
which, after the expenses of collecting, &c. are paid, 
annually gives to the Neapolitan government many 
thousand ducats. 

Large sheds, and low houses built of mud and stone, 
that look like stabling, exist here and there on the plain, 
and have either been erected by the great sheep pro- 
prietors, or are let out to them at an easy rent by the 
factors of the tavogliere. Other temporary homesteads 
are constructed by the shepherds themselves as they 
arrive; and a few pass the winter in tents covered with 
very thick and coarse dark cloth, woven with wool and 
hair. The permanent houses are generally large enough 
to accommodate a whole society of shepherds ; the tem- 
porary huts and tents are always erected in groups, that 
the shepherds of the same flocks may be near to each 
other. The sheep-folds are in the rear of the large 
houses, but generally placed in the midst of the huts 
and tents. On account of the wolves, tjiat frequently 
descend from the mountains and commit severe ravages, 
they are obliged to keep a great number of dogs, which 
are of a remarkably fine breed, being rather larger than 
our Newfoundland dog, very strongly made, snowy 
white in colour, and bold and faithful. You cannot ap- 
proach these pastoral hamlets, either by night or day, 
without being beset by these vigilant guardians, that 
look sufficiently formidable when they charge the in- 
truder (as often happens) in troops of a dozen or fifteen. 
They have frequent encounters with the wolves, evident 
signs of which some of the old campaigners show in 
their persons, being now and then found sadly torn and 
maimed. The shepherds say that two of them, *• of the 
right sort," are a match for an ordinary wolf. 

The writer of this notice has several times seen a good 
deal of these Abruzzesi shepherds in their winter esta- 
blishments. The first time he came in contact with 
them was in the month of February, 1817, in the course 
of a journey through the southern provinces of the 
kingdom of Naples. He had no companion except the 
Calabrian pony that carried him, and a rough-haired 
Scotch terrier (a creature of a very different disposition), 
when he arrived at the almost undistinguishable site of 
the town of Cannae, near which the fatal battle was 

fought, which is in the midst of the wild'plain, about six 
miles from the town of Canosa (anciently Canusium), 
and not quite so far from the shores of the Adriatic! 
The most perfect solitude and stillness reigned there; 
but when he ascended the slightly elevated mound on 
which Cannae had stood, he saw in a little hollow at a 
short distance a very long, low tenement, at the door ot 
which were some men with sheep-dogs, and he perceived 
large flocks of white sheep nibbling the short grass oo 
all the little hillocks around him, and over the plain on 
both sides the river Ofanto, on the identical field of the 
Roman and Carthaginian conflict, to a great distance. 
The only objects that remained on the site of Cannse were 
some traces of walls that once girded the mound ; on 
the summit of +he mound some excavations, or subter- 
ranean chambers, with well or cistern-like mouths, which 
were open ; and at a little distance two large slabs of 
stone, placed on end in the ground, and leaning 
against each other, — a simple monument, by which the 
peasantry of the country point out the field of Canni, 
or, as they call it, " the field of blood." Attracted by his 
appearance, for the sight of a stranger is a rarity, two of 
the men came up from the house to the traveller while 
he was measuring and examining the ground. Though 
uneouth in their appearance they were very courteous, 
and not only gave him several little pieces of local 
information, which showed that popular tradition had 
faithfully preserved the memory of the great events that 
once occurred in that solitude, but they assisted him to 
descend into one of the subterranean chambers, which 
they called (as the chambers in all probability had been) 
" granaries/' or corn magazines •. 

By the time the stranger had finished his examination 
and queries on the spot the sun was setting, and, at the 
invitation of the shepherds, he went down to the house. 
As he reached the rude but hospitable door, a tall 
venerable man with a snow-white sheep-skin pelisse, 
who had just dismounted from a shaggy little mare 
came up, and bade him welcome. This was the chief 
shepherd. He expressed his regret that the tugurio (hut) 
offered so little that a gentleman could eat, but all thai 
he had the stranger (who was too hungry to be delicate) 
was welcome to. A youth, the old man's grandson, was 
immediately set to work to fry an omelette and some 
lardo or fat bacon. While this was doing, several other 
shepherds arrived, driving their flocks before them to the 
spacious cotes in the rear of the house — and later, there 
came others in a similar way, until all of the company 
were collected. 

Besides his omelette and bacon, the traveller's repast 
was enriched with some good Indian corn bread, some 
ricotta, which is a delicious preparation of goat's milk* 
and some generous wine bought at the neighbouring 
town of Canosa. The sun meanwhile had set— there 
is scarcely any twilight in these southern regions, and 
before his meal was finished it was almost dark nijrfo. 
The kind old man did not like the idea of his ^veiling 
at such an hour : he, however, offered him two shepherds 
as an escort to Canosa if he would go; but if he would 
stay where he was, and content himself with a shepherds 
lodging for the night, he was welcome. The traveller 
did not hesitate in accepting the invitation, and when his 
pony was put up in a sort of barn attached to the bousei 
he made himself very comfortable on a low. wooden 
bench which the men covered with sheep-skins for tom 
near the fire. , 

When all the pastoral society was assembled, the 
patriarchal chief shepherd taking the lead, they repeated 
aloud, and with well modulated responses, the cv *^ 
prayers, or the Catholic service of " Ave Maria." A j*v 
then lit a massy old brass lamp, that looked as if it «»* 
been dug out of Pompeii, and on producing it sai » 

•Com is still kept in subterranean chambers in the tt ® 6 JJ*!2j 
at Canosa, Troja, Lucera, Foggia (a great grain-market)* Man 
tannic, and all this part of Apulia. 

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" Santa notte a tutta la compagnia" — (a holy night to all 
the company*). The shepherds then took their supper 
which was very frugal, consisting principally of Indian 
corn bread and raw onions with a very little wine. Some 
of them, after their meal, sat round the fire conversing 
with their visitor and others went to rest. 

The whole of the interior of the room was occupied 
by one long apartment, in the middle of which was the 
fire-place, unprovided with a chimney, the smoke finding 
its way through the crannies in the roof and other aper- 
tures : on the sides of the apartment were spread the dried 
broad blades of the Indian corn and sheep-skins which 
formed the shepherds' beds, but there were two or three 
little constructions (not unlike the berths on board ship) 
made against the wall, which were warm and comfortable, 
and occupied by the old man and other privileged mem- 
bers of the society, one of whom kindly vacated his dor- 
mitory for the stranger. Besides these rustic beds and 
the wooden benches, the lamps and some cooking utensils, 
there was scarcely any other furniture in the room. 

The scene that presented itself in that singular inte- 
rior, as the traveller peeped out of his snug berth, was 
such as cannot easily be forgotten. The light of the 
lamp — and, when that was extinguished, the flickering 
flames of the fire in the centre of the room, disclosed 
in singular chiaroscuro the figures of the shepherds 
sleeping in their sheep-skins, along the sides of the 

* This custom is found to prevail in nearly all the country ships. 
VVbeti tho mox7.o or calnn-boy lights the lamp he says, " Buoua 
(or Santa) notte al caiutauo e a tutta la compagnia." 

room near to the fire ; the rugged roof of the apart- 
ment, by smoke and time, was as black as jet, and the 
two extremities of the habitation were lost in gloom. 
Some old fire-arms hung by the berth of the principal 
shepherd ; the strong knotty sticks and the long crooks 
of the men were pieced against the wall. Several of the 
huge dogs lay dreaming with their noses to the fire, and 
round* the fire-place still remained the rude wooden 
benches, on some of which the shepherds had thrown 
their cloaks and other parts of their attire in most 
picturesque confusion. Soon, however, the flames died 
on the hearth, the embers merely smouldered, and all 
was daikness, but not all silence, for the men snored 
most sonorously ; the wind, that swept across the wide, 
open plain, howled round the house, and occasionally the 
dogs joined in its chorus. These things, however, did 
not prevent the traveller from passing a comfortable 
night, and with a sense of as great security, inasmuch 
as the poor shepherds were concerned, as he could have 
enjoyed had he been among friends in England. 

The next morning, when he was about to continue his 
journey to Canosa, he offered money for the accommo 
dations he had received. This the old shepherd refused, 
and seemed hurt by his pressing it upon him. Nothing 
then remained but thanks and a kind leave-taking. 

These shepherds were to remain where they then were 
until the middle of spring, when they would slowly re- 
trace their steps to the Abruzzi, whence they would 
again depart for the Pianura di Puglia at the approach 
of winter. 


[Abridged from the Menageries, vol. I.] 

[Eskimaux harnessing then Dogs to a Sledge.] 

The Eskimaux, a race of people inhabiting the most 1 joining islands, are dependent upon the services of this 
northerly parts of the American continent, and the ad- 1 faithful species of dog for most of the few comforts of 

Digitized by 




[March 28, 

their lives; for assistance in the chase; for carrying 
burdens ; and for their rapid and certain conveyance over 
the trackless snows of their dreary plains. The dogs, 
subjected to a constant dependence upon their masters, 
receiving scanty food and abundant chastisement, assist 
them in hunting the seal, the rein-deer, and the bear. 
In the summer, a single dog carries a weight of thirty 
pounds, in attending m's master in the pursuit of game : 
m winter, yoked in numbers to heavy sledges, they drag 
live or six persons at the rate of seven or eight miles an 
hour, and will perform journeys of sixty miles a day. 
What the rein- deer is to the Laplander, this dog is to 
the Eskimaux. He is a faithful slave, who grumbles, 
but does not rebel ; whose endurance never tires ; and 
whose fidelity is never shaken by blows and starving. 
These animals are obstinate in their nature : but the 
women, who treat them with more kindness than the 
men, and who nurse them in their helpless state, or when 
they are sick, have an unbounded command over their 
affections ; and can thus catch them at any time, and 
entice them from their huts, to yoke them to the sledges, 
even when they are suffering the severest hunger, and 
have no resource but to eat the most tough and filthy 
remains of animal matter which they can espy on their 
laborious journeys. 

The mode in which the Eskimaux dogs are em- 
ployed in drawing the sledge, is described in a very 
striking manner by Captain Parry, in his * Journal of 
a Second Voyage for the discovery of a North -West 
passage :' — 

" When drawing a sledge, the dogs have a simple 
harness (annoo) of deer or seal-skin, going round the 
neck by one bight, and another for each of tie fore-legs, 
with a single thong leading over the back, and attached 
to the sledge as a trace. Though they appear at first 
sight to be huddled together without regard to regu- 
larity, there is, in fast, considerable attention paid to 
their arrangement, particularly in the selection of a dog 
of peculiar spirit and sagacity, who is allowed, by a longer 
trace, to precede the rest as leader, and to whom, in 
turning to the right or left, the driver usually addresses 
himself. This choice is made without regard to age or 
sex ; and the rest of the dogs take precedency according 
to their training or sagacity, the least effective being put 
nearest the sledge. The leader is usually from eighteen 
to twenty feet from the fore part of the sledge, aud the 
hindmost dog about half that distance ; so that when ten 
or twelve are running together, several are nearly abreast 
of each other. The driver sits quite low, on the fore 
part of the sledge, with his feet overhanging the snow on 
one side, and having in his hand a whip, of which the 
handle, made either of wood, bone, or whalebone, is 
eighteen inches, and the lash more than as many feet, 
in length : the part of the thong next the handle is 
platted a little way down to stiffen it, and give it a 
spring, on which much of its use depends ; and that 
which composes the lash is chewed by the women, to 
make it flexible in frosty weather. The men acquire 
from their youth considerable expertness in the use of 
this whip, the lash of which is left to trail along the 
ground by the side of the sledge, and with "Which they 
can inflict a very severe blow on any dog at pleasure. 

" In directing the sledge, the whip acts no very essen- 
tial part, the driver for this purpose using certain words, 
as the carters do with ua, to make the dogs turn more to 
the right or left. To these a good leader attends with 
admirable precision, especially if his own name be repeated 
at the same time, looking behind over his shoulder with 
great earnestness, as if listening to the directions of the 
driver. On a beaten track, or even where a single foot 
or sledge-mark is occasionally discernible, there is not the 
slightest trouble in guiding the dogs: for even in the 
darkest night, and in the heaviest snow-drift, there is 
little or no danger of their losing the road, the leader 

keeping his nose near the ground, and directing the rest 
with wonderful sagacity." 

The dogs of the Eskimaux offer to us a striking 
•example of the great services which the race of dogs has 
rendered to mankind in the progress of civilization. The 
inhabitants of the shores of Baffin's Bay, and of those 
still more inclement regions to which our discovery ships 
have penetrated, are perhaps never destined to advance 
much farther than their present condition in the scale 
of humanity. Their climate forbids them attempting 
the gratification of any desires beyond the commonest 
animal wants. In the short summers, they hunt the 
rein- deer for a stock of food and clothing; during the 
long winter, when the stern demands of hunger drive 
them from their snow huts to search for provisions, they 
still find a supply in the rein-deer, in the seals which lie 
in holes under the ice of the lakes, and in the bears which 
prowl about on the frozen shores of the sea. Without 
the exquisite scent and the undaunted courage of their 
dogs, the several objects of their chase could never be 
obtained in sufficient quantities during the winter, to 
supply the wants of the inhabitants ; nor could the men 
be conveyed from place to place over the snow, with that 
celerity which greatly contributes to their success in 
hunting. In drawing tne sledges, if the dogs scent a 
single rein-deer, even a quarter of a mile distant, they 
gallop off furiously in the direction of the scent; and the 
animal is soon within reach of the unerring arrow of the 
hunter. They will discover a seal-hole entirely by the 
smell, at a very great distance. Their desire to attack 
the ferocious bear is so great, that the word nennook, 
which signifies that animal, is often used to encourage 
them, when running in a sledge ; two or three dogs, 
led forward by a man, will fasten upon the largest bear 
without hesitation. They are eager to chase every 
animal but the wolf; and of him they appear to have an 
instinctive terror which manifests itself on his approach, 
in a loud and long-continued howl. Certainly there is no 
animal which combines so many properties useful to his 
master, as the dog of the Eskimaux. 

The dogs of the Eskimaux lead always a fatiguing, 
and often a very painful life. In the summer they are 
fat and vigorous; for they have abundance of kaow, or 
the skin and part of the blubber of the walrus. But 
their feeding in winter is very precarious. Their 
masters have but little to spare ; and the dogs become 
miserably thin, at a time when the severest labour is 
imposed upon them. It is not, therefore, surprising 
that the shouts and blows of their drivers have no effect 
in preventing them from rushing out of their road to 
pick up whatever they can descry ; or that they are con- 
stantly creeping into the huts, to pilfer any thing within 
their reach : their chances of success are but small ; for 
the people within the huts are equally keen in the pro- 
tection of their stores, and they spend half their time in 
shouting out the names of the intruders (for the dogs 
have all names), and in driving them forth by the inost 
unmerciful blows. 

The hunger which the Eskimaux dogs feel so severely 
jn winter, is somewhat increased by the temperature they 
live in. In cold climates, and in temperate ones m 
cold weather, animal food is required in larger quantities 
than in warm weather, and in temperate regions. * ne 
only mode which the dogs have of assuaging or de- 
ceiving the calls of hunger, is by the distension of the 
stomach with any filth which they can find to swallow. 
The painful sense of hunger is generally regarded as tnc 
effect of the contraction of the stomach, which effect is 
constan tly increased by a draught of cold liquid. Capwf JJ 
Parry mentions that in winter the Eskimaux dogs will 
not drink water, unless it happen to be oily. They Kno » 
by experience, that their cravings would be increased 
this indulgence, and they lick some clean snow as a su 
stitute, which produces a less contraction of the stoma 

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than water. Dogs, in general, can bear hunger for a 
very long tune, without any serious injury, having a supply 
of some substance for the distension of their stomachs. 


(37.) We have adverted to the main articles of export 
from Great Britain, and it now remains to complete the 
view of Pritish commerce, by specifying the articles of 
import. During the last half century, these latter have 
consisted of sugar, tea, corn, timber and naval stores, cot- 
ton wool, woods and drugs for dyeing, tobacco, silk, hides 
and skins, spices, bullion, &c. and considerable quan- 
tities have always been re-exported. The increase of 
our trade with all parts of the world may be seen by 
the following statement, which is given as the annual 
medium of five periods of peace. The annual imports 
from 1698 to 1701 were, upon an average, of the official 
value of £5,569,952; from 1749 to 1755 they were 
£8,211,346 ; from 1784 to 1792 they were £17,716,752; 
in 1802, £31,442,318; and from 1816 to 1822, 
£3 4 ,9 2 1 ,538. The average annual exports, during the same 
periods, were, respectively, £6,449,594 ; £12,220,974 ; 
£18,621,942; £41,411,966; and £53,126,195. The 
separate amount of the trade with each country may be 
found in Mr. Caesar Moreau's Tables, from which the 
above is taken. We shall proceed to notice in succes- 
sion some of the present principal articles of import. 

(38.) Sugar. The sources from which the supply of 
sugar is derived are the West Indies, Brazil, Surinam, 
and the East Indies, including Java, Mauritius, and 
Bourbon. The average quantity exported from the 
whole of these countries exceeds half a million tons, of 
which about 190,000 are from the British West Indies. 
The consumption of sugar on the Continent amounts to 
about 260,000 tons, including what is sent from Great 
Britain. That of the United States is about 75,000 
tons, including 40,000 tons produced in Louisiana, In 
this country, sugar did not come into general use till the 
latter part of the seventeenth century, and in 1700 the 
quantity consumed was about 10,000 tons. In 1754 it 
had reached 53,270 tons, and it now exceeds 180,000 
tons, or 400,000,000 lbs. The duty on West India 
sugars is 24^. per cwt. ; on East India sugars, 32$. ; and 
on foreign sugars, 63*. per cwt. The price of sugar, 
exclusive of the duty, may be taken at from 22*. to 35$. 
per cwt. The average consumption of Great Britain 
is after the rate of 23 lbs. to each individual . but with 
reference to the consumption of coffee and tea, and 
otherwise, it might certainly be much greater than it is; 
pnd it is to be feared that Mr. Huskisson spoke too 
truly in 1829, when he affirmed that two-thirds of the 
poorer consumers of coffee drank that beverage without 
feuprar. In Ireland, however, the consumption is still 
less, for the entire consumption of that country is under 
4 3,000,000 lbs., which gives only 5j lbs. to each indi- 
vidual. It is not easy, moreover, to assign a good reason 
for the difference of duty between East and West India 
suf^ar. The gross receipt of the duties on all kinds of 
su^ar in the year 1830 was £6,063,321. 

(39.) Tea was hardly known in this country till the 
middle of the seventeenth century. In 1711 the quan- 
tity of tea consumed in Great Britain was 141,995 lbs. ; 
in 1741, 1,031,540 lbs.; in 1771, 5,566,793 lbs. ; in 
1801, 20,237,753 lbs.; in 1811, 20,702,809 lbs. ; in 
1821, 22,892,9131bs.; and in 1831, 26,043,223 lbs. The 
rapid increase of the consumption for about a century is 
no less remarkable than the fact, that, since the year 
1 800, the consumption, as compared with the population, 
has been steadily declining. It will appear, by the com- 
parison of the above statement with the population in the 
years 1801, 1811, 1821, and 1831, respectively, that the 
consumption per head was in 1801, 1 lb. 13*6 oz. ; in 
1811, lib. 10'2oz.; in 1821, lib. 9'4oz.; and in 

1831, lib. 9*2 oz. This decrease, amounting to full 
17 per cent, has been attributed to the high price occa- 
sioned in part by the trade being in the exclusive hands 
of the East-India Company, and in part by the high 
duties, which is 96 per cent, on teas sold at less than 2s. 
per lb., and 100 per cent on all at or above 2*. per lb. 
Comparing the price of tea at the East-India Com- 
pany's sales in London with the cost prices, duty free, in 
Hamburg, Rotterdam, and New York, there is a con- 
siderable excess in the London prices. For instance, 
in 1S29 bohea was sold at the Company's sales in 
London at Is. 6jd., and in Hamburgh, S^d. ; con- 
gou was, in London, 2s. id., and in Hamburgh, 
Is. 2\d. ; souchong, in London, 2s. lO^rf., and in Ham- 
burgh, Is. l|d; hyson, in London, 4s. ljd., and in 
Hamburgh, 2s. Sd. ; and gunpowder, in London, 
6s. 6%d., and in Hamburgh, 3s. 5irf.; the common teas at 
Hamburgh being as good, and the finer teas decidedly 
better than in London. 

(40.) Our supply of timber comes chiefly from the 
Baltic and the British North American provinces, and 
the duties paid upon its importation, in the year 1830, 
amounted to £1,319,233. The importance of a cheap 
supply of wood for building houses and ships, and for 
machinery, furniture, &c. is very obvious ; but the price 
of good timber is much enhanced by the duties on all 
foreign wood, not being of the growth of the British 
plantations in America. Timber imported from foreign 
countries is made to pay £2. 1 5s. per load, whilst that 
from Canada pays only 10s. The practice of encouraging 
North American timber in preference to that of foreign 
countries took its rise in the year 1809, during the 
continental war. But the expediency of its continuance 
since the peace has been much doubted, for it has 
seriously affected the trade with the Baltic, which, in 
1809, employed 428,000 tons of British shipping, and, in 
1816, after seven years' operation of the discriminating 
duties, only 181,000 tons. The sacrifice of revenue has 
been estimated at £1,500,000 a year. The present go- 
vernment proposed, in the session of 1831, the gradual 
reduction of the duties on foreign timber to £2 a load, 
which would still have left a protection of 30s. a load to 
Canada timber, but the proposition was lost in the House 
of Commons. Without desiring to express any opi- 
nion upon the question between the Baltic and Canada 
timber, it may be observed generally, that it is the 
paramount duty of a legislature to prefer uniformly the 
general welfare to the advancement of private in- 
terests. It is true that all interests ought to be ad- 
vocated and heard in Parliament ; but the political 
economist ought also to be heard as the advocate of the 
mass of consumers ; and although the function of the 
legislator differs from that of the public economist, inas- 
much as the former is in the situation of a judge, and 
must determine the cases in which general principles 
should be modified to meet particular emergencies, still 
the modification ought to be regarded as the exception, 
and the general principle as the standing rule. Every 
trade and every interest urges, in its turn, that there is 
something peculiar in its circumstances, which entitles it 
to the particular favour of government ; and if all were 
favoured, it is plain that the public would be injured, 
and the general iuterest compromised. 


There are two modes of estimating the value of ancient 
monuments in reference to their beauty as pleasing the 
eye, and in reference to their use as conveying informa- 
tion to the mind. 

The artist, who merely seeks a model for his chisel, 
or a subject for his pencil, too often despises the relic, 
which, though deficient in grace or elegance, is perhaps 
of the greatest value to the historical inquirer. 

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[March 23, 1833. 

The collector, who makes antiquity his idol, estimates 
that which is old merely on account of its age ; and his 
undiscriminating admiration of trifles which convey no 
pleasure to the ordinary spectator, and from which the 
learned cannot extract any instruction, tends to throw 
discredit upon the whole genus to which they belong. 

A third individual, whom for want of a better term 
we will distinguish as the Archaeologist, bestows a due 
share of admiration upon the beauty of art, and yields 
an adequate respect for the elder day ; but at the same 
time he considers that the best claim which ancient 
monuments, taking the word in its widest sense, have 
upon our attention, is derived from the lessons which 
they afFord. They are frequently scattered leaves, 
belonging to the lost books of history, and supplying 
knowledge which we cannot find in the scanty and 
imperfect annals which have descended to posterity. 

The seal above engraven, and lately discovered in 
digging a bank near Winchester, affords a most curious 
illustration of the manner in which ancient monuments 
fill up the chasms of written history. 

The inscription " + Sioillum Alfrici Al." in- 
forms us that the noble to whom it belonged was Alfric, 
Earl or Alderman of Mercia, who holds a conspicuous 
though not a very honourable station in the transactions 
of the reign of Ethelred. Me was (he son of Earl 
Alfere, and was first noticed about 983. In 985, as the 
Saxon Chronicle tells us, he was " driven out of the land," 
being probably banished or outlawed by the Witanage- 
niot. In 991 we find him again in England ; and he 
is noticed as one of the nobles by whose treacherous and 
cowardly advice the English nation first consented to 
render that ill-fated tribute, the Danegelt; by which 
they gave an additional incitement to the hostility of 
their greedy and ruthless foes. 

Alfric, notwithstanding his repeated acts of treachery, 
was much trusted by Ethelred; and in 992 he was 
appointed commander of the land forces destined to 
resist the Danish invaders. 

Hut Alfric gave secret intelligence to the enemy, and 
the night before the battle, he " skulked away from the 
army/' says the Saxon Chronicle, to " his great dis- 
grace." The few remaining notices of his life relate 
principally to his acts of perfidy. 

We have notice that Alfnc was Alderman or Earl of 
Mercia. Now one of the most obscure questions in our 
constitutional history, arises out of the station of these 
dignitaries after the conquest. In the latter ages of 
Anglo-Saxon history these titles were used as equivalents 
to each other, and we may here remark that the 
gradual declension of the title of Alderman is a curious 
exemplification of the progress of our commonwealth. 
Originally all the chieftains of the Anglo-Saxon tribes 
were called Aldermen or Eldermen, Seniors or Senators. 
But when certain of these chiefs acquired a prepon- 
derance over the others then the title of Alderman sank 
a stage lower, and was applied to the minor or petty 
sovereigns who were compelled to acknowledge the 
supremacy of their more powerful neighbours. By 

degrees it sank further, till at last the Alderman 
became the magistrate of a town, and the introduction 
of the Danish term Jarl, or Earl, probably accelerated 
the downward progress of the older title. But we must 
revert to our seal and to the points which it elucidates. 

In the Anglo-Norman era the Earls were created by 
the girding of the sword, a ceremony which continued 
in use to the reign of James I. That such a custom 
existed in the Anglo-Saxon era, we had, until the dis- 
covery of this seal, no authority except the assertion ot 
John of Wallingford, a compiler, supposed to have 
flourished in the thirteenth century, and whose Chronicle 
contains many curious notices of Saxon affairs, not found 
in other writers, and which have been considered 
as suspicious because they rested upon his single 
authority. But *.hose who so reason do not reason legi- 
timately, because it is quite possible that John of 
Wallingford may have had access to materials now lost ; 
and this seal, by exhibiting Alfric holding the sword of 
his dignity, precisely shows that Wallingford was cor- 
rect in his description of the insignia of an Anglo-Saxon 
Earl. Therefore we may fairly infer that his authority 
is good with respect to other particulars of which no 
corroboration has been found. We confirm his evidence 
in a point so minute as to render it very improbable that 
it would have been introduced by a wilful forger. Thus 
we establish his general character as well as the impor- 
tant fact that the Anglo-Norman custom was retained 
after the conquest of the country by the Normans. 

Various passages in the Anglo-Saxon laws and chro- 
nicles lead to the supposition that the Earls enjoyed a 
power approaching to sovereignty, and derived from the 
station which their predecessors possessed in the pristine 
ages of the Anglo-Saxon commonwealth. 

This seal gives additional ground for adopting this 

Alfric's head is encircled by a diadem exactly like the 
diadem of King Ethelred, and which appears on King 
Ethelred's coins. In the middle ages the costume was 
not a matter of fancy as upon modern coins, which 
exhibit an English King in the garb of the Casars, nor 
were such tokens of dignity lightly assumed. It is 
therefore most probable that the royal diadem of Alfric 
denotes his possession of an authority bordering upon 

A third question is elucidated by this seal. After the 
Norman Conquest it became the usage for kings and 
great men, and ultimately for all persons to confirm their 
legal acts, their grants, or their charters, by fixing an 
impression of their seal. At the present day, a seal is 
indispensable to a deed. This custom has been supposed 
to be Norman, aud either introduced by Edward the 
Confessor, who was much Normanized in his habits, or 
by the Conqueror. This opinion, however, was in some 
measure shaken by the drawing of two or three Anglo- 
Saxon seals belonging to prelates who flourished before 
the reign of the Confessor, but there was no evidence to 
show that the laity used seals anterior to this period, 
except a single obscure passage in the Chronicle ot 
William of Malmesbury, who flourished in the reign of 
Henry I. Here again our seal fills up the chasm. 

If our limits allowed us, we could show that many 
other points of history are elucidated by this seal, which 
the workman who discovered it thought to be an old 
halfpenny *. 

* The cast from which the above engraving is taken was made 
by a very ingenious artist, Mr. Doubleday, 32, little Museum Strtwt, 
who has formed the largest, the best, and the cheapest collection of 
casts from ancient seals, coins, &c. in the kingdom. 

•/ The Office of the Society for the Diffusion of Usefel Kaowledft is at 

69, Lincoln'i-I on Fields. 


Printed by Wiu.ii* Clowss, Stamford Street. 

Digitized by V^OOQlC 


Society for the DiflFasion of Useful Knowledge. 

53.] PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY. ^ [March 30, 1833. 

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During the administration of Pericles (b.c. 445), the, 
genius of Phidias, the greatest sculptor of antiquity, 
conceived the daring idea of constructing statues of the 
gods of Greece which should unite the opposite qualities 
of colossal dimensions, and materials of comparative 
minuteness of parts. The sculpture of Greece had been 
gradually developing itself, through several ages, from 
the primitive use of the commonest woods as a material, 
to the employment of those of a rarer growth, such as 
ebony and cedar, — in clay, in marble, in metals (and 
those occasionally of the most precious kinds), — till it 
at length reached, according to the taste of antiquity, 
the highest point of perfection, in the combination, upon 
a great scale, of ivory and gold. Independently, in- 
deed, of the delicate texture of ivory, its pleasing colour, 
and its capacity for the highest polish, there was some- 
thing wonderfully stimulating to the imagination to con- 
sider that the colossal objects of the popular worship, 
which in their forms alone might well command the 
most profound reverence, — uniting, as they did, all the 
characteristics of the lovely, the majestic, and the terrible, 
in the idea of a superior intelligence — that eveu a single 
one of these great works of art had required for its 
completion the slaughter of hundreds of mighty beasts 
in distant regions. 

The author who has left us the most interesting de- 
tails of the state of art amongst the Greeks is Pausanias, 
who published his description of Greece at Rome, during 
the reigns of the Antonines. In his notices of the re- 
markable objects which existed in the Grecian cities, we 
are especially struck with his accounts of those prodi- 
gious monuments of sculpture in ivory, of which no spe- 
cimen has been preserved to us, and which even appear 
to be repugnant to our notions of the beautiful in art. 
The remains of ancient statuary in marble and bronze 
can give us no definite idea of this species of sculpture. 
We perceive that the most precious substances had been 
laid under contribution to form these statues ; and that 
the highest genius, calling to its assistance a mechanical 
dexterity, whose persevering contest with difficulties is 
alone matter of wonder, had rendered them worthy to 
be regarded as the perfect idea of the gods, whose indi- 
vidual temples they more than adorned. These extraor- 
dinary representations, there can be no doubt, were the 
glories of the sanctuaries of Athens, of Argos, of Epi- 
daurus, and of Olympia; and were especially suited, by 
the grandeur of their dimensions, the beauty and rarity 
of their materials, the perfection of their workmanship, 
and the ideal truth of their forms, to advance the in- 
fluence of a religion which appealed to the senses to 
compel that belief which the reason might withhold. 
We shall select a few passages from Pausanias and other 
writers, to justify this account of the peculiar excellence 
of the colossal statuary of ivory and gold. We begin 
with that of the Jupiter at Olympia, generally described 
as the master-piece of Phidias. 

" The god," says Pausanias, " made of gold and 
ivory, is seated upon a throne. On his head is a crown 
representing an olive-branch. In his right hand he 
carries a Victory, also of gold and ivory, holding a 
wreath, and having a crown upon her head. In the left 
hand of the god is a sceptre shining with all sorts of 
metals. The bird placed on the summit of the sceptre 
is an eagle. The sandals of the god are of gold, and his 
mantle is also golden. The figures of various animals, 
and of all sorts of flowers, particularly lilies, are painted 
upon it. The throne is a diversified assemblage of gold, 
of precious stones, of ivory, and of ebony; in which 
figures of all kinds are also painted or sculptured." 

The Greek traveller then proceeds to describe, at con- 
siderable length, the accessories of the statue and the 
throne, such as the ornaments in bas-relief and the base ; 
but he does not furnish us with the dimensions of this 
great work r The omission is supplied by Strabo, in » 

Manner which is oiffidenti? strikiag. ~ " Phidias." he 
says, " had made his Jupiter sitting, and touching almost 
the summit of the roof of the temple ; so that it ap- 
peared that if the god had risen up he would have lifted 
off the roof." The height of the interior of the temple 
was about sixty English feet 

The description of Pausanias, inadequate as it is to 
give a precise idea of the splendour of this great work of 
art, which commanded the wonder and admiration of 
antiquity, is sufficient to show us that the effect produced 
by the combinations of various materials, in a great 
variety of colour and ornament, was essentially different 
from that of the sculpture of marble. The object of the 
artist was doubtless, in a great degree, to produce an 
illusion approaching much nearer to reality than the 
cold severity of sculptured stone. It resulted from the 
spirit of paganism, that every device of art should be 
employed to encourage the belief of the real presence of 
the god in his temple. The votaries indeed knew that 
the statues of the divinities were the work of human 
hands; and there was no desire to impose upon the 
popular credulity in this respect — for the statue of the 
Olympian Jupiter bore an inscription that it was made by 
Phidias. But, after every effort of genius had been 
exerted to produce the most overpowering effect upon the 
imagination, by an unequalled combination of beauty 
and splendour, the devices of the priests, or the natural 
tendency of the votaries to superstition, invented some 
legends which should give the work supernatural claims 
to the popular reverence. " The skill of Phidias received," 
says Pausanias, " the testimony of Jupiter himself! The 
work being finished, the artist prayed the god that he 
would make known if he was satisfied, and immediately 
the pavement of the temple was struck with lightning, 
at the spot where in my time stands a vase of bronze." 
But the grandeur of the workmanship was most relied 
upon to blend in the mind the intellectual idea and the 
material image of the divinity. * Those who go to the 
temple," says Lucian, " imagine that they see, not the 
gold extracted from the mines of Thessaly, or the ivory 
of the Indies, but the son himself of Saturn and Rhea, 
that Phidias had caused to descend from heaven." 
We have the record of Livy that the effect which this 
wonderful statue produced upon the mind was not 
limited to the superstition of the multitude. •• Paukis 
A2milius," says the historian, " looking upon the Olym- 
pian Jupiter, was moved in his mind as if the god was 
present" Up to the time of Antoninus, the reputation 
of this great work still drew a wondering crowd to El is ; 
for Arrian mentions that the chef-d'oeuvre of art was 
such an object of curiosity that it was held as a calamity 
to die without having seen it. 

The age immediately preceding that of Phidias had 
raised up edifices which awaited their final ornament 
from the hand of so daring a genius. The tyrannical 
government of Athens, at the period of the fiftieth 
Olympiad, had employed itself, as is the usage of des- 
potism, in the execution of great architectural works 
The Temple of the Olympic Jupiter, in that city, com- 
menced by Pisistratus, was upon so vast a scale that it 
required the resources of eight centuries for its com- 
pletion. But the invasion of the Persians gave a more 
powerful impulse to the mind of Greece, to recon- 
struct the monuments which their great enemy had 
destroyed, than even the subtle policy of the tyrants of 
the preceding generation. The spoils of triumph en- 
abled them to erect monuments in honour of their gods, 
which should be at the same time trophies of their vic- 
tories. Within a very few years, were built the temples 
of Minerva at Athens, of Ceres at Eleusis, of Jupiter at 
Olympia, of Juno at Argos, and of Apollo Epicurius at 
Phigalia. At certain periods of society extraordinary 
impulses are given to the mind of nations, to produce 
great monuments of art ; and thus we see that Oveec* 
in little more than half a century covered her fend with 

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temples. In a similar maimer many of the Gothie 
cathedrals of modern Europe were built at one and the 
same period. A new career of splendour was opened 
to Phidias by the magnificence of Pericles. The ancient 
temples had statues of gold and ivory; but they were 
not colossal. It was for him to create those gigantic 
monuments which should cause the shrine to appear too 
small for the divinity, and thus bring the idea of the 
infinite and finite into a contrast too powerful for the 
senses to withhold their homage. 

The peculiar merit of this idea of Phidias did not 
consist in his mere adoption of the colossal form, but 
in his employment of a minute material to produce in 
combination the effect of a vast solid surface. The idea 
of colossal statuary doubtless belongs to the infancy of 
art. We find the gods of the Hindoo mythology of 
about three times the height of ordinary men, in the 
caves of Elephanta; and M. Deguignea saw Images thirty 
feet high in a pagoda of China. The Greeks probably 
received the taste for the colossal from the Egyptians. 

M. Quatremere de Quincy, a living French writer 
who has written several important works on subjects 
of art, has devoted a large folio to the history of the 
ancient sculpture in ivory. A portion of this book is 
devoted to a demonstration of the mechanical proceedings 
in the construction of statues of ivory, or of ivory and 
gold. These details are exceedingly interesting, both to 
the artist and to the mechanic. His theory is founded 
upon a consideration of the form of the elephant's tusk, 
partly hollow and partly solid, — upon the assumption that 
the ancients were able to obtain tusks of larger dimensions 
than those ordinarily seen at the present day, — that an 
art existed of rendering the cylindrical part of the tusk flat 
when cut through longitudinally, — and that plates might 
thus be procured from six to twenty-four inches wide. 
He then conceives that a block of wood having been 
fashioned as a sort of core for the ivory, the individual 
plates were fixed upon it, having been cut and polished 
in exact resemblance to the corresponding portions of a 
model previously executed. The following woodcuts 
exhibit (1) the clay model, (2) the separate pieces of 
ivory for a bust, and (3) the block with a portion of the 
ivory plated on iU 


(2) (3) 

For fuller details of this subject generally, see the 
volume on the Elephant, in the € Library of Entertaining 




(4L) The importation of corn is a subject which must 
be considered with peculiar reference to the laws by 
which such importation is governed. The present corn 
law (the 9 Geo. IV. cap. 60) came into operation in 
1829, and imposes a duty fluctuating according to the 
average price in this country. The scale of this duty 
may be judged of by quoting the following extracts from 
the scale for wheat :— 

«n. ai_ . Pcr Quarter. 

When the average price is not under 61*. and ) ^ - 

under 62t. per quarter, the duty if . . . l £l 5 8 
When 62». and under 63«, , , 14 8 

n g?*- n £0t. 13 8 

l\ 9 ' » ™* 6 8 

72 i\ e_ 2* ° 2 8 

At or above 73s, . 10 

This law is a modification of a more prohibitory system 
which had been acted upon for some years, but it pre- 
serves the principle of the fluctuating scale of duties. 
Sincfe it came into operation on the 15th July, 1828, up 
to the 30th of June, 1831, there have been imported in 
those three years 7,263,184 quarters of corn of every de- 
scription, being an average of 2,421,061 quarters a year, 
and the total amount of duty collected npon corn in such 
three years was £2,096,95] . The total quantity of foreign 
wheat imported in the same period was 4,620,029 quar- 
ters, being an average of 1,540,009 quarters a year, and 
the thTee years' duty amounted to £1,389,290, being 
after the rate of 6*. Id, per quarter as the mean duty. 
The annual consumption of corn in the United Kingdom, 
including what is used for seed, has been estimated as 
follows f—» 

*"" ~ TotaL 






(42.) It appears that upon an average of the last 
three years the quantity of corn imported has been less 
than two million quarters and a half. . But taking the 
import of the year 1818, viz., 3,522,729 quarters, being 
the largest quantity imported in any one year, and com- 
paring it with the produce of the kingdom, it will be 
found to amonnt to about the fourteenth part of it. It 
is probable, however, that about half the corn produced 
is never brought to market, but is consumed by the 
agriculturists themselves, or used for seed, &c., so that it 
may be estimated that the quantity of foreign corn in the 
market has, at the utmost, not exceeded the seventh part 
of the British corn brought to market This, however, 
would have a material influence in alleviating scarcity in 
a bad year, and checking the rise of prices. It has 
been doubted, however, whether these objects are at- 
tained under a fluctuating system of duties; and a fixed 
duty of 6s. to 7*. the quarter has been thought by some 
preferable to the existing scale, and that it would be a 
sufficient protection to agriculture. 

(43.) Although the interests of agriculture are entitled 
to consideration, it must not be forgotten that whatever 
rise of the price of the corn consumed over that which it 
would otherwise cost is caused by the system of duties, 
is equivalent to a tax on the consumer to that amount 
Now, every shilling duty upon the 52,000,000 quarters 
consumed is equivalent to a tax of £2,600,000; and 
estimating the average rise on all sorts of grain at 7m. 
per quarter, the total would be £18,200,000; and sup- 
posing one half to be consumed by the agriculturists, 
then the amount would be £9,100,000. Upon the corn 
laws in general it may suffice to remark that in all politi- 
cal measures, where there are conflicting interests, it is 
necessary often that each should give and take some- 
thing for the general good of the whole ; and if on 

Q r 

Wheat. Other Grain. 

Qw. Qrg. 

Tew. • • 19,000,000 . • • 40,000,000 . 

Month . • 1,000,000 . . . 3,333,333 . 

Week . , 250,000 . . . 833,333 . 

Day . , . 35,714 . • . 119,048 . 

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the one hand it is unfair in the consumer to bbject to 
the reasonable protection of the British agriculturist, it 
would, on ibe other, be »Q Jess censurable. JQ the agricul- 

turists for them to endeavour to separate their particulK 
interest from the genera, good. 

[To bt continued.] 

'Tlifi CAMEL. 

[The Arabian Camel.] 

Over the arid and thirsty deserts of Asia and Africa, 
the camel affords to man the only means of intercourse 
between one country and another. The camel has 
been created with an especial adaptation to the regions 
wherein it has contributed to the comfort, and even 
to the very existence, of man, from the earliest ages. 
It is constituted to endure the severest hardships 
with little physical inconvenience. Its feet are formed 
to tread lightly upon a dry and shifting soil ; its nostrils 
have the capacity of closing, so as to shut out the 
driving sand, when the whirlwind scatters it over the 
desert ; it is provided with a peculiar apparatus for re- 
taining water in its stomach, so that it can march from 
well to well without great inconvenience, although they 
be several hundred miles apart. And thus, when a 
company of eastern merchants cross from Aleppo to 
Bussora, over a plain of sand which offers no refresh* 
meat to the exhausted senses, the whole journey being 
about eight hundred miles, the camel of the heavy caravan 
moves cheerfully along, with a burden of six or seven 
hundred weight, at the rate of twenty miles a day ; 
while those of greater speed, that carry a man, without 
much other load, go forward at double that pace and 
daily distance. Patient under his duties, he kneels down 
at the command of his driver, and rises up cheerfully 
With his load ; he requires no whip or spur during his 
monotonous inarch ; but, like many other animals, he 
feels an evident pleasure in musical sounds; and there- 
fore, when fatigue comes upon him, the driver sings 
some cheering snatch of his Arabian melodies, and the 

delighted creature toils forward with a brisker step, till 
the hour of rest arrives, when he again kneels down, to 
have his load removed for a little while ; and if the slock 
of food be not exhausted, he is further rewarded with* 
few mouthfuls of the cake of barley, which he carries for 
the sustenance of his master and himself. Under a burn- 
ing sun, upon an arid soil, enduring great fatigue, some- 
times entirely without food for days, and seldom com- 
pletely slaking his thirst more than once during a pro- 
gress of several hundred miles, the camel is patient, and 
apparently happy. He ordinarily lives to a great age, 
and is seldom visited by any disease. 

Camels are of two species. That with one hump. 
which is represented with his ordinary pack-saddle in 
the wood-cut, is the Arabian camel, and is usually called 
the dromedary. The species with two humps is the 
Bactrian camel. The Asiatics and Africans distinguish 
as dromedaries those camels which are used for riding 
There is no essential difference in the species, but only 
in the breed. The camel of the heavy caravan, the 
baggage camel, may be compared to the dray-horse; 
the dromedary to the hunter, and, in some instances, 
to the race-horse. Messengers on dromedaries, ac- 
cording to Burckhardt, have gone from Daraou to 
Berber in eight days, while he was twenty -two days 
with the caravan on the same journey. Mr. Jackson* 
in his account of the Empire of Morocco, tells a ro- 
mantic story of a swift dromedary, whose natural pace 
was accelerated in an extraordinary manner by the en- 
thusiasm of his rider • " Talking with an Arab of Suse, 

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on the subject of these fleet camels, and the desert horse, 
he assured me that he knew a young man who was pas- 
sionately fond of a lovely girl, whom nothing would 
satisfy but some oranges ; these were not to be procured 
at Mogadore, and, as the lady wanted the best fruit, 
nothing less than Marocco oranges would satisfy her. 
The Arab mounted his heirie at dawn of day, went to 
Marocco (about one hundred miles from Mogadore), pur- 
chased the oranges, and returned that night after the 
gates were shut, but sent the oranges to the lady by a 
guard of one of the batteries." 

The training of the camels to bear burthens, in the 
countries of the East, has not been minutely described 
by any traveller. M. Brue, who, at the latter part of 
the seventeenth century, had the management of the 
affairs of a French commercial company at Senegal, says, 
" soon after a camel is born, the Moors tie his feet under 
his belly, and having thrown a large cloth over his back, 
put heavy stones at each corner of the cloth, which rests 
on the ground. They in this manner accustom him to 
receive the heaviest loads." Both ancient and modern 
authors agree tolerably well in their accounts of the load 
which a camel can carry. Sandys, in his Travels in the 
Holy Land, says, " six hundred weight is his ordinary 
load* yet will he carry a thousand." The caravans are 
distinguished as light or heavy, according to the load 
which the camels bear. The average load of the heavy, 
or slow-going camel, as stated by Major Rennell, who 
investigated their rate of travelling with great accuracy, 
is from 500 to 600 lbs. Burckhardt says, that his 
^ggage and provisions weighing only 2 cwt, and his 
camel being capable of carrying 6 cwt., he sold him, 
contracting for the transport of his luggage across the 
desert. The camel sometimes carries large panniers, 
filled with heavy goods ; sometimes bales are strapped on 
his back, fastened either with cordage made of the palm- 
tree, or leathern thongs ; and sometimes two, or more, 
will bear a sort of Utter, in which women and children 
ride with considerable ease. 

The expense of maintaining these valuable creatures 
is remarkably little: a cake of barley, a few dates, a 
handful of beans, will suffice, in addition to the hard and 
prickly shrubs which they find in every district but the 
very wildest of the desert They are particularly fond of 
those vegetable productions which other animals would 
never touchi, such as plants winch are like spears and 
daggers, in comparison with the needles of the thistle, and 
which often pierce the incautious traveller's boot He 
might wish such thorns eradicated from the earth, if he did 
not behold the camel contentedly browsing upon them ; for 
he thus learns that Providence has made nothing in vain. 
Their teeth are peculiarly adapted for such a diet Differ- 
ing from all other ruminating tribes, they have two strong 
cutting teeth in the upper jaw ; and of the six grinding 
treth, one on each side, in the same jaw, has a crooked 
form : their canine teeth, of which they have two in each 
jaw, are very strong ; and in the lower jaw the two ex- 
ternal cutting teeth have a pointed form, and the fore- 
most of the grinders is also pointed and crooked. They 
are thus provided with a most formidable apparatus for 
cutting and tearing the hardest vegetable substance. 
But the camel is, at the same time, organized so as to 
graze upon the finest herbage, and browse upon the 
most delicate leaves ; for his upper lip being divided, he 
is enabled to nip off the tender shoots, and turn them 
into his mouth with the greatest facility. Whether the 
sustenance, therefore, which he finds, be of the coarsest 
or the softest kind, he is equally prepared to be satisfied 
with and to enjoy it 

To convey to a person unacquainted with the Greek 
umguage any accurate idea of the style of the great 

writers of Athens, is perhaps not an easy task ; and 
certainly it is an undertaking that has seldom been 
successfully accomplished. The chief difficulty appears 
to be, that the reader cannot so far remove all his present 
associations as to transport himself into a new set of 
circumstances, and to figure to himself the social life 
and modes of thought that prevailed in a nation which 
existed more than two thousand years ago. If it is 
often difficult for an Englishman to comprehend the 
thoughts and expressions of foreign writers of his own 
time, as undoubtedly it often is, how much must the 
difficulty be increased when he endeavours to understand 
a writer of a remote age, living under a political and 
religious system entirely different from any thing existing 
at the present day ? And if to this we add, that all 
the common books which treat of matters of antiquity 
only convey false impressions, it is no wonder if we see 
these untrue pictures reflected and even magnified on 
every occasion when they are pressed into service by the 
political speaker or the political writer. 

Another defect in translation is the preference of fine 
words and rounded sentences to simple and unpretending 
language. It may be safely laid down as a general rule 
in translating from one language into another, that, if 
ever we desert simplicity of expression, we run the risk 
of impairing or altering the meaning of the original. 

In the following specimen, taken from the opening of 
an oration of JEschines, we have attempted nothing 
more than to express in the plainest English the 
meaning of the speaker ; and it will only require a few 
words of previous explanation to render the whole in- 
telligible to any person. The skill of a practised speaker 
and writer (for we must bear in mind that these speeches 
were nearly always written before they were pronounced,) 
will easily be recognized in this opening address of 

Demosthenes and JBschines had formed part of a 
commission sent to treat with Philip of Macedon, the 
father of Alexander the Great, about the terms of a 
peace. After their return from the second embassy 
Demosthenes instituted a prosecution against jEscliines 
for malversation in the mission, and for bribery and 
corruption. He sold the interests of his native city, as 
Demosthenes alleges, for Philip s gold. The speech of 
Demosthenes, which still remains, though perhaps not 
one of the best specimens of his skill, is still a highly 
laboured production, abounding in ingenious sophistry, 
and seasoned with that high tone of personal abuse and 
invective in which he was so accomplished a master. 
iEschines replied with no less art and ingenuity, and, 
as the story goes, escaped a conviction. It should be 
recollected that the accused had, according to general 
usage at Athens, to address a very numerous jury, whose 
vote was given by ballot, and whose opinion was de- 
cided by that of the majority. 

*' I pray you, Athenians, to listen to me with favour, 
considering the magnitude of my danger, and the 
variety of charges to which I must reply ; considering, 
too, the arts and intrigues of my accuser, and his un- 
feeling temper. For he has been bold enough to tell 
you not to listen to the accused ; you, who are bound 
by oath to give both parties a fair hearing. And it was 
not in the heat of passion that he said this, for no man 
when he is lying can feel anger against the person whom 
he is falsely accusing. Nor yet do those who speak the 
truth ever try to hinder the accused from making his 
defence; for we know that an accusation prevails not 
with those who are to judge till the accused has made 
his defence, and shown himself unable to answer the 
charge. But Demosthenes, I know, is not fond of fair 
discussion, nor does it form any part of his present policy : 
his design has been to rouse your passions, and therefore 
has he ventured to accuse me of corruption, he who can 
have no great weight in sustaining such a charge. When 

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[MiRCH 30, 

a man tries to more your indignation against corruption, 
it is essential that he should be altogether free from the 
imputation himself. 

•* Never before has it been my lot to feel such alarm, 
to be moved with such indignation, nor yet to enjoy such 
unbounded satisfaction, as on the present day, while I 
have been listening to the speech of Demosthenes. I felt 
alarm, and indeed I do still feel apprehension, that some 
of you will hardly know me after being spell-bound 
and deceived by the insidious and malicious contrasts in 
which he has placed all my actions: I was almost 
beside myself with indignation, when I heard him accuse 
me of drunken brutal violence to a free woman of 
Olynthus : but I was delighted to see you stop him 
short in the midst of his abuse ; and this I feel to be a 
full reward for my sober and blameless life. 

" For this you deserve my thanks ; and I am most 
especially pleased that you choose to judge of a man 
rather according to the whole tenor of his life, than from 
the charges of a malicious enemy. But still I shall not 
decline answering the imputation. If there is a single 
man in all the crowd around us— and I think we have 
pretty nearly all the citizens present — or if there is one 
individual of the jury ready to believe that I ever did so 
Shameful a thing, were it even to a slave, I should not 
think my life worth preserving. And further, if I do not 
in the course of my defence prove the charge to be entirely 
false, and the mau who has had the impudence to make 
it an unprincipled and malicious accuser, and if I do not 
acquit myself of blame in every other matter, let my 
sentence be — death. And, concerning the rest of the 
charges, I entreat you, my judges, if I pass over any 
thing and do not notice it, — question me and let me 
know what you wish to hear from me ; not prejudging 
me, but listening fairly to both parties. And indeed I 
hardly know where to begin my defence, so irregular is 
the charge brought against me. And I beg you just to 
consider if I am put in a fair position. The man whose 
life is now at stake is myself: but the chief weight of 
the accusation is against Philocrates, Phryno, and the 
rest of the ambassadors, and against King Philip, and 
against the terms of the peace, and against the policy of 
Eubulus : and I am brought in on all these occasions. 
Demosthenes, it seems, according to his own account, 
is the only man who looks after the true interests of the 
state — all the rest are traitors. 

" In replying to such impudence and marvellous 
knavery, it is difficult to recollect all the particulars of 
an accusation, and difficult too, when a man's life is 
at stake, to disprove such unexpected calumnies. But 
in order that my statement may be as clear as possible, 
and perfectly intelligible and fair, I will begin with the 
discussions about the peace, and the nomination of the 
ambassadors. Following this plan I shall be best able 
to recollect and to state the facts, and you will be best 
enabled to understand them." 

Albert Durer, who was born at Nuremberg on the 
20th of May, 1471, and died at the same place on the 
6th of April, 1528, was equally eminent as a painter and 
as an engraver, and decidedly surpassed all his country- 
men in both capacities during the age in which he 
flourished. In the history of early engraving, indeed, 
there is scarcely perhaps a greater name than his ; and 
we shall take the opportunity of giving in connexion with 
ft a short notice respecting that art. 

Some writers are fond of carrying the origin of en- 
graving to a very high antiquity, by quoting as examples 
of the practice) of the art such carvings in wood or 
metal, or stone, as have been found in various degrees of 
excellence among almost all nations, — among our own 
Saxon and even British ancestors, as well as among the 

Egyptians, Greeks, and ftomantf. But this is to confound 
two things which are entirely distinct. Such works as 
those alluded to are specimens of sculpture, not of 
what we now call engraving. The modern art known 
by that name applies to the production of a print, or 
rather of a number of prints, from a design cot in wood 
or metal. The mere cutting out both of letters and of 
figures in a hard substance has been practised from the 
earliest ages; the art of obtaining letters and figures so 
cut out from copies or impressions by means of a colour- 
ing matter spread over them, and thence transferred to 
some other substance, is, in Europe at least, altogether 
a modern invention. The ancients were, indeed, accus- 
tomed to produce impressions by means of stamps in a 
variety of cases ; they struck coins, they made seals in wax, 
they even marked the weight and quality on their loaves 
of bread with a stamp. On the other hand, they applied 
a coloured liquid to make marks, both in their painting 
with a brush or pencil, and in writing, with a reed or 
other species of pen. What they did not 6o was just to 
use the two methods at once, — to take the impression from 
the stamp, not by making it enter into the substanee of 
the material on which it was pressed, but only by making 
it communicate to that material a fluid colour. The 
principal cause undoubtedly which prevented the ancients, 
after advancing so far as they did, from discovering the 
art of printing, was the want of any general demand for 
books. A high price, it is true, was paid for books, and 
must have been paid, by the few who did buy them ; 
the labour necessary for the copying of a manuscript 
was great, and a book therefore could not be obtained for 
a small sum. If there be an article which from Hs nature 
cannot be expected to ensure more than a very limited 
demand, let it be produced at what price it may, H is 
evident that in the case of that article the usual incentives 
are in great part wanting which excite the ingenuity of 
the manufacturer to endeavour, as in all other cases, to 
find out the cheapest way of producing ft. Now, in 
Greece and Rome, and also throughout the middle ages, 
this appears to have been nearly the case with books 
Very large prices were obtained for manuscripts upon 
which much labour had been bestowed ; but the number 
of purchasers was extremely limited : and from the state 
of the general population it was scarcely to be expected 
that a reduction of price would ensure any considerable 
extension of the market. 

It was the general demand for the Bible, or rather 
perhaps for religious manuals of various descriptions, 
which first altered this state of things; and, to that 
cause therefore we owe the art of printing, whether as 
regards printing from moveable types, or from blocks of 
wood, or from metal plates. The step from what had 
been already done to the completion of this great 
invention was so immediate and easy, that we seem to 
be quite warranted in accounting for its not having been 
made sooner, simply from the absence of any strong 
inducement to make it. There was no one book of which 
more than a few dozen copies were actually sold, or 
could reasonably be expected to be sold, at any such 
moderate reduction of price as the application of more 
ingenuity to the manufacture was likely to allow ; such 
application therefore was not thought of. But wheiii 
in the early part of the fifteenth century, after the seTeral 
nations of Europe had settled down, and as it were 
ripened into something like social organization, and the 
revival of classical learning had spread abroad ° ver * 
community a much more general scholarship than before 
existed, the demand grew up not merely among t« e 
clergy, but to a great extent among the laity also for tw 
Latin Scriptures, and other devotional works. A sta 
of things then for the first time presented itself, in whic 
it might be considered certain, that a reduction of pj^ 
would bring with it a large extension of the mark* . 
In the case of one class of books, at least, this "was 8Ur 

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to follow ; and religious books accordingly were the first 
to which the new art was applied. 

The art of printing would probably of itself have 
speedily led to that of engraving ; but in point of fact, 
it would rather appear that the latter had a distinct 
origin of its own. As the general demand for the Bible 
prompted the one invention, so a general demand of a 
very different kind, that, namely, for playing-cards, seems 
to have previously suggested the first idea and application 
of the other. Playing-cards were certainly known in 
Germany before the year 1376. It is probable that they 
were at first painted individually by the hand, as books 
were written; and the more expensive sorts may have 
long continued to be prepared in this way. But it appears 
certain, thai the makers at length began to stamp them 
from blocks, probably of wood, when they had come into 
general use. Here, then, was what we now call wood- 
engraving invented and put in practice. In this process, 
as in letter-press printing, the mark is made upon the 
paper by the raised parts of the stamp, or rather by those 
which are not cut away ; the scooped-out parts receiving 
no ink, and of course transmitting none to the paper. The 
method of printing from a wood-cut* therefore, is exactly 
the same wkh that of printing from ordinary types ; and 
the two can be accordingly combined in the same page. 
Wood-cuts were introduced into books very soon after 
the invention of printing. The process of copper-plate 
printing proceeds upon a different principle. In the 
copper, the parts which are to receive the ink and make 
the impression are cut out, either in lines or dots, and the 
surface of the metal which remains raised leaves no 
mark. To prevent it therefore from retaining any ink, 
this surface has to be carefully rubbed dry after every 
impression, and only the ink which is in the hollows of 
the plate allowed to remain. This makes copper-plate 
printing an exceedingly tedious operation, and also one 
which cannot be combined with that of letter-press. These 
repeated rubbings, too, very soon wear out the plate ; 
but this last disadvantage has of late years been com- 
pletely obviated by the substitution of steel for copper, 
in every department of metallic engraving where large 
numbers of impressions are required. When in steel or 
copper engraving, the dark parts of the picture are cut out 
in lines, the process is called line-engraving ; when in 
dots, it is called dot-engraving, or stippling. In both, the 
shades are made lighter or deeper by the lines or dots 
being kept more or less apart. Frequently, however, 
these marks are not made by a cutting-tool, but by the 
method called etching, which consists fn the application 
of aqua-fortis, or some other acid, to bite into the metal. 
In nearly all plates etching is the first step in the process. 
The surface of the plate is spread over with a composition 
or varnish which is not affected by the action of the acid ; 
to this the design intended to be engraved is transferred, 
either by being drawn upon it (in reverse of course) with 
the hand, or by its outlines, traced with a black lead pencil, 
being at once impressed upon the composition by passing 
it through the rolling-press. The varnish, or ground, 
as it is called, is then carefully cut away down to the 
copper, wherever it is thus marked. After this the aqua- 
fortis is poured over the whole, and kept standing upon 
it by a rim of wax erected around the plate, until it is 
considered to have eaten deep enough into the copper at 
those places from which the varnish has been removed. 
The lines thus formed, however, frequently receive a 
finishing touch from the graver; and one part of a plate 
is often wholly cut by the graver, while another part 
not requiring the same delicacy of touch is done by the 
easier method of etching. Albert Durer has been usually 
stated to have been the inventor of etching ; and he was 
undoubtedly the person by whom it was first brought to 
any degree of perfection. Lastly, there is the process, 
commonly called among us mezzotinto-engravin% (that 
is, half-painting, from the effect it produces being con- 

ceived to resemble that of colours), but by foreigners 
the black manner, or sometimes the English manner. 
Its invention has been ascribed to Prince Rupert; but 
it was practised by others before him, and it is now 
generally allowed that we are indebted for it to a German 
military officer, of the name of Siegen, or Sichem. The 
whole surface of the plate is first made rough and raised 
up by being, as it were, repeatedly harrowed in various 
directions by an instrument called the grounding-top], 
adapted to, that purpose. All that has then to be done is 
to bruise down and smooth with the burnisher those 
places which are to represent the bright or less shaded 
parts of the design, the smoothing being made partial or 
complete according as more or less shade is necessary. 


In' consequence of a diminution in the duty on 'cocoa, 
a very nutritious and cheap article of food is now placed 
within the reach of almost all classes of persons, and a 
short account of it may be acceptable to our readers. 

The cocoa, or cacao, is known to botanists under the 
name of Theobroma cacao, Linnaeus having given it the 
first appellation to designate its excellent qualities, Theo- 
broma, signifying " food for a god." The same naturalist 
placed it in tlie class Monadelphia decandria (i. e. having 
ten stamens, united into a tube round the pistil) ; but 
later authors refer it to the natural family of the Mai- 
vacea (mallows), most of the genera of which are highly 
useful to man. 

The cacao is a native of South America, where it was 
not only used for food, but the seeds served as money. 
The tree is not unlike that of the cherry in form, and 
seldom exceeds twenty feet in height. The leaves are 
oblong, and pointed at the end, .and when young are 
of a pale red. The flowers, which generally spring 
from the wood of the large branches of the tree, are 
small, and of a light red colour, mixed with yellow ; 
the pods which succeed them are oval, and are green 
when young, but as they ripen they become yellow or 
red. They are filled with a sweet, white pulp, which 
surrounds the many seeds contained in each of the frve 
cells, or divisions. When travelling, the native Indians 
eat this pulp, and find it very refreshing. The seeds 
are steeped in water previous to their being sown, and 
lose the power of reproduction in a few days after they 
are taken from the pod. As the plant grows up, the 
shade of the coral-tree is considered so essential, that St 
is called by the Spaniards the Madre del cacao, or mother 
of the cocoa. When this tree is covered with its bright 
scarlet blossoms it presents a splendid appearance. 

It appears that there are two varieties of the cocoa in 
Trinidad, to which colony, and that of Grenada, the 
English plantations are now chiefly confined } the one 
variety is called the Creole cocoa, which is by for the 
best, but not so productive as the other sort, which has 
nearly superseded it, and bears the name of Forastero % 
or foreign. The former suits the Spanish market best, 
the latter having a somewhat bitter taste. The Creole 
begins to bear after about five years' growth, but does 
not reach perfection till the eighth year; it, however, 
yields good fruit for twenty years. The Forastero pro- 
duces fruit at three years, and both, probably, come 
from the Spanish Main. It was formerly the practice 
in Trinidad to grant manumission to every slave who 
could at any time deliver up to his master one thousand 
cocoa-trees, planted by himself, in a space expressly 
allotted to them, in a state of bearing. Many instances 
of freedom obtained in this way might be cited, as the 
cultivation of them at any time did not infringe too 
much upon the daily tasks, and where nature had already 
provided shade and moisture, was comparatively trifling. 
In Grenada the plantations are beautifully situated 
among the mountains, and the labourers can work at 

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tMARCff SO, 183S. 

all hours in the 'shade ; but the cocoa walks are now 
chiefly cultivated by free coloured people, most of whom 
are settlers from the Spanish Main. 

[Leaf, (lower, and fruit of the Cocao, with a pod opened.] 

The seeds of the cocoa- tree are gathered twice every 
year, but the largest crop is yielded in the month of 
December ; the other is ready in June. When picked, 
and extracted from the pods, they are placed in heaps, 
on platforms of clay, where they are suffered to ferment 
for forty-eight hours or more ; they are then dried in the 
sun, exactly imitating the process used with coffee. 
When required for use, they are roasted till the husks 
may be readily taken off; and if to be converted into 
chocolate, they are bruised and worked with the hand 
into a paste, which is afterwards made still finer by a 
smooth iron. This is afterwards flavoured with various 
ingredients, the principal of which are cinnamon and 
vanilla; the latter is a climbing plant, indigenous to 
Trinidad, and bears long slender pods. A great con- 
sumption of chocolate takes place in Spain, where it is 
considered as a necessary of life. In France it is also 
much used, and is fashioned into an endless variety of 

When the seeds are to be made into cocoa they are 
ground to a fine powder. The husks, boiled in milk, 
make a thin and delicious beverage, and are in great 
request in France, for delicate persons who find the paste 
or powder too rich for them. 

An excise duty on chocolate, and heavy duties on 
cocoa, have hitherto prevented any great consumption 
of these two articles in England, and the principal 
demand for the latter has hitherto been in the navy, 
each sailor's allowance being an ounce per diem, which 
affords him a pint of good liquid. The late reduction 
of duty will probably bring cocoa into more general 
use, as it is now half the price of coffee, and one-fifth 
that of tea, and certainly far more nutritious than either. 


In an article in the Quarterly Journal of Education, 
No. X., just published, is given the following outline of 
a proposed course of instruction for the children of the 
poorer classes :— 

Besides reading, writing, and arithmetic the following 
subjects ought to be taught * 

Reading ought to be united with history. The best and 
first history, of course, is that of the pupil s native country, 
which should he written, we need hardly say, very differently 
from any book of the class yet published. A school library, 
stored with useful books, migtit afford inestimable advan- 
tages. And why should England see her labours for pro- 
moting knowledge and enlightening mankind, turned to a 
better account in other countries than in her own ? 

To writing* i. e. calligraphy and orthography, should be 
added lessons on the general principles and nature of 

Elementary drawing* which has been so often recom 
mended, should certainly be a part of the education of all 
classes. It might be confined to the slate, and consist in 
teaching to draw straight and curved lines, with regular 
figures, accompanied by drawings composed of these lines 
and figures ; and, finally, the pupil should draw various real 
objects. This branch of drawing proceeded from, and is 
cultivated in, Pestalozzian schools. 

The copying of pattern drawings and objects of nature 
must be chiefly left to the taste and opportunities of every 
individual pupil The symmetrical figures, or compositions 
expressing merely symmetry—such as architectural orna- 
ments, patterns of vessels, furniture, &c. need only be drawn 
on slates during the lesson, and may afterwards be copied at 
home into books with lead pencil, by those who show any 
taste and wish for it ; and their books might occasionally be 
brought to school for the inspection of the master. There 
is little doubt that those who, after leaving school, enter 
trades may derive the greatest advantages from those lessons 
of drawing, which develope and cultivate a taste for beauty 
and symmetry of form. Such practice would, undoubtedly, 
soon have a beneficial effect on all great branches of our 
national industry, where the taste of the workman is called 
into action. 

Geography* at least that of their own country, and in the 
upper classes a general description of the globe, ought to be 
taught in all schools, with the aid of maps, &c, accompanied 
in each case with an account of the natural and manufactured 
products which characterize each country. 

Arithmetic is indispensable ; and some elements of 

Geometry might be given in the drawing lesson. 

Music also should be taught The objection, that this is 
impracticable, because English boys, generally speaking, 
possess no ear for music, is quite groundless ; for experience 
in a sufficient number of instances to warrant a general 
rule, has proved the contrary to be the case. English bovs 
are naturally quite as musical as German and French boys, 
and in Germany singing is taught in every school. Musk 
was generally cultivated in England at one time, and it will 

Xin become general, and increase content and happiness, 
>n the condition of the poorer classes will allow them a 
little more comfort and rational enjoyment than they now 

Religious and moral instruction need not be particularly 
specified here ; it is that on which the success of all other 
instruction chiefly depends. 

By what means the general instruction of the tower 
classes can be effected to the extent here briefly pointed out, 
is a question which belongs to the government to answer, 
and we hope they will soon speak out. This much may be 
said, that in the immense resources, and in the liberality and 
charitable character of the English nation, there will be found 
sufficient means for establishing a school in every Tillage, 
throughout England and Wales, conducted on a plan similar 
to those in Germany, and particularly in Prussia. Parents 
ought to pay a trifle to prevent their undervaluing that which 
they can have for nothing. Boys ought to be compelled to 
attend these schools regularly, at least, to their fourteenth, 
girls to their thirteenth, year. No one who knows the English 
character will doubt that, if these village schools once ob- 
tained general esteem, there would be no want of exhibitions 
and orizes, &c. to enable the boy, who showed distinguished 
abilities and a good character, to go to a grammar school, 
and if he conducted himself well, to obtain any honour and 
advantages which education can confer. 

' The Office of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge if 4 

69, LtDColn'a-Inn Fields. 


Prtated by William Clovis, Stamford StWet, 

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or TBI 

Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 


February 28 to March 31, 1833. 


[The ColoiMum, in the Regent's Park, London.] 

The above wood-cut represents a remarkable building 
in the Regent's Park, erected somewhat more than four 
years ago, chiefly for the purpose of exhibiting a pano- 
rama of London. It is called after the Colosseum of 
Rome; to which monument of ancient magnificence, 
however, it does not bear the slightest resemblance. 

The origin of this edifice is singularly curious. Mr.. 
Horner, a meritorious and indefatigable artist, and as it 
should seem a man of great force of character, undertook, 
at the time of the repair of the ball and cross of St Paul's, 
to make a series of panoramic sketches of London, from 
that giddy elevation. That he might overcome the diffi- 
culties which the smoke of the vast city ordinarily pre- 
sented, he invariably commenced his labours immediately 
after sun-rise, before the lighting of the innumerable fires 
which pour out their dark and sullen clouds during the 
day, and spread a mantle over this wide congregation of 
the dwellings of men, which only midnight can remove. 
On a fine summer morning, about four o'clock, London 
presents an extraordinary spectacle. The brilliancy of 
the atmosphere — the almost perfect stillness of the 
streets, except in the neighbourhood of the great mar- 
«ets— the few living beings that pass along those lines 

which in the day are crowded like some vast mart, such 
as the traveller hurrying to his distant starting-place, 
or the labourer creeping to his early work — all these 
circumstances make up a picture which forcibly impresses 
the imagination. Wordsworth has beautifully painted a 
portion of this extraordinary scene in one of his finest 
sonnets : — 

" Earth has not any thing to show more fair : 
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty : 
This city now doth like a garment wear 
The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
Open unto the fields, and to the sky ; 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
Never did sun more beautifully steep 
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill ; 
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep I 
The river glideth at his own sweet will : 
Dear God? the very houses seem asleep ; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still !" 

The freedom from interruption— the perfect loneliness in 
the heart of the busiest spot on earth — give to the con- 
templative rambler through London, at the •* sweet 
hour of prime," a feeling almost of fancied superiority 

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[March 31, 

over the thousand* of his fellow-mortals whose senses 
are steeped in forgetfulneas. Bat how completely must 
Mr. Horner have felt this power, in his " lofty aery !" 
Did the winds pipe ever so krad, and rock hint to and 
fro in his wicker-basket, there he sat in security, intently 
delineating what few have seen — the whole of the splen- 
did city — its palaces and its hovels, its churches and its 
prisons — from one extremity to the other, spread like a 
map at bis feet. Gradually the signs of life would be 
audible and visible from his solitary elevation ; — the one 
feint cry of the busy chapman swelling into a chorus of 
ardent competitors for public patronage — the distant roll 
of the solitary waggon, echoed, minute after minute, by 
the accumulation of the aame sound, till all individual 
noise was lost in the general din — the first smoke rising 
Ike a spiral column into the skies, till column after 
column sent up their tribute to the approaching gloom, 
and the one dense cloud of London was at last formed, 
and the labours of the painter were at an end. These 
were the daily objects of him who, before the rook went 
forth for his morning flight, was gazing upon the most 
extensive, and certainly the most wonderful, city of the 
world, from the highest pinnacle of a temple which has 
only one rival in majesty and beauty. The situation 
was altogether a solemn and an inspiriting one ;— end 
might well suggest and prolong that enthusiasm which 
was necessary to the due performance of the extra- 
ordinary task which the painter had undertaken. 

What the artist who sketched this panorama saw only 
In the earliest hours of a brilliant morning, the visitor 
of the Colosseum may behold in all seasons, and all 
hours of the day. Upon the interior of the outer wall, 
which rises to a height of about seventy feet, is spread 
the panoramic view of London, embracing the most 
minute as well as distant objects. The spectator ascends 
a flight of steps in the centre of the building, till he 
arrives at an elevation which corresponds in size and 
situation with the external gallery which is round the 
top of the dome of St PauPs. Not many persons can 
reach this situation at the cathedral, for the ascent is 
perilous, by dark and narrow ladders, misappropriately 
called stai rcas es! amidst the timbers which form the 
framework of the dome. At the Colosseum the ascent 
is safe and easy ; and the visitor who pays an extra price 
may be rai sed by machinery. Upon arriving in the 
gallery the spectator is startled by the completeness of 
the illusion- The gradations of light and colour are so 
weD m ana ge d , that the eye may range from the lower 
parts of the cathedral itself, and the houses in its im- 
mediate neighbourhood, over long lines of streets, with 
all their varieties of public and private buildings, till ft 
reposes at length upon the fields and hills by which the 
great metropolis is girt The amplitude of the crowded 
picture is calculated to impress the mind with a sense of 
surprise, not unmixed with those feelings which belong 
to the contemplation of any vast and mysterious object 
" How rich, how poor, how abject, how august, 
How complicate, how wonderful, ii " London. 

How the whole town is filled with the toil and tur- 
moil of commerce. Turn to the right, the struggle is 
there going forward; turn to the left, it is there also. 
Look from the west to the east, and let the eye range 
along the dark and narrow streets that crowd the large 
space from Cheapside to the Thames — all are labouring 
to fill their warehouses with the choicest products of the 
earth, or to send out fabrics to the most distant abodes 
of civilized or even of uncivilized life. Look, beyond, 
at the river crowded with vessels, and the docks where 
masts show like a forest. In all this going to and fro 
of the sons of commerce, and in this incessant din of 
barter and brokerage, there is much throwing away of 
the best energies of man, and many painful exhibitions 
of the inequalities of fortune. But assuredly the activity 
tf trade U a better thing than the activity of war. Itfe 

for us to subdue the earth by an interchange of benefits, 
Slid thus does the energy of commerce carry the seeds 
of knowledge and taste into the most distant regions. 
Count not,- therefore, these cranes and waggons, and 
" the din of all this smithery, 1 ' as vulgar things. They 
are accomplishing the purposes of Providence, slowlj 
and surely;. and when we have done our work other 
nations will, in the same way, roll forward the baU of 

The principal leason why England is so much is ad- 
vance of other nations in her manufacturing and com- 
mercial industry, arises from the prodigious accumula- 
tions, of which London furnishes the most splendid 
example. Recollect what the vast city, whose modem 
state we see mapped out at the Colosseum, was five 
hundred or even two hundred years ago. Three-fourths 
of the space now covered by houses was occupied by 
fields in the reign of Elizabeth ; one bridge only crossed 
the Thames instead of six ; not a dock then existed ; the 
steam-engine, which during the last half-century ks 
made London a great manufacturing town, was un- 
known ; the streets were unpaved ; the houses wm 
unsupplied with water ; there were few schools for ge- 
neral education ; the splendid hospitaJs and other insti- 
tutions for the relief of suffering, which are the glory el 
London, remained to be established ; there was bo post 
office ; and scarcely a public conveyance to ply throng h 
the miry streets. Compare this state of things with the 
present condition of the metropolis, and see how all the 
best possessions of civilization have been gradually accu- 
mulated, and what advantages we possess in the accu- 
mulation. These advantages, not peculiar to London, 
but exhibited in the same degree, though on a smaller 
scale, by every portion of the country, constitute a part, 
as it were, of the public property of the humblest indi- 
vidual. We may illustrate this by some remarks con- 
tained in the little work on ' Capital and Labour,' 
published by the Society. "* 

" It may assist us in making the value of capital mot 
clear, if we take a rapid view of the roost obvious features 
of the accumulation of a highly crvilixed country. 

" The first operation in a newly-settled country is what 
is termed to clear k. Look at a civilised country, such 
as England. It is efeared. The encumbering woods 
are cut down, the unhealthy marshes are drained. T*< 
noxious animals which were once the principal inhabi- 
tants of the land are exterminated ; and their place is 
supplied with useful creatures, bred, nourished, and 
domesticated by human art, and multiplied to an extent 
exactly proportioned to the wants of the population. 
Forests remain for the produce of timber, but they 
are confined within the limits of their utility ;— mountains 
" where the nibbling flocks do stray," have ceased to 
be barriers between nations and districts. Every vege- 
table that the diligence of man has been able to trans- 
plant from the most distant regions is raised for food. 
The fields are producing a provision for the cominf 
year; while the stock for immediate consumption is 
ample, and the laws of demand and supply are » 
perfectly in action, that scarcity seldom occurs and 
famine never. Rivers have been narrowed to bounds 
which limit their inundations, and they have been made 
navigable wherever their navigation could be profitable. 
The country is covered with roads and with canals, 
which render distant provinces as near to each other to 
commercial purposes as neighbouring villages in J<$ 
advanced countries. Houses, all possessing some com- 
forts which were unknown even to the rich a &* 
centuries ago, cover the land, in scattered fkra-houses 
and mansions, in villages, in towns, in cities, ia capital* 
These houses are filled with an almost incoaceivabfe 
number of conveniences and luxuries— -fcirniture, gltf* 
porcelain, plate, linen, clothes, books, pictures, J* «* 
stones of the merchanU and tendon* the 

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human ingenuity are displayed in «my variety 'of sub- 
stances and forms that can exhibit the multitude of 
civilized wants ; and in the manufactories are seen the 
wonderful adaptations of science for satisfying those wants 
at the cheapest cost The people who inhabit such 
a civilized land have not only the readiest communi- 
cation with each other by the means of roads and canals, 
but can trade by the agency of ships with all parts of 
the world. To carry on their intercourse amongst them* 
selves they speak one common language, reduced to cer- 
tain rules, and not broken into an embarrassing variety 
of unintelligible dialects. Their written communications 
are conveyed to the remotest corners of their own 
country, and even to other kingdoms, with the most 
unfailing regularity. Whatever is transacted in such a 
populous hive, the knowledge of which can afford profit 
or amusement to the community, is recorded with a 
rapidity which is not more astonishing than the general 
accuracy of the record. What is more important, the 
discoveries of science, the elegancies of literature, and all 
that can advance the general intelligence, are preserved 
and diffused with the utmost ease, expedition, and 
security, so that the public stock of knowledge is con- 
stantly increasing. Lastly, the general well-being of all 
is sustained by laws, — sometimes indeed imperfectly 
devised and expensively administered, bu+ on the whole 
of infinite value to every member of the community; 
and the property of all is defended from external invasion 
and from internal anarchy by the power of government, 
which will be respected only in proportion as it advances 
the general good of the humblest of its subjects, by 
securing their capital from plunder and defending their 
industry from oppression. 

" When we look at the nature of the accumulated wealth 
of society, it is easy to see that the poorest member of it 
who dedicates himself to profitable labour is in a certain 
sense rich — rich, as compared with the unproductive and 
therefore poor individuals of any uncivilized tribe. The 
very scaffolding, if we may so express it, of the social 
structure, and the moral forces by which that structure 
was reared, and is upheld, are to him riches. To be rich 
is to possess the means of supplying our wants — to be 
poor is to be destitute of those means. Riches do not 
consist only of money and lands, of stores of food or 
clothing, of machines and tools. The particular know- 
ledge of any art, — the general understanding of the laws 
of nature,— the habit from experience of doing any work 
in the readiest way, — the facility of communicating ideas 
by written language, — the enjoyment of institutions con- 
ceived in the spirit of social improvement, — the use of 
the general conveniences of civilized life, such as roads — 
these advantages, which the poorest man in England 
possesses or may possess, constitute individual property. 
They are means for the supply of wants, which in them- 
selves are essentially more valuable for obtaining his 
full share of what is appropriated, than if all the pro- 
ductive powers of nature were unappropriated, and if, 
consequently, these great elements of civilization did not 
exist Society obtains its almost unlimited command 
over riches by the increase and preservation of knowledge, 
and by the division of employments, including union of 
power. In his double capacity of a consumer and a 
producer, the humblest man has the full benefit of these 
means of wealth — of these great instruments by which 
the productive power of labour is carried to its highest 

" But if these common advantages, these public means 
of society, offering so many important agents to the 
individual for the gratification of his wants, alone are 
worth more to him than all the precarious power of the 
savage state, — how incomparably greater are his advan- 
tages when we consider the wonderful accumulations, in 
the form of private wealth, which are ready to be 
exchanged with the labour of all those who are in a 

condition to add to the store. It has been truly said, 
• H is a great misfortune to be poor, but it is a much 
greater misfortune for the poor man to be surrounded 
only with other poor like himself.' The reason is 
obvious. The productive power of labour can be 
carried but a very little way without accumulation of 
capital. In a highly civilized country, capital is heaped 
up on every side by ages of toil and perseverance. A 
succession, during a long series of years, of small advan- 
tages to individuals unceasingly renewed and carried 
forward by the principle of exchanges, has produced this 
prodigious amount of the aggregate capital of a country 
whose civilization is of ancient date. This accumulation 
of the means of existence, and of all that makes existence 
comfortable, is principally resulting from the labours of 
those who have gone before us. It is a stock which was 
beyond their own immediate wants, and which was not 
extinguished with their lives. It is our capital. It has 
been produced by labour alone, physical and mental 
It can be kept up only by the same power which has 
created it, carried to the highest point of productiveness 
by the arrangements of society." 


The recent death of Admiral Lord Viscount Exmouth, 
which took place at his house at Teignmouth on the 
23d of January last, induces us to devote a small part 
of our space to a notice of the professional career of one 
of the best men and ablest officers of whom our naval 
service has ever had to boast We shall avail ourselves 
for this purpose of a memoir of his lordship, which ap- 
peared in the last number of the United Service Journal, 
from the pen of one who, during an intimate con- 
nexion of many years, enjoyed peculiar opportunities of 
observing both the method of his every-day life, and his 
conduct in extraordinary emergencies. 

The father of Lord Exmouth, whose name was Samuel 
Pellew, commanded the Government Packet- Boat at 
Dover, where his son Edward was born on the 19th ot 
April, 1757. The boy went to sea at the age of thirteen, 
having lost his father five years before. The ship in which 
he began his career was the Juno frigate, and his first 
voyage was to the Falkland Islands, at the extremity of 
South America, He was not engaged in active service 
till 1776, on the breaking out of the American war, 
when being sent out as midshipman in the Blonde 
frigate to Lake Champlain, he greatly distinguished him- 
self in the course of that and the following year. The 
gallantry which he displayed on various occasions, ob- 
tained acknowledgments in the most flattering terms, 
both from Lord Howe and General Burgoyne, the former 
of whom also gave him a lieutenant's commission. On 
the surrender of the British force, after the battle of 
Saratoga, he returned on his parole to England, and 
was soon after appointed first lieutenant of the Apollo 
frigate, under Captain Pownoll. In the midst of an 
action, fought in the spring of 1780, the Captain fell 
wounded in Lieutenant Pellew's arms, who thereupon 
assumed the command of the ship, and soon compelled 
the enemy to take safety in flight For his conduct 
on this occasion, he was promoted to the command of 
the Hazard sloop of war, from which, in March 178*. 
he was removed to the Pelican. A few months after he 
was raised by Admiral Keppel to the rank of post 
captain, for a very spirited attack, near the Bass Rock in 
the Frith of Forth, on three of the enemy's privateers, all 
of which he drove on shore. The following ten years he 
spent partly afloat at various stations, and in the com- 
mand of different ships, and partly at home. 

On the breaking out of the war of 1793, he was ap« 
pointed to the command of the frigate La Nymphe, of 
thirty-six guns, in which he sailed from Falmouth on the 
17th of June, and the next day captured the French, 

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[Much 31, 

ship La Cleopetre, after a sharp struggle. For this 
achievement he received the honour of knighthood. It 
was followed by many other successful exploits, the enu- 
meration of which we must omit. The following para- 
graph, however, of the memoir before us is too interest- 
ing not to be quoted at length. " But justly," says the 
writer, " as his conduct in command was entitled to dis- 
tinction, nothing gained him more deserved honour than 
that union of prompt resolution with constitutional phi- 
lanthropy which personally endeared him to his fol 
lowers. Twice already, when captain of the Winchelsea 
frigate, this heroic spirit had been signally displayed by 
his leaping from the deck, and thus saving two of his 
drowning sailors. A more conspicuous example of this 
noble feeling was shown on the 26th January, 1796, 
when, by his great personal exertions, he preserved the 
crew and passengers of the Dutton transport, which, 
crowded with troops and their families, proceeding on 
the expedition to the West indies, was driven on the 
rocks under the citadel at Plymouth. The writer of 
this slight memoir cannot refuse his readers the pleasure 
of seeing the hero's own modest account of this act of 
benevolence, contained in a private letter which he re- 
ceived from him many years afterwards (1811), when 
commander-in-chief in the North Seas. * Why do you 
ask me to relate the wreck of the Dutton ? Susan (Lady 
Exmouth) and I were driving to a dinner party at Ply- 
mouth, when we saw crowds running to the Hoe, and 
learning it was a wreck, I left the carriage to take her 
on, and joined the crowd. I saw the loss of the whole 
five or six hundred was inevitable without somebody to 
direct them, for the last officer was pulled on shore as I 
reached the surf. I urged their return, which was re- 
fused ; upon which I made the rope fast to myself, and 
was hauled through the surf on board, established 
order, and did not leave her until every soul was saved 
but the boatswain, who would not go before inc. 
I got safe, and so did he, and the ship went all to pieces ; 
but I was laid in bed for a week by getting under the 
mainmast (which had fallen towards the shore) ; and iny 
back was cured by Lord Spencer's having conveyed to 
me by letter his Majesty's intention to dub me baronet. 
No more have I to say, except that I felt more pleasure 
in giving to a mother's arms a dear little infant only 
three weeks old, than I ever felt in my life; and both 
were saved. The struggle she had to entrust me with 
the bantling was a scene I cannot describe, nor need 
you, and consequently you will never let this be visible." " 
This letter was communicated to no one, till after the 
death of the writer. From this time, till the peace in 1802, 
Sir Edward was employed in active service, and shared 
largely in the success which attended the naval arms of 
his country. On coining home after the peace he was 
returned to Parliament as member for Barnstaple. The 
resumption of hostilities, however, soon called him again 
abroad. In 1804 he was sent to take the chief command on 
the East-India station, in the Cullodcn of seventy-four 
guns; and here he remained till 1809, when he had at- 
tained the rank of Vice-Admiral. A few months after his 
return to England, he was again sent out as commander- 
in-chief of the fleet then blockading the Scheldt, and 
assisted in various operations of importance till the peace 
of 1814. Among the promotions which were made on 
that occasion, Admiral Pellew was elevated to the peerage 
by the title of Baron Exmouth, with a pension of ^'2000 
per annum. He also received the riband of the Bath, 
and a year after, the Grand Cross of that order. On the 
escape of Napoleon his services were again employed,, 
and he was sent out in command of a squadron to the 
Mediterranean. From this station, in the beginning of 
the year 1S16, he proceeded, by order of the government, 
to Algiers, and obtained from the Dey a promise to 
liberate all the subjects of the allies who were detained 
)>y him in playerr, Most of pur readers wjl) recollect 

the manner in which this engagement was disregarded 
by the African sovereign as soon as the British ships 
had left his coast, and the brilliant success which attended 
the expedition that was immediately sent out under 
Lord Exmouth' s command to compel him to perform 
his stipulations. Twelve hundred Christian slaves were 
by this exploit restored to liberty. The dignity of Vis- 
count was the well-merited reward which Lord Exmonth 
received for the important service which he bad rendered 
to his country and to C hristendom. The following year the 
chief command at Plymouth was conferred on him for the 
usual period of three years ; 'aud at the conclusion of that 
term, having now attained the age of sixty-three, he re- 
tired into private life, passing the greater part of his time 
at his beautiful residence at Teignmouth. " There,'' sip 
the writer before us, •« while enjoying repose in the bo- 
som of his own family, he looked back on the chequered 
scene of his former services with unmingled gratitude for 
all the dangers he had escaped — all the mercies he had 
experienced — and all the blessings he enjoyed. Retired 
from the strife and vanity of the world, his thoughts 
were raised with increasing fervour to Him who had 
guarded his head in the day of battle, and had led him 
safely through the hazards of the pathless sea. No longer 
harassed by the cares and responsibility of public service, 
religion, which he had always held in reverence, now 
struck deeper root in his heart; and nothing was more 
gratifying to the contemplation of his family and his 
most attached friends than the Christian serenity which 
shed its best blessings on his latter days." 



The man cured by St. Paul at Lystra had never 
walked, having been a cripple from the hour of his birth. 
His conversion, it would appear, had preceded this 
signal benefit, lie had been listening to the discourse 
delivered by the apostle, " who steadfastly beholding; him, 
and perceiving that he had faith to be healed, said with 
a loud voice, Stand upright on thy feet ! and he leaped 
up, and walked." This evidence of supernatural power, 
exhibited before the eyes of the whole city, might have 
been expected to produce an immediate conviction of the 
divine origin of the new faith. The effect, however, was 
different : the miracle was indeed not only admitted, hut 
followed by a burst of religious enthusiasm; but the 
acknowledgment of superhuman interposition was trans- 
ferred by the pagans to their own deities, and Paul and 
Barnabas were saluted, not as the apostles of Christ, hot 
as Mercury and Jupiter. " And the priests of Jupiter 
brought oxen and garlands unto the gates, and would 
have done sacrifice with the people." Raffaelle, whose 
imagination, although regulated by the most rigid accu 
racy of judgment, was sensitively alive to the picturesque, 
has availed himself of this point in the narrative, to 
produce a composition strikingly varied and beautiful. 
The unostentatious acts of the apostles are here miwd 
up with the pompous rituals of heathen superstition, 
The priests bending in solemn devotion, the inferior 
ministers engaged in the act of sacrifice, the victim 
sheep and oxen, the beautiful children who officiate 
at the altar, — these objects, in all their varieties of 
action, character, and costume, present so rich a com- 
bination of materials as would perhaps, in the hands of 
any other painter, have encumbered the effect, and dis- 
tracted the attention. Throughout the cartoon, however, 
the unity of the subject is completely preserved. l^ul 
and Barnabas are immediately distinguished, not only 
by the general attention being directed towards tbem, 
but by nobility of mien and action. They stand also on an 
elevated plane, and are separated by a considerahle in- 
terval from the tumultuous crowd which approach?* 
tlrcm, JUSaehVs first object, in all his work*, »> f 

Digitized by 


1833.] THE PENNY MAGAZINE. 19ft 



Digitized by 




[MAR{fl SI, 

clear development of his story, which is sometimes more 
effectually accomplished by departing from than ad- 
hering to the literal fact. He never loses sight, however, 
of any leading point in the text ; and as the apostles are 
described on this occasion to have " run in among the 
people," he has shown another disciple who forces his 
way through the crowd, protesting vehemently against 
the impious ceremony, and endeavouring to arrest the 
arm of the executioner, which is uplifted to strike the 
victim. The energetic action of these figures contrasts 
finely with the still and solemn air of the 'priests ; the 
whole composition, indeed, is admirably balanced with 
alternations of action and repose. But the main point 
to be impressed on the spectator was the miraculous 
cure. This is accordingly done with surprising force 
and perspicuity. At the right extremity of the cartoon 
appears the man who. has been healed ; his figure in- 
clines to tallness, and he is well-formed throughout; his 
legs, in particular, are muscular and symmetrical. By 
what artifice then has the painter so clearly expressed 
that this is the cripple who was lame from his birth ? — 
Impelled by emotion too big for utterance, with ex- 
tended arms, pressed hands, and every demonstration of 
enraptured gratitude, he rushes forwards towards the 
apostles. His crutches, now useless, are thrown on the 
ground, and there is in his person no evidence of his 
former unhappy condition, except in that cast of features 
peculiar to deformed persons. He is surrounded by in- 
dividuals anxious to assure themselves of the truth of the 
miracle by ocular inspection. An aged man, whose habit 
and aspect announce him to be a person of rank and 
authority, with a mingled air of curiosity and reverential 
awe, lifts the garment from the limb which has been 
healed, while his other hand is at the same time uplifted 
in astonishment at the incontestable proof before him. 
The same sentiment is expressed, with characteristic 
discriminations, among other persons in the group. 

It is said by the commentators on the Cartoons, that 
St. Paul is rending his garments in horror of the sacri- 
legious rite about to be performed. It never, appeared 
to us that this was the action intended by Raffaelle, the 
violence of which would have ill accorded with that 
apostolical dignity which he was always careful to pre- 
serve. We rather think that he meant the apostle to be 
giving utterance to the exclamation which he used on 
this occasion, " We are also men, with passions like 
unto yourselves ;" and baring his breast in attestation of 
his humanity. St. Barnabas, who stands behind, gives 
thanks to God for the miraculous manifestation of his 

Nothing perhaps in this cartoon fixes attention more 
strongly than the beauty of the two children at the 
altar ; the one sounding musical instruments, the other 
holding a box of incense. Vacant, happy, and absorbed 
in their employment, they scarcely seem conscious of the 
events which are passing before them. No artist per- 
haps ever approached Raffaelle in the delineation of 
infantine innocence and simplicity. 

That part of the composition comprised in the sacri- 
fice was drawn by Raffaelle from an antique basso- 
relievo. His known, wealth was such that, as Rey- 
nolds justly observes, he might borrow without the 
imputation of poverty. 

British Mmeum.— Among the last accounts printed bv 
order of the House of Commons respecting the British 
Museum, is a Return of the Number of Persons who have 
been admitted to view the Museum from Christmas 1826 to 
Christmas 1 832. From this statement it appears that the 
whole number of visitors for each of the six yean to which 
it refers was — 

In 1827 

. 79,131 
. 81,228 

la 1830 . 
1831 « 




What may have been the cause of the very considerable 
decrease in 1829 and 1830, as compared with the preceding 
two years, we do not know ; but it is at any rate satisfactory 
to perceive, that in 1831 the nnmfcer had again risen to 
something very considerably beyond die highest number of 
former years. We say it is satisfactory to perceive this; for 
undoubtedly the diffusion of those Ustes, which are to be 
gratified by a visit to the Museum, may be taken as one 
evidence of the progress among us of dvmsanon in its 
highest and truest sense. Hie increase during the yetr 
1 832, however, is much greater than that during the pre- 
ceding year, in proportion as well as in actual amount. It 
is within a trifle of fifty percent, while the whole number is 
considerably more than double that for 1839. We think ve 
shall not be in error in attributing thie extraordinary increase 
in some degree to the manner in which the attention of the 
public has been called to the subject during the past year in 
the • Penny Magazine.' Indeed we may be quite certain, 
that a publication circulating to the extent of two hundred 
thousand copies cannot have failed, by its repeated notices 
of the objects of interest contained in our great national 
collection, to send many of its readers, who had not been 
there before, to examine them with their own eyes; and 
also to tempt others to nay a second visit, to whom it had. 
perhaps, given some preparatory information which they did 
not before possess. 


[We are indet>ted for (be following interesting paper to 
Bauer, Eaq., a gentleman who hoa attained a wioat deaerad 
celebrity for his valuable discoveries connected with the diataw 
of grain, the most important article of human food.] 

The existence of this destructive disease in wheat hat 
long been known to every agriculturist ia England, as 
well as by those on the Continent ; but the real cause of 
it is yet very little known ; not only by the practical 
cultivator, but eveu by scientific authors. Such erro- 
neous and contradictory opinions have been advanced 
that the farmer cannot possibly derive any satisfactory 
information from them. I hope, however, that the fol- 
lowing observations and illustrations of facts may be 
acceptable to some of the numerous readers of tie 
• Penny Magazine.* 

This disease is occasioned by the seeds of an extremely 
minute parasitic fungus, of the genus urcdo, being ab- 
sorbed by the roots of the germinating wheat grains and 
propelled by the rising sap, long before the wheat blos- 
soms, into the young germen or ovum, where the seeds 
of the fungi vegetate, and rapidly multiply, thereby pre- 
venting, not only the fecundation of the ovum, but even 
the development of the parts of fructification. In con- 
sequence no embryo is produced in an infected germen, 
which however continues to grow as long as the sound 
grains do, and, when the sound grains arrive at maturity, 
the infected ones are generally larger than, and are easily 
distinguished from, the sound grains, by their darker 
green colour, and from the ova retaining the same shape 
and form which they had at the time when infection took 
place. See fig. 3 and 4 in the annexed cut ; also fig. 
1 and 2, which represent sound wheat grains, and are 
here introduced to show the difference between the 
infected and the sound grains. 

The name of this disease is also as undecided and 
various as the hitherto supposed causes of he existence ; 
the most prevailing names in England, being Smut Ball, 
Pepper Brand, and Brand Bladders ; and many others 
have been given to it, not only by the farmers jn almost 
every county, but also by scientific naturalists. 

No author has yet been found who mentions or 
describes this species of urtdo, the distinguishing charac- 
teristic of which being its extremely ofenstve smell ; I 
think the most proper specific name for it would be that 
of undo fectida. 

dine earnest peri on a% which m. enscoverefl tne pneasHc 
within the cavity of the ovula of a young plant of wheat 
(the seed grain of which had been inoculated with the 
fungi o£ urcdo fcetida, and sown the 14th of November, 

Digitized by 





1805) was the 5th of June, 1806, being sixteen days 
before the ear emerged from its hose, and about twenty 
days before the sound ears, springing from the same 
root, were in bloom. At that early stage the inner 
cavity of the ovum is very small ; and, after fecundation, 
is filled with the albumen or farinaceous substance of 
the seed, and already occupied by many young fungi, 
which, from their jelly-like root or spawn, adhere to the 
membrane which lines the cavity, and from which they 
can be easily detached in small flakes with that spawn : 
in that state their very short pedicles may be distinctly 
seen. See fig. 7. At first the fungi are of a pure white 
colour, and when the ear emerges from its hose the ovum 
is much enlarged, but still retains its original shape, and, 
the fungi rapidly multiplying, many have then nearly 
come to maturity, assumed a darker colour, and having 
separated from the spawn, lie loose in the cavity of the 
ovum : the infected grains continue growing, and the 
fungi continue to multiply till the sound grains have 
attained their full size and maturity, when the infected 
grains are easily distinguished from the sound ones by 
being generally larger, and of a darker green colour ; 
and if opened, they appear to be filled to excess with 
these dark-coloured fungi ; but the grains infected with 
the uredo fcetida very rarely burst, and these fungi are 
seldom found on the outside of the grain ; but if the grain 
be bruised they readily emit their offensive smell, which 
is worse than that from putrid fish. When the sound 
grains are perfectly ripe and dry, and assume their light 
brown colour, the infected grains also change, but to a 
somewhat darker brown, retaining however the same shape 
which the ovum had at its formation ; the rudiments of 
the stigma also remaining unaltered. See fig. 3 and 4, 
and compare them with the sound grain, fig. 1 and 3. 

If the infected grain be cut in two, it will be found to 
consist solely of the outermost integument of the ovum, 
filled with the ripe black fungi, without any traoe of the 
embryo or albumen. See fig. 5. 

Plants of wheat infected with the Pepper Brand may 
be easily distinguished in the field by their size, being 
generally several inches higher than plants not infected, 
and larger in bulk ; and I have found in all instances a 
greater number of stems produced from the same root, 
the ears containing more spickets, and those spickets 
more perfect grains, than were contained in those of 
sound plants, of the same seed, and growing in the 
same field.. 

One plant, produced from seed which I had inocu- 
lated, had twenty-four complete stems and ears, some of 
the stems with the ears measuring above five feet, every 
part of the plant proportionally large, and all the ears 
entirely infected. Another specimen had eight stems 
from the same root, five of them were above six feet 
high, and the ears entirely infected; the other three 
stems were considerably shorter, their ears smaller, and 
their grains perfectly sound. 

This enlargement of the plant, however, is not to be 
attributed to the infection, but is undoubtedly the con- 
sequence of a luxurious vegetation, produced by a rich 
or moist soil, which secures and promotes the infection 
more than a dry or moderately rich soil. 

Neither does this disease always affect the entire ear : 
I found some ears having one side infected, whilst the 
opposite side was perfectly sound. Sometimes five or six 
perfectly sound grains are found in an infected ear, and 
a few thoroughly infected grains are found in an other- 
wise sound ear. The infected grains are always in the 
last spicket at the apex of the ear ; from which it appears 
that the infecting seed of the fungi did not reach- the 
ovum before fecundation : in some of these grains a 
portion of the albumen was formed, but no trace of 
w embryo existed ; but # in others there was a con- 
siderable portion of albumen, %nd a perfect embryo 
formed. See fig. 6. 

At the time when the sound grains change their 
colour, the fungi, being ripe, cease to multiply ; they are 
all of a globular form, and nearly of equal size, viz. 
■njViy P*rt of an inch in diameter. Fig. 8 is t^W 
part of a square inch on the micrometer ; it sustains 
sixteen full grown fungi of uredo fcetida; and this 
square, being represented of the size of a square inch, 
English measure, is consequently magnified one hun- 
dred and sixty thousand times in superficies, and the 
sixteen fungi represented in that square are magnified 
in the same degree ; showing that no less than two mil- 
lions five hundred and sixty thousand individual fungi 
would be required to cover one square inch. 

Fig. 9 represents a fungus not quite ripe, with its 
short pedicle; and fig. 10 a perfectly ripe one, both 
magnified one thousand times lineally, or one million 
times superficially. These figures are thus highly 
magnified, to show the reticular structure of these 
fungi, which forms the external membrane; and it 
appears that the internal substance consists of a cellular 

Fig. 11 represents one of the fungi shedding its 
seeds, which is only observable when viewed under 
water. I could never yet see the seeds of these fungi in 
a dry state, for they then appear to be mixed with some 
mucous fluid, which causes them to adhere together in 
hard lumps. 

That the seeds of the fungi of uredo fcetida are the sole 
cause of that destructive disease in wheat, the Pepper 
Brand, I think I have fully ascertained by numerous 
experiments of inoculating even the finest and purest 
samples of seed-wheat ; and if that fact be admitted, it 
becomes evident that the prevention of it can only be 
effected by cleansing the seed-wheat so effectually, that 
every particle of the fungi and their seed be entirely 
removed from the grains. But as these extremely minute 
fungi, when once mixed with the seed-wheat, insinuate 
themselves into the grooves at the backs and the beards 
at the tops of the wheat-grains, I think it almost im 
possible to dislodge them by the mere process of wash- 
ing. I once received some samples which had been so 
prepared, and washed in salt water, and declared to be 
perfectly clean ; but on my putting some of these puri- 
fied grains into water, in a watch-glass, and leaving them 
to soak about twelve hours, on then bringing them 
under the microscope I found many of the fungi floating 
on the water. This fact convinces me that mere cleans 
ing is no secure preventive of this disease ; and that the 
most efficacious, and perhaps the only remedy for pre- 
venting it, is that of depriving the seeds of the fungi of 
their vitality. To effect this, innumerable remedies have 
been recommended, and I believe applied by the far- 
mers, but have seldom proved entirely successful. From 
my own often repeated experiments, though on a limited 
scale, I am convinced that the best and surest remedy 
is to steep the seed-wheat in properly prepared lime- 
water, leaving it to soak at least twelve hours, and then 
to dry it well in the air before sowing it ; but I fear 
that it will be found very difficult, if not impossible, even 
by this method, to kill the seeds of the fungi entirely, 
when the quantity of seed-corn is great ; and conse- 
quently some infected plants might still be found in 
large fields. 

Steeping and properly drying the seed-corn in the 
above manner, not only prevents the disease arising 
from the infected seed-corn, but does also effectually 
prevent the clean seed from being infected by the seed 
of the fungi, which might exist in the soil of a field on 
which diseased wheat had been growing before; and 
consequently the cleanest samples of seed-wheat should 
be steeped, as well as the most notoriously infected. 

These facts I hare ascertained by repeated experi- 
ments of strongly inoculating with the fungi seed-corn 
which before had been properly steeped and dried, and 

Digitized by 




the result has always proved satisfactory, for the infec- 
tion never took place. 

Wheat is the only plant that is liable to be affected by 
the Pepper Brand, which is occasioned by the uredo 

[March 31, 1833. 

fcetida. The Smut, or Dust Brand, is also occasioned 
by an uredo, but of a decidedly different species. 

Ken, February 21, 1833. ?• B. 


1. A front riew of a perfectly 
sonod ripe wheat grain, 
magnified fire timet li- 
neally, or twenty-five 
time* superficially. 

5. A back view of ditto. 

a A front view of a diseased 

ripe grain, magnified five 
times lineally, or twenty- 
fire times superficially. 

4. A back view of ditto. 

6. A front view of a trans- 

verse section of a ripe 
diseased wheat grain, 
magnified five times li- 
neally, or twenty-five 
times superficially. 

6. A front view of a transverse 
section of an infected 
wheat grain, which the 
seed of the fungi had 
only reached after fecun. 
dation, magnified five 
times lineally, or twenty- 
five times superficiary. 


7. A small froop of fungi ef 
the uredo festidaoc their 
toot or spawn, snags> 
fied four hundred ttaa 
lineally, or l6O.0OO.Uaa 

8 - Ieco3d P» rt of * "I"" 
inch on the micrometer, 
sustaining siateea rise 
fungi of uredo fotiia* 
magnified four hasdni 
times lineally, or 160,000 
times superficially. 

9. A young fnnf us of srede 
fcetida cot quite ripe, st 
which time it can he •*- 
parated. with its peukk, 
from the spawn. 

10. A full grown, perfectly rift 

fungus. Both these figsm 
are magnified one thsv 
. sand times liaeally, er 
1,000,000 times sapsri 

11. A ripe fungus, shedding its 

seed, magnified- is the 
ame degree, as N«. * 
and 10. 

Written Newspapers r-The desire of news from the 
capital, on the part of the wealthier country residents, and 
probably the false information and the impertinence of the * 
news-writers, led to the common establishment of a very 
curious trade, — that of a news correspondent, who, for 
a subscription of three or four pounds per annum, wrote a 
letter of news every post-day to his subscriber in the country. 
This profession probably existed in the reign of James I.; 
for in Ben Jonson's play •The Staple of News/ written in 
the first year of Charles I., we have a very curious and 
amusing description of an office of news manufactures ■ 

* This is the outer room where my clerks sit, 

And keep their sides, the Register i' the midst ; 

The Examiner, he sits private there, within ; 

And here I have my several rolls and files 

Of news by the alphabet, and all put up 

Under their heads." 
The news thus communicated appears to have fallen into as 
much disrepute as the public news. In the advertisement 
announcing the first number of the * Evening Post, 
(September 6th, 1709,) it is said, "There must be three or 
four pound per annum paid l>y those gentlemen who are 
out of towu, for written news, which is so far, generally, 
from having any probability of matter of fact in it, that it 
is frequently stuffed up with a We hear, $*.; or, an emi- 
nent Jew merchant has received a letter, $c. ; being nothing 
more than downright fiction:' The same advertisement, 
speaking of the published papers, says, "We read more 
of our own affairs in the Dutch papers than in any of our 
own." The trade of a news correspondent seems to have 
suggested a sort of union of written news and published 
news; for towards the end of the seventeenth century, we 
have newsletters printed in type to imitate writing. The 

most famous of these was that commenced by Ichabod 
Dawks, in 1696, the first number of which was thus 
announced : " Tins letter will be done upon good writing 
paper, and blank, space left, that any gentleman may write 
his own private business. It does undoubtedly exceed the 
best of the written news, contains double the quantity, is 
read with abundance more ease and pleasure, and will be 
useful to improve the younger sort in writing a curious 
hand" -^-Companion to the Newspaper. 

•*• The Office of the Society for the Diffusion or Useful Knowledge is st 
59, LlncolnVInn Fields. 


Shopkeeper* and Hawkers may be applied rVhoUsale by ^>^»l 
BuokteUert, of whom, aim, any of the previous Numbers may be Aarf .— 

I*ndon, Gaooaaainoi, Panyer Alley, 

Paternoster Row. 
Barnstaple. BaiOHTWKU. and Sow. 
Bath, Simms. 
Birmingham, DnAKB. 
Bristol, and Co. 
Bury St. Edmumfs, LankssTO. 
Canterbury, MAnm. 
Carlisle, THuaHAM ; and Scott. 
Derby, Wilkxws and Bok. 
Devonport, Bvaas. 
Doncaster, Brooke and WttTTS. 
Exeter, Balls. 
Falmouth, Philp. 

Hull, STKPHtlfSOH. 

Jersey, Jorst Cabbe, Jon. 
Ueds. Baiwxs and Nbwsomb. 
Lincoln, Brooke and Sows. 
Liverpool, Willmbb and Smitb. 
Llandovery* D. R. and W. Rum. 
Lynn, Smitb. 

Manchester, Romhson; sod Wis* 

and Simms. 
Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Casaatrr 
Norwich, Jarsold and Son; sad 

Wilkist and Flstcbs*. 
Nottingham, WaioBT. 
Oxford, Slatttb. 
Penrith, Baomr. 
Plymouth, Nsttlstox. 
Porttra, Hobsst, Jan. 
Sheffield, Rinos. 
Shrewsbury,Ti bnam. . 
Southampton, Flxtchbs. 
Staffordshire, Lane End, 0. Watts, 
Worcester, Dbiooton. 
Dublin, Wakxmav. 
Aberdeen, Smith. 
Edinburgh, OLiYsnaod BeTD. 
Ghugow, ATsmsoM and Gs. 
New Torn, Jacksov. 

Printed by Witiusi Ctowxs, Stastford St*eeV 

Digitized by 




Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



-(Aran. 6, 1833- 


[Beaver*, with their Huts, and a Dam.] 

The extraordinary instincts of the beaver, in a state of 
freedom, have long furnished one of the most attractive 
subjects of Natural History. . Much that is false and 
exaggerated has found its way into the common descrip- 
tions of the habits of these animals; and the really 
extraordinary qualities which tlje species display, have 
been referred to an intelligence approaching that of the 
human race. The singular actions of the beaver are 
•uggested by instinct alone — the same instinct which 
guides the ant and the bee. Each individual beaver is 
precisely the same in its faculties as another ; they are 
all untaught — they are all incapable of teaching — they 
all remain the same in point of intelligence from genera- 
tion to generation. 

The exaggeration which absurdly prevails with re- 
gard to the habits of the beaver may be referred to 
unavoidable causes. The species are exceedingly timid 
and vigilant, and invariably labour in the night-time. 
Thus, tew persons competent to observe them accurately 
have had the opportunity of doing so. The greater part 
of our information is derived from the fur-traders and 
Indians ; and these men are ignorant and credulous, 
deceiving themselves and deceiving others. The best 
account we have seen of the habits of the beaver is 
that by Dr. John Godman, Professor of Natural History 


in the Franklin Institute of Pennsylvania. It is given in 
the second volume of his ' American Natural History; 
and this we shall abridge. 

The general aspect of the beaver, at first view, would 
remind one of a very large rat, and seen at a little dis- 
tance it might be readily mistaken for the common musk- 
rat But the greater size of the beaver, the thickness 
and breadth of its head, and its horizontally flattened, 
broad and scaly tail, render it impossible to mistake 
it, when closely examined, for any other creature. 

In a state of captivity or insulation, the beaver is a 
quiet or rather stupid animal, evincing about as much 
intelligence as a tamed badger, or any other quadruped 
which can learn to distinguish its feeder, come when 
called, or grow familiar with the inmates of the house 
where it is kept. It is only in a state of nature that the 
beaver displays any of those singular modes of acting 
which have so long rendered the species celebrated. Their 
extraordinary instincts are applied to two principal 
objects : 1. To secure a sufficient depth of water to pre- 
vent it from being frozen to the bottom ; 2. To construct 
huts, in which they pass the winter. 

If beavers choose a spot for their residence where 
the water is not of sufficient depth, they set about 
obviating the inconvenience by building a dam. The 

Digitized by 


: fai 



materials used for tfie contraction "of their dams are 
the trunks and branches of small birch, mulberry 
billow, poplar, &c. They begin to cut down their 
timber for^ budding early in the summer, but their 
edifices are -not commenced uhtit about the middle or 
latter part of August, and are not completed until the 
Tbeguining of the cold season. The strength of their 
.teeth and their perseverance in this work, niay be fairly 
estimated by the size of the trees they cut down. Dr. 
Best informs us that he has seen a mulberry-tree, eight 
inches in diameter, which had been gnawed down by 
the beaver. Dr. Godman saw, while on the banks of 
the, Jjittle Miami river, several stumps of trees, which 
bad evidently been felled by these animals, of at least 
five or six inches in diameter. These are cut in such a 
manner as to fall into the water, and then floated towards 
the site of the dam or dwellings. Small shrubs, &c. cut 
at a distance from the water, are dragged with their 
teeth to the stream, and then launched and towed to the 
place of deposit. At a short distance above a beaver- 
dam the number of trees which have been cut down 
appears truly surprising, and the regularity of the stumps 
which are left mighf lead persons unacquainted with the 
habits of the animal p$ Relieve that the clearing was tfte 
result of human industry. 

The figure of phe cjam varies according tq circum- 
stances. - Shoiilc} Jjie currenf fee very geptle, ft}e dam is 
carried nearly Straight across j pup when the stream is 
swiftly flowing, fp is uniforinjy made with a considerable 
curve, fiaving fhe convex part opposed to the current. 
Along with tfie trunks ant} ^ranches of tregs they inter- 
mingle mud anc} stones, tq give greafer security j ana) 
when dams fiavc been Jong Undisturbed and frequently 
repaired, they acauire greaj sq|idity, and their power of 
resisting tfie pressure of water ap4 jce is greatly increased 
by the' willo\y, ' $rc}j, anc| oilier cuttings occasionally 
tajcing root, and eventually growing up into something 

equept accumulation 
of mwj and stones, f)yt(ie deposit of fhe streain or by tfie 
industry of tjie Reavers. ' ' ' * . m • . 

The dwellings of the Reaver are former} of tfie same 
materials as their cjamp, and are very rude, though 
strong, and adapted in size to thp nuipher of 1 their inha- 
bitants. These are seldom more ffian four 0I4 ano! si* or 
eight young ones. 

When building their houses, they place most of the 
wood crosswise and nearly horizontally, observing no 
.other ortjer than that of leaving a cavity in the middle. 
* Branches which project inward are cut off with their teeth 
and thrown among the rest. Tha houses are by no 
means buil* of sticks first and then plastered, but all the 
.materials, sticks, mud, and stones, if the latter can be 
.procured* are mixed up together, and this composition is 
; empJoyqd from the foundation to the summit. The mud 
is obtained from the adjacent banks or bottom of the 
stream or pond near the door of the hut. The beaver 
always carries mud and stones by holding them between 
his fore-paws and throat 

. Their work is all performed at night,' and with much 
expedition. Wheu straw or grass is mingled wjth the 
mud used by them in building, it is an accidental cir- 
cumstance, owing to the nature of the spot whence the 
mud was taken. As soon as any part of the material is 
placed where it is intended to remain, they turn round 
and giye it a smart blow with the tail. The same sort 
of blow is struck by them upon the surface of the water 
when they are in the act of diving. 

The outside pf the hut is covered or plastered with 
mud late in the autumn, and after frost has begun to 
appear. By freezing it soon becomes almost as hard 
as stone, effectually excluding their great enemy, the 
wolverene, <Juring fa w i p ter. Their habj> of walking 

over The~work frequently dOrtng ifs^Mgress, tfos teflto 
tlje aosurd idea of their using the tail as a trowel. The 
habit of flapping with the tail is retained by them in a 
state of captivity* and, unless it be in the sets already 
mentioned, appears o*esigned~to effect no particular pur- 
pose. The houses, when they have stood for some time, 
and been kept in repair, become so firm from t|ie con- 
solidation of all the taaterials, as to require great exertion 
and the use of the ice-chisel, or other iron instruments 
to be broken open. The laborious nature of such on 
undertaking may easily be conceived, when it is known 
that the tops of the houses are generally from four to , 
six feet thick at the apex of the cone. Hearne relates 
having seen one instance in which the crown or roof 
of the hut was more than eight feet in thickness. 

fhe door or hole leading into the beaver-hut is 
always on the side farthest from the land, and is near the 
foundation of the house, or at a considerable depth 
under water. This is the only opening into the hut, 
which is not divided into chambers. 

All the beavers of a community do not co-opente 
in the fabrication of houses for the common use of the 
wjiole. pilose wfio are to Jive together in the same hut, 
labour together in its construction, and the only affair 
hj which all seem to have ^ joint interest, and upon 
which they labour in concert, is the dam, as this U 
designed f q keep a sufficient depth of water around all 
the habitations. 

In situations where Uie Reaver is frequently disturbed 
an t d pursued, at) its singular habits are relinquished. 
and its mode of living changed to suit the nature of 
circumstances, anoj this occurs even in different parts of 
tjhie same rivers. J nsteajr) pf building dams and homes, 
ijs only residence Is then in the banks of the stream, 
where it is now forced to make a more extensive exca- 
vation, suuj be cpnfenf to adopf the manners of a musk 
rat. More sagacity is displayed by the beaver in thus 
accommodating itself to circumstances, than in any other 
action it performs. Such is the caution which it exercises 
(o guard against defection, that were it not for the re- 
mova) of small trees, the stumps of which indicate the 
sorf of animtd by which they have been cut down, the 
presence of the beaver would not be suspected in the 
yicinity! All excursions for the sake of procuring food 
are made late at njght, and \( it pass from one hole to 
another during the day time, it swims so far underwater 
as not to excite the least suspicion of the presence of such 
a voyager. On many parts of the Mississippi and Mis- 
souri, where the beaver formerly built houses according 
to the mode above described, no such works are at pre- 
sent to be found, although beavers are still to be trapped 
in those localities. 

These animals also have excavations in the adjacent 
banks, at rather regular distances from each other, which 
have been called washes. These excavations are so ea- 
larged within, that tfie beaver can raise his head above 
water in order to breathe without being seen, and wheu 
disturbed at their huts, they immediately make way under 
water to these washes. 

The beaver feeds principally upon the bark of tne 
aspen, willow, birch, poplar, and occasionally the alder. 
but it rarely resorts to the pine fribe, unless now seveie 
necessity. They provide a stock of wood from die tre# 
mentioned, during the summer season, and place it " , 
the water opposite the entrance to their houses. They 
also, depend in a great degree upon the large roots (ot 
the nuphar luteum) which grow at the Jxrttom °^ **? 
lakes, ponds, and rivers, and may be procured at all 

The number of young produced by the "beaver at a 
litter is from two to five. The young beavers whine w 
such a manner as closely to imitate the cry of a child. 
£.ikc the young of most other animals they are very play- 
ful, and their movement are peculiarly interesting " 

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may be seen by the following anecdote, related in the 
narrative of Capt Franklin's perilous journey to the 
shores of the Arctic Sea : — " One day a gentleman, long 
resident in the Hudson's Bay country, espied five young 
beavers sportiug in the water, leaping upon the trunk of 
a tree, pushing one another off*, and playing a thousand 
interesting tricks. He approached softly, under cover of 
the bushes, and prepared to fire on the unsuspecting 
creatures, but a nearer approach discovered to him such 
a similitude betwixt their gestures and the infantile 
caresses of his own children, that he threw aside his gun 
and left them unmolested." 

The beaver swims to considerable distances under 
water, but cannot remain for a long time without coming 
to the surface for air. They are therefore caught with 
greater ease, as they must either take refuge in their 
vaults or washes in the bank, or seek their huts again for 
the sake of getting breath. They usually, when disturbed, 
fly from the huts to these vaults, which, although not 
so exposed to observation as their houses, are yet dis- 
covered with sufficient ease, and allow the occupant to be 
more readily captured than if he had remained in the 
ordinary habitation. 

To capture beavers residing on a small river or creek, 
the Indians find it necessary to stake the stream across to 
prevent the animals from escaping, and then they try to 
ascertain where the vaults or washes in the banks are 
situated. This can only be done by those who are very 
experienced in such explorations. The hunt takes place 
in winter, because the animal's fur is then in the best order. 
The hunter is furnished with an ice-chisel lashed to a 
handle four or five feet in length ; with this instrument 
he strikes against the ice as he £oes along the edge of 
the banks. The sound produced by the blow informs 
him whert he is opposite to one of these vaults. When 
one is discovered, a hole is cut through the ice of suffi- 
cient size to admit a full-grown beaver, and the search is 
continued until as many of the places of retreat are dis- 
covered as possible. During the time the most expert 
hunters are thus occupied, the others with the women 
are busy in breaking into the beaver- houses, which, as 
may be supposed from what has been already stated, is 
a task of some difficulty. The beavers, alarmed at the 
invasion of their dwelling, take to the water and swim 
with surprising swiftness to their retreats in the banks, 
but their entrance is betrayed to the hunters watching 
the holes in the ice, by the motion and discolouration of 
the water. The entrance is instantly closed with stakes 
of wood, and the beaver, instead of finding shelter in his 
cave, is made prisoner and destroyed. Tiie hunter then 
pulls the animal out, if within reach, by the introduction 
of his hand and arm, or by a hoolc designed for this use, 
fastened to a long handle. Beaver-houses found in lakes 
or other standing waters offer an easier prey to the hun- 
ters, as there is no occasion for staking the water across. 

The number of beavers killed in the northern parts of 
America 4s exceedingly great, even at the present time, 
after the fur trade has been carried on for so many years, 
and the most indiscriminate warfare waged uninter- 
ruptedly against the species. In the year T820, sixty 
thousand beaver 6kins were sold by the Hudson's Bay 
Company alone. 

It is a subject of regret that an animal so valuable and 
prolific should be hunted in a manner tending so evidently 
to the extermination of the species, when a little care and 
management on the part of those interested might pre- 
vent unnecessary destruction, and increase the sources 
of their revenue. 

la a few years, comparatively speaking, the beaver 
has been exterminated in all the Atlantic and in the 
wester u states, as far as the middle and upper waters of 
the Missouri ; while in the Hudson's Bay possessions 
they are becoming annually more scarce, and the race 
\*ill eventually be ejUiaguiahed throughout the whole 

The Indians inhabiting the countries watered bjr the 
tributaries of the Missouri and Mississippi, take the bea 
vers principally by trapping, and are generally supplied 
with steel traps by the traders, who do not sell, but lend 
or hire them, in order to keep the Indians dependent 
upon themselves, and also to lay claim to the furs which 
they may procure. The business of trapping requires 
great experience and caution, as the senses of the beaver 
are very keen, and enable him to detect the recent pre- 
sence of the hunter by the slightest traces. It is neces- 
sary that the hands should be washed clean before the 
trap is handled and baited, and that every precaution 
should be employed to elude the vigilance of the animal. 
The bait which is used to entice the beavers is prepared 
from the substance called castor (castoreum) obtained 
from the glandulous pouches of the male animal, which 
contain sometimes from two to three ounces. 

During the winter season the beaver becomes very 
fat, and its flesh is esteemed by the hunters to be excel- 
lent food. But those occasionally caught in the summer 
are t«hin, and unfit for the table. They lead so wan- 
dering a life at this season, and are so much exhausted 
by the collection of materials for building, or the winter's 
stock of provision, as well as by suckling their young, as 
to be generally at that time in a very poor condition. 
Their fur during the summer is of little value, and it is 
only in winter that it is to be obtained in that state which 
renders it so desirable to the fur-traders. 

Snake-Charmers.— Our account of the power supposed 
to be possessed by persons in the art of charming snakes, 
gave the best evidence we could collect upon the subject. 
The following communication would imply that the suspi- 
cions of trick in this curious process are unfounded. The 
writer says he received the narrative from a gentjeman of 
high station in the Honourable Company's Civil Service at 
Madras — a man of undoubted veracity. " One morning, as 
I sat at breakfast, I heard a loud noise and shouting amongst 
my palenkeen-bearers. On inquiry, I learned that they 
had seen a largo hooded snake {Cobra capella), and 
were trying to kill it. I immediately went out, and saw 
the snake climbing up a very high green mound, whence 
it escaped into a hole in an old wall of an ancient fortifi- 
cation : the men were armed with their sticks, which they 
always carry in their hands, and had attempted in vain to 
kill the reptile, which had eluded their pursuit, and in his 
hole he had coiled himself up secure ; whilst we could see 
his bright eyes shining. I had often desired to ascertain the 
truth of the report, as to the effect of music upon snakes : I 
therefore inquired for a snake-catcheF. I was told there was 
no person of the kind in the village ; but after a little in- 
quiry I heard there was one in a village distant three miles. 
I accordingly sent for him, keeping a strict watch over the 
snake, which never attempted to escape whilst we, his ene- 
mies, were in sight About an hour elapsed when my mes- 
senger returned, bringing a snake-catcher. This man wore 
no covering on his head, nor any on his person, excepting a 
small piece of cloth round his loins : he had in his hands 
two baskets, one containing tame snakes— one empty ; these 
and hi9 musical pipe were the only things he had with him. 
I made the snake-catcher lean his >*wo baskets on the 
ground at some distance, while he ascended the mound with 
his pipe alone. He began to play . at the sound of music 
the snake came gradually and slowly out of his hole. When 
he was entirely within reach, the snake-catcher seized him 
dexterously by the tail, and held hira thus at arms length ; 
whilst the snake, enraged, darted his head in all directions 
— but in vain : thus suspended, he has not the power to 
round himself so as to seise hold of his tormentor. He ex- 
hausted himself in vain exertions ; when the snake-catcher 
descended the bank, dropped him into the empty basket* 
and closed the lid : he then began to play, and after a short 
time, raising the lid of the basket, the- snake darted about 
wildly, and attempted to escape; the lid was shut down 
again quickly, the music always playing. This was repeated 
two or three times ; and in a very short interval, the lid 
being raised, the snake sat on his tail, opened his hood, and 
danced quite as quietly as the tame snakes in the other 
basket ; nor did he again attempt an escape. This, having 



« v «.tsmsnt m n» itTrno A T 

[Ami, 6 

i nc» r iuiii vi A^uikvmi vamcuiai. 

This, regarded in its architectural character, is one of 
the noblest of our own cathedrals; and it is also vene- 
rable for its antiquity, and on account of the pious 
munificence of which it is a monumetiL The original 
seat of the bishopric of Lichfield was at the village of 
Dorchester in Oxfordshire. A church was built here so 
early as the year 635. Soon after this, namely, about 
the year 678, another see was established at Sydnacester, 
on the Trent, which was united with that of Dorchester 
in the ninth century, on the district in which it was 
situated being overrun by the Danes. The last bishop 
who resided during the whole time of his incumbency 
at Dorchester was Ulf, or Wulfin, who died in 1067. 
His successor, Remigius de Fcscamp, called St. Re- 
migius, removed the episcopal seat to Lincoln some time 
between 1072 and 1092. He also built the first cathe- 
dral there, which he just lived to finish, dying on the 
9th of May, 1092, only a few days before its conse- 
cration; and the present structure is still the original 

cathedral of St. Remigius, although in part rebuilt and 
greatly enlarged. The lower portion of the west front, 
as it yet remains, is the work of tnat bishop. The next 
oldest parts of the building are those that were erecteo 
towards the end of the twelfth century, by Bishop Hugh 
de Grenoble, a prelate of extraordinary piety, and also 
popularly distinguished by the title of Saint An earth- 
quake which happened in 1185 had thrown down a 
great part of the work of St Remigius, when St Hugh 
undertook to restore the cathedral to more than its 
original splendour. The good bishop was so intent * e 
are told by Matthew Paris, upon the completion of his 
pious enterprise that he was wont to carry stones and 
mortar on his own shoulders for the use of the masons. 
The east side of the central transept is considered to be 
a still remaining portion of the additions made by St. 
Hugh. In 1239 the greater part of the central tower 
fell down; but it was rebuilt by the famous Robert 
Grost6tc> or Greathead one of the most learned per 
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tonages of that era, who was then bishop of the diocese. 
Bishop Grostete is one of those cultivators of physical 
science in the dark ages to whom is ascribed the fabri- 
cation of a brazen head, which is said to have been able 
to speak as if it had had life. A similar fable is related of 
Albertus Magnus and our other illustrious countryman 
Roger Bacon. To the tower rebuilt by Grostete, Bishop 
D'Alderly, who governed the see from 1300 to 1319, 
added a lofty spire of wood, which remained till it was 
blown down by a tempest in 1547. The same prelate 
is supposed to have built the two western towers, which 
he also surmounted with wooden spires. They were 
taken down by the Dean and Chapter in 1808. The 
person by whom the remaining parts of the fabric were 
principally erected, was John Wei bourne, who was 
treasurer of the cathedral from 1351 to 1381. The upper 
part of (he south end of the great transept, the stalls of 
the choir, and the statues and windows above the western 
entrances, are ascribed to him. Since his time no 
considerable additions have been made to the build- 
ing ; but it has frequently undergone extensive repairs. 
Like many of our other cathedrals, the Minster, as it is 
commonly called, of Lincoln was subjected, during the 
civil wars, and the existence of the commonwealth, to 
the most wanton desecration and injury. 

The Cathedral of Lincoln stands upon ground of 
considerable elevation, and, overlooking a flat country, 
may be seen from the distance of twenty miles. Fuller 
remarks that its floor is higher than the roofs of most 
other churches. It is built in the usual form of a cross, 
with this peculiarity however, that besides the great 
transept in the centre, it has also shorter transepts both 
at the east and the west end. A building, called the 
cloisters, issues from the north wall, and to the extre- 
mity of this is attached the chapter-house, a circular 
structure, surrounded by deep buttresses, and sur- 
mounted by a pyramidal roof. The dimensions of the 
cathedral are very great, the whole length of the interior 
being 470 feet The western front is 174 feet wide, 
and the length of the great transept is 2*20 feet in the 
interior. Its width is 63 feet, and its height 74. The 
chapter-house is above 60 feet in diameter, the roof 
being supported by a single cluster of columns in the 
centre. The circumference of this room is divided into 
ten compartments, or sides, one of which is occupied by 
the door, and the other nine by windows. 

The most imposing exterior part of the cathedral is 
the west front. It has been preferred by some eminent 
judges to any thing in York Minster. The centre of the 
under portion of it is occupied by a large and deep 
door-way, leading into the nave, on both sides of which 
are humbler entrances into the aisles. Above these is a 
facade, richly ornamented with windows, niches, and 
statues. Groups of turrets crown the extremities, and 
two towers, rising to the height of 206 feet, surmount 
the whole. The great central tower is 262 feet in 
height ; and pinnacles shoot from each corner both of 
it and of the western towers. Similar ornaments rise 

, above each buttress along the whole extent of the nave 

, and choir. 

The Cathedral of Lincoln was in old times celebrated 
for the extraordinary splendour of its shrines, and other 
decorations ; but the reformation stripped it of all this 
wealth. Down to a much later period, however, it was 
crowded with ancient tombs, many of them curious for 
their rich sculpture, others highly interesting on account 
of those whose remains they contained, and of whom 
they were memorials. They were, however, nearly all 
destroyed in the time of the commonwealth. When the 
storm of the civi. wars was felt to be approaohing, Sir 
William Dugdale, in 1641, proceeded to copy all the 
epitaphs he could find in Lincoln and other cathedrals, 
" to the end, 19 as he says in his Life, •• that the memory 
of them, in case of that destruction then imminent, 

might be preserved for future and better times ;" and in 
the second volume of Peck's Desiderata Curiosa is given 
an account of one hundred and sixty-three monumental 
inscriptions, as they .<iood in this cathedral in the year 
mentioned (" most of which," it is affirmed, " were soon 
after torn up, or otherwise defaced"), collected by 
Robert Sanderson, who afterwards became bishop of 
this see, and corrected by Dugdale's Survey. 

The beautiful and fertile island of Sicily, in the Meoi- 
terranean, occupies a surface of about 10,642 British 
square miles, and has a population of 1,787,771 inha- 
bitants; beiug in the proportion of 1 68 to each square 
mile. Its population is said to have been much greater 
in ancient times, but it is now considerably more than it 
was filly years ago; having been 1,123,163 in the year 
1770 ; and 1,619,305 in the year 1798. 

Sicily was formerly the granary of ancient Rome, and 
it has still capabilities of feeding a population very far 
exceeding its own, if its agriculture were not depressed 
and shackled by bad husbandry and erroneous regula- 
tions. Artificial meadows are unknown; so are pota- 
toes, turnips, beets, and other green crops; unless when 
planted with beans or peas, the ground is constantly 
cropped with corn, with intervals of one or two years' ; 
fallow or wild pasture. The soil, though badly cleaned 
and manured, yields upon an average eight .for one, 
in some districts sixteen for one, and in some few, even 
thirty-two for one. The land is let in large tracts to 
companies of farmers, or rather shepherds, some of them 
proprietors of ten or twelve thousand sheep. - The diffe- 
rent flocks feed together,. and once a year. an account is 
taken of them, the result of which is afterwards entered 
in a book, where each of the proprietors is debited and 
credited with his share of the proceeds and expenses, in 
proportion to his number of sheep, and credited with 
the proceeds of the milk converted into cheese, of the 
butter-milk, of the wool, and of the rent of a portion ot 
the land let to under-tenants. 

There are in Sicily many well cultivated vineyards ; 
and the wine of Milazzo, of Syracuse, of Avola, and 
Vittoria go to Italy. That of Marsala is exported to all 
parts of the world, and is largely consumed in England. 
Hemp is also grown ; but corn is the main produce of 
the island, and it is received in certain public magazines 
free of charge, which in some parts of the island are 
rather excavations into calcareous rocks, or holes in the 
ground, shaped like a bottle, walled up and made water- 
proof, containing each about 1600 English bushels of 
corn. The receipt of the caricatore* or keeper of the 
magazine, being a transferable stock, is the object of 
some gambling on the public exchanges of Palermo, 
Messina, and Catania, the speculations being grounded 
on the expected rise or fall of corn. So long has corn 
been preserved by these means, that it has been found 
perfectly good after the lapse of a century. The olive 
grows to a larger size in Sicily than on the continent of 
Italy, aud attains a greater age, there being evidence of 
trees having reached the age of seven or eight centuries. 
The peasants respect the olive, and cannot bear that they , 
should be destroyed, yet they take no care of them, and 
the oil they make is, in general, only f\t for soap-boilers. 
The pistachio nut is cultivated here, as well as a large sort 
of beans, which answer the purpose of potatoes, and 
forming a considerable part of the food of both men 
and animals. The Sicilian honey is in much estimation, 
and owing lo the great consumption of wax in churches, 
the proceeds of bee-hives form a valuable item in hus- 
bandry. Some cotton is grown about Terranova and 
Catania; and these are the principal natural resources 
of the country. 

The chief town in Sicily is Palermo, containing 

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[kwi %\ 

about 200,000 inhabitants. It is paved with large flat 
pieces of lava, with the addition pf side- walks, upon 
which the tradespeople, such as shoemakers, tailors, &c. 
carry on their respective trades out of doors. There is 
a beautiful public garden in the town, with a fine view 
of the sea on one side, and on the other of the moun- 
tains which enclose the nook of level land, called the 
Conca (TOro, or Golden Shell, in which Palermo is 
situated ; and the fore-ground of which is occupied by 
fragrant groves of acacias and of orange-trees. It is 
overspread with villages and farms, and country houses, 
where people of fortune reside during the month of May, 
and again during part of September and October, when 
the rainy season is over. There is a school, the scuola 
normale, at Palermo, composed of no fewer than nine 
hundred and forty boys, from the age of six to that of 
fourteen. The mode of life of the higher ranks differs 
lhtle from that of the Neapolitans. They rise very late, 
take a walk, dine between three and four, drive or walk 
about the sea-side every evening ; then to the opera ; 
then to the card-table at night ; then to bed at day- 
break. They take no pleasure in agriculture, and never 
visit their landed estates in the provinces. The country 
houses, where they spend a few weeks in spring and 
autumn, being all in the neighbourhood, they live there 
exactly as in town. Their conversazioni are just the 
same as in Italy ; people meet to play cards and eat ice, 
but converse very little. A man-servant at Palermo 
receives three carlini a day (thirteen pence sterling), 
with his board and livery ; a labourer from three to 
fsur carlini a day, and finds his own food : but provisions 
are very cheap. Female servants are procured with dif- 
ficulty. Land in this neighbourhood is let at about four 
per cent on its estimated value. The farmers are said 
to be very ignorant, and to keep their accounts by means 
of marks or tallies. The paternal lands of noble families 
are entailed, and cannot be sold without special leave of 
the king, but purchased land may. 

Messina has suffered severely from earthquakes, and 
Was completely demolished in 1783, since which it has 
had the advantage of new and regular buildings. Its 
population is now about 70,000. Its fine quay extends 
more than a mile along the port, and a rocky and 6andy 
iiead-land, projecting circularly, forms a deep, spacious, 
and tranquil harbour, accessible nearly at all times, 
notwithstanding the proximity of Scylla and Charybdis. 
Education is said to be much neglected at Messina ; 
and the nobility do hot in general reside there. It is, 
in short, neither fashionable, nor learned, nor rich. 

Among the other towns are Syracuse, abounding 
with antiquities, the remains of the ancient city of that 
name, and Catania, in the immediate neighbourhood of 
Mount Etna, which has very frequently overwhelmed it 
by eruptions. At every such convulsion Catania has been 
more or less injured ; but it bas thrice been completely 
overturned or burnt down, and its inhabitants wholly or 
in part swallowed up, viz. once in the twelfth century, 
and twice in the seventeenth. Of Mount Etna, we 
must give an account on another occasion. Those who 
wish for a more circumstantial description of Sicily, 
should consult Brydone and Lukie's Tours, and espe- 
cially Simond's Travels in Italy and Sicily, from which 
this account is chiefly compiled. 

It often happens that motion is permanently lost in one 
or more joints, a disease to which surgeons have given 
the name of Anchylosis, but in the following remarkable 
case, which we take from the Dictionnaire des Sciences 
Me'dicales, every joint in the body became anchylosed, 
so that, as M. Percy observes, the brazen skeleton offered 
by Hippocrates in the Temple of Delphos could not be 
rtore inflexible. 

The patient, whose name was Simorre, wis bora at 
Mirepoix, in the department of Arriege, pa the 2Sth of 
October, 1752 ; he entered the army at the age of fifteen, 
and served for twenty-one years in the regiment of Berry, 
where he reached the rank of captain. He was in the 
three Corsican campaigns, and during the war contracted 
the seeds of his disease by bivouacking on a cold and 
marshy soiL He, first suffered from shooting pains in 
the great toes and ankles, alternating with inflammatiuQ 
of the eyes ; and in 1785 he could no longer walk with- 
out assistance. In the following year all his joints were 
affected at once, and the anchylosis made most alarming 
progress. He was obliged to quit the service, and reared 
to Metz. He long struggled with fortitude agajnst his 
disease ; his limbs were growing stiff, and in spite of his 
sufferings he forcibly endeavoured to move them. His 
arms and lus head underwent the lot of his feet and 
knees ; the whole body became inflexible ; even (he 
lower jaw, which in other persons has remained, mine- 
able, became fixed like the other joints. Simorre, to 
use his own expression, was then no more than a nviug 
corpse. He might, indeed, says M. Percy, have been 
considered comparatively happy in this unfortunate situ- 
ation, had he had the insensibility of a real corpse. But 
far from enjoying this melancholy repose he suffered the 
most excruciating pain. He passed four months in an 
easy-chair, as it was not possible to get him into bed. 
His posture in the chair is that of his skeleton, which is 
still preserved at Paris, for it was at this period that 
his joints became entirely useless. He was then placed 
in his bed, where he passed two years without sleeping, 
for as soon as he closed his eyes his limbs were agitated 
by the most violent startings. Opium did not relieve 
him. In 1792 the joints, which had been swelled, began 
to sink ; and the pain, which Simorre had borne with. the 
dignity of a stoic, was lessened in the same proportion. 
He could now be moved without causing him much 
pain, and he was lifted up in one solid piece when it 
was necessary to make his bed ; this, however, was only 
done once a month, and care was taken not to efface the 
hollow in which his body lay, as it would have been so 
painful to him to make another. 

By examining the skeleton it will be seen that the 
right elbow was below the level of the trunk, that the 
spine was rather curved, and the pelvis raised' in front— 
and that many precautions were requisite to prevent the 
weight of the body from resting on one part more than 
another. The legs formed an acute angle with the 
thighs', and the arms were nearly at right angles to the 
trunk. The fore-arms were bent upon the chest, and 
the wrists continually pressed upon it The right hand 
was closed, and the left open. The fingers were separated, 
and anchylosed in that position; they were terminated by 
a nail or rather a horn about four inches long, and the same 
breadth ; this was also the case in the toes. As he could 
not move his jaw he was obliged to suck in wine and 
soup through his teeth. Two of his upper incisors were 
drawn, which enabled him to swallow more solid food, 
and to speak with greater ease. He was fed with minced 
meat, broths, and steeped bread; a reed was used to 
enable him to drink. 

Though his condition was now improved, Simorre was" 
yet in a state of continual suffering j he could not sleep 
for more than a quarter of an hour at once ; but be was 
contented with his lot, and consoled himself with joyous 
sallies and humorous songs: for several successive years 
he printed an almanac of songs written at his dictation ; 
and his indigence was alleviated by the sale of this lit"* 
work. His songs breathed the soul of gaiety; and he 
painted his condition in them in such a manner as at once 
to excite compassion and laughter. The musdes of j« 
face had acquired an extraordinary degree of m0 ^? r 
being unceasingly in action, partly ia order to suppT 
f the want of gestuffes in his conversation* *nd P^jr » 

Digitized by 





1 drive m*i inserts by wrinkling up His skin. Sintorre 
had a fine face, and a physiognomy full of hilarity and 

. expression ; his rich black hair- covered a broad, forehead 

. which was bounded by his thick and arched eyebrows ; 

- he had an aquiline nose, and handsome eyes. He ter- 
mkated his painful career in 1802, at the ag* of fifty. 
The approach of death did not shake the fortitude of 
which he had given so many proofs for twelve years ; the 

. serenity of his soul remained untroubled. The cheer- 
fulness of this man under such a severe affliction offers 

. an encouraging example both to those who suffer disease 
and pain; and those who are comparatively free from the 
heavier evils of mortality. There is no evil which cannot 

:be4nadelightet by fortitude and resignation *— and too 
often imaginary calamities, or false apprehensions, pro- 
duce more disquietude in the gloomy and impatient mind 
than even poor Simonre endured under his extraordinary 

Rational Amusement.— The love ef literature has prevailed 
from very early times among the inhabitants of the remote 
island of Iceland. There, the way in which the evenings of 
their long winter are spent, furnishes a most agreeable con- 
trast to the miserable pot-house debauchery which fills up 
the leisure of too many uncultivated Englishmen, and proves 
the value of well-regulated knowledge, as an auxiliary to 
virtue. A distinguished traveller, who spent a winter in 
Iceland, has described a winter evening in an Icelandic 

i family, as rendered instructive and pleasing in the highest 

i degree, by the prevailing love of useful knowledge among all 
ranks. - As soon as the evening shuts in, the family assemble, 

j master and mistress, children and servants. They all take 
their work in their hands, except one who acts as reader. 

1 Though they have very few printed books, numbers write 
excellently and copy out the numerous histories of their own 
island. The reader is frequently interrupted by the head of 

< the family, or some of the more intelligent members, who 

\ make remarks and propose questions to exercise the inge- 
nuity of the children or the servants. In this way the minds 

i of all are improved in such a degree, " that,'' says my infor- 
mant, u I have frequently been astonished at the familiarity 
with which many of these self-taught peasants have discoursed 
on subjects, which, m other "countries, we should expect to 
hear discussed by those only who have devoted their lives 
to the study of science." Let me not omit to add, that 
the evening thus rationally and virtuously begun, is, by 
these well-inistructed people, closed with an act of family 

f from an excellent little work just published, ' Bullar's Hints 
and Cautions in the Pursuit of General Knowledge.'] 

the eaves of* fyouse, in which the female capelin is defi- 
cient. The latter, on approaching #10 beach to deposit 
its * spawn, is attended by two male fishes, who hu(}djo 
$he female between them, until her whole body js ,coh- 
cealed under the projecting ridges before mentioned, and 
only her head is visible. In this state they run, alj thr^e 
together, with #reat swiftness upon the sands ; when the 
males, by some imperceptible inherent power, compress tfee 
body of the female betwixt their own, so as to expel the 
spawn from an orifice near the tail. Having thus accom- 
plished its delivery, the three capelin separate; and pad- 
dling with their whoje force through the shallow surf of the 
beacjj, generally succeed in regaining, once morej the bosom 
of the deep. 

" It is an entertaining sight, while standing upon the shore, 
to observe myriads of these fishes, forsaking their own ele- 
ment, and running their bodies on the sand in all directions. 
Many of them find it totally impossible to return to the water, 
and thus the beaches of Labrador are frequently covered with 
dead capelin. They have so little timidity, that when the 
author has wadedlnto the sea, amidst a shoal of them, he has 
taken two or three at a time in his hands. Upon these 
occasions, he was enabled to ascertain beyond a doubt, that 
the evacuation of the spawn is caused by a compression on 
the part of the male ; as, when thus taken in the hand, the 
female capelin invariably yielded up its spawn the instant 
that it received the slightest pressure from the fingers. 
The capelin are sometimes salted and dried by the fisher- 
men, and afterwards toasted with butter for their break- 

Quackery.— Dr. F , a physician of Montpelier, was in 

the habit of employing a very ingenious artifice. When he 
came to a town where he was not known, he pretended to 
have lost his dog, and ordered the public crier to offer, with 
beat of drum, a reward of twenty-five louis to whoever 
should bring it to him. The crier took care to mention all 
the titles and academic honours of the doctor, as well as his 
place of residence. He soon became the talk of the town. 
" Do you know," says one, " that a famous physician has 
come here, a very clever fellow ; he must be very rich, for 
he offers twenty-five louis for finding his dog." The dog 
was not found, but patients were. 

The Caprlin.— The shell-fish shops of London have 
lately exhibited an article of food which was previously little 
known in England— the dried capelin. As a relish for the 
breakfast-table, this production of the coasts of Newfound- 
laud and Labrador is likely to become extensively used. A 
correspondent sends us the following notice of the fish, ex<- 
tracted from a • Voyage in H. M. S. ship Rosamond to 
' Newfoundland, by Lieut. E. Chappell, R.N. 1818:' "The 
cod are taken by hooks, baited either with capelin or her- 
rings. The latter is a kind of fish well known in Europe : 
but the capelin seems to be peculiar to the coasts of New- 
foundland and Labrador. As they are equally plentiful 
with the cod in those countries, and are, as a bait, so essen- 
tially necessary towards obtaining the latter, a short account 
of them may not be unacceptable to the reader, particularly 
as these fish have been strangely overlooked by the most 
distinguished naturalists. 

" The capelin is a Small and delicate species of fish, greatly 
resembling the smelt It visits the shores we are describing 
about the months of August and September, for the evident 
purpose of depositing its spawn upon the sandy beaches. 
At such times, the swarms of these fish are so numerous 
that they darken the surface of the sea for miles in ex- 
tent, whilst the cod prey upon them with the utmost 
"voracity. 1 "* Ttor manner of the capelin V depositing its 
: spkwn h one of 1 the most curious circumstances attending 
its natural history. ' The male fishes are somewhat larger 
than tile. fefttate, and are provided also with a* sort of 
ridge, pmjjgtjnjojj gaflj gclf of §ie J>ock-bone«, similar to 

New Way to get Practice. — A poor physician, with plenty of 
knowledge and no practice, imparted his troubles to one of 
his friends. " Listen to my advice," says the other, •• and fol- 
low it. The Cdfe de la Regence is in fashion ; I play at chess 
there every day at two o'clock, when the crowd is thickest ; 
come there too ; do not recognise me, and do not speak a 
word, but seem in a reverie ; take your coffee, and always give 
the waiter the money in a piece of rose-coloured paper 
leave the rest to me.' The physician followed his advice, 
and his oddity was soon remarked. His kind friend said to 
the customers of the coffee-house, " Gentlemen, do not think 
Ul of tins man because he seems an oddity; he is a pro- 
found practitioner ; I have known him these fifteen years, 
and I could tell you of some wonderful cures that he has 
performed; but he thinks of nothing but his books, and 
never speaks except to his patients, which has prevented me 
from becoming intimate with him; but if ever I am obliged 
to keep my bed, he is the doctor for me." The friend went 
on in fins way, varying the style of his panegyric from tiine 
to time, till by degrees all his auditors consulted the doctor 
with the rose-coloured paper. 


Onb of the most celebrated trees in the "world is the 
great chesnut tree of Mount yEtna, of which the following 
wood-cut is a representation, as it existed in 17$4 ; it is 
jsnown by the name of the Castagho de' cento cavalli (the 
Chesput tree of a hundred horses). A tradition says, 
that Jane, queen of Arragon, on her voyage from Spain 
to Naples, landed in Sicily, for the purpose of 4 visiting 
itfount $tna ; and that being overtaken by a storm, she 
and her hundred attendants on Horseback found shelter 
within the enormous trunk of this celebrated tree. At 
any rate the name which it Dears, whether the story be 
true or not, is expressive enough of its prodigious size, 

Digitized by 




[Apul 6,1831 

- We extract the following passage, deacripthre of this 
tree, from the article " JEtna," in the Penny Cyclo- 
pedia: — 

" It appears to consist of five large and two smaller 
trees, which, from the circumstance of the barks and 
boughs being all outside, are considered to have been 

. one trunk originally. The largest trunk is thirty-eight 
feet in circumference, and the circuit of the whole five, 
measured just above the ground, is one hundred and 
sixty-three feet; it still bears rich foliage, and much 
small fruit, though the heart of the trunk is decayed, and 
a public road leads through it wide enough for two 
coaches to drive abreast. - In the middle cavity a hut is 
built for the accommodation of those who collect and 
preserve the chesnuts. 

" This is said, by the natives, to be 'the oldest d 
trees.' From the state of decay, it is impossible to hue 
recourse to the usual mode of estimating the age of 
trees by counting the concentric rings of annual growth, 
and therefore no exact numerical expression can be * 
signed to the antiquity of this individual. That it oaj 
be some thousand years old is by no means improbable. 
Adanson examined in this manner a Baobab tree (A&n- 
mmia digitaia) in Senegal, and inferred that it had 
attained the age of five thousand one hundred and % 
years ; and De Candolle considers it not improbable tk 
the celebrated Taxodium of Chapultopec, in Man 
(Cvprcsnu dUUcka, Linn.), which is one hundred and 
seventeen feet in circumference, may be sail dor 

[Great Cheanut Tree of Mount jEtn*.] 

It is evident that if the great, chesnut tree were in 
reality a collection of trees, as it appears to be, the 
wonder of its size would at once be at an end. Brydone, 
who visited it in 1770, says— • - -•'•'• 

" I own I was by no means struckwith its appearance, 
as it does not seem to^ be one tree, but a bush of five 
large trees growing together. We complained to 'our 
guides of the imposition ; when they unanimously as- 
sured us, that by the universal tradition, and even testi- 
mony of the country, all these were once united in one 
stem ; that their grandfathers remembered this, when it 
was looked upon as the glory of the forest, and visited 
from all quarters ; that for many years past it had been 
reduced to the venerable ruin we beheld. We began to 
examine it with more attention, and found that there was 
indeed an appearance as if these five trees had really 
been once united in one. The opening in the middle is 
at present prodigious ; and it does indeed require faith to 
believe, that so vast a space was once occupied by solid 
timber. But there is no appearance of bark on the 

inside of any of the stumps, nor on the sides that it* 
opposite to one another. I have since been told by the 
Canonico Uecupero, an ingenious ecclesiastic of U» 
place, that he was at the expense of carrying up pea 81 ^ 
with tools to dig round the Castagno de* cento caw 
and he assures me, upon his honour, that he found all 
these stems united below ground in one root." 

Houel, in his * Voyage Pittoreaque des Isles dc Siciie. 
tome ii. p. 79, 1784, has given a plate of this tree, worn 
which the above cut is copied. He appears to ha* 
taken great pains to ascertain the feet of there being on"! 
one trunk, and to have completely satisfied himself "»t 
the apparent divisions have been produced, partly by w 
decay of time, and partly by the peasants continually 
cutting out portions of the wood and bark for fuel 

%• The Ofice of tht Society for the Diffusion of Useful 
59, Lincoln's Inn Fields. 

Knewkafi" 11 


Printed bjWuuAM C&ovsf, Btaatfrt .StrttV' 
Digitized by VjOOQIC 



Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



[Apejl 18, IBM. 


[Ruins of Ntt ley Abboy.] 

Netley (or Nettley) Abbey, near Southampton, has 
long been celebrated as one of the most picturesque 
ruins in England. The proper name of the place ap- 
pears, as Leland has noted it in his Collectanea (vol. i. 
p. 69), to be Letteley, which has been Latinized into de 
Lftto Loco (pleasant place), if it be not, as has been 
most commonly supposed, a corruption of this Latin de* 
sanation. Another abbey in the neighbourhood was, in 
the same manner, called Beaulieu in French or Norman, 
and de Bello Loco in Latin. The founder of Netley 
Abbey is stated by Leland to have been Peter Roche, 
Bishop of Winchester, who died in 1238. This account, 
however, is inconsistent with that of Tanner, who, on 

the authority of an ancient manuscript, gives 1289 as 
the date of the foundation. The first charter bears to be 
granted by Henry III. in 1251. The abbey is there 
called Eccleria Sanctm Maria de loco Sancti Edwardi, 
and, in conformity with this, another of the English 
names of the place is Edwardstow. The monks of Net- 
ley Abbey belonged to the severe order of the Ctstertians, 
and were originally brought from the neighbouring house 
of Beaulieu. Hardly anything has been collected with re- 
gard to the establishment for the first three hundred years 
after its foundation, except the names of a few of the 
abbots. At the dissolution it consisted of an abbot ami 
twclTf mould, and its net ifvtmt *«• returned at oul/ 




LAwii 18, 

about £10$. It* appears, indeed, to have beett always 
a humble and obscure establishment. In the valuation 
of Pope Nicholas IV., made towards the end of the 
thirteenth century, it is set down as having only an in- 
come of £17. Nor did the riches of the good monks 
consist in their library. Leland found them possessed 
of only one book, which was a copy of Cicero's Treatise 
on Rhetoric In 1537 the place was granted by the 
King to Sir William Paulet, afterwards the celebrated 
Marquis of Winchester, who, according to his own ac- 
count, was indebted for so much success in life to " being 
a willow, not an oak." From him, or his descendants, 
it passed to Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, the son 
of the Protector Somerset, who is said to have made it his 
residence. In a little work, entitled • A Companion in 
a visit to Netley Abbey/ printed in 1800, there is an 
extract given from the parish register of St. Michael's, 
Southampton, from which it is inferred that Queen Eliza- 
beth visited Lord Hertford in August, 1560 ; a circum- 
stance not noticed in the elaborate account of her Majesty's 
• Progresses/ published by the late Mr. Nicholls. It 
states that she came from the Castle of Netley to South- 
ampton on the 13th, and went thence to Winchester on 
the 1 6th. The Abbey, it is supposed, at this time was 
known by the name of the Castle. About the end of the 
17th century it became the property, it is said, of a Mar- 
quis of Huntingdon ; but the Earl of Huntingdon must 
be meant, for there never was a marquis of that name. 
He has the credit of having commenced the desecration 
of the old building, by converting the nave of the church 
into a kitchen and offices. There is also a strange story 
in which he is implicated, told by Browne Willis, the 
antiquary, and the memory of which is still preserved by 
tradition in the neighbourhood. The Earl, it is said, 
about the year 1700, or soon after, made a contract with 
a Mr. Walter Taylor, a builder of Southampton, for the 
complete demolition of the abbey, it being intended by 
Taylor to employ the materials in erecting a town-house 
at Newport and other buildings. After making this 
agreement, however, Taylor dreamed, that as he was 
pulling down a particular window one of the stones 
forming the arch fell upon him and killed him. His 
dream impressed him so forcibly that he mentioned the 
circumstance to a friend (who is said to have been the 
father of the well-known Dr. Isaac Watts), and in some 
perplexity asKed his advice. His friend thought it would 
be his safest course to have nothing to do with the affair 
respecting which he had been so alarmingly forewarned, 
and endeavoured to persuade him to desist from his in- 
tention. Taylor, however, at last decided upon paying 
no attention to his dream ; and accordingly began his 
operations for the pulling down of the building, in which, 
however, he had not proceeded far, when, as he was 
assisting in the work, the arch of one of the windows, 
but not the one he had dreamed of, which was the east 
window, still standing, fell upon his head and fractured 
his skull. It was thought at first that the wound would 
not prove mortal; but it was aggravated through the 
unskilrulness of the surgeon, and the man died. It is 
very possible that the whole of this story may have 
originated from the single incident of Taylor having met 
with his death in the manner he did ; the added circum- 
stances of the previous dream, &c. are not beyond the 
licence of embellishment of which rumour and tradi- 
tion are accustomed to avail themselves in such cases. 
The accident which befel Taylor, however, being popu- 
larly attributed to the special interposition of Heaven, is 
said to have for the time saved the abbey from demo- 
lition. But the place soon after passed out of the 
possession of the Earls of Huntingdon, and has since 
been successively in that of various other families. It is, 
or was lately, the property of IWy Holland, the widow 
of Sir Nathaniel Holland, Bart 

Netley Abbey is now a complete ruin, nothing re- 
a part of tbetw* m$U* ft atatdf «w < 

tte dectfvity df a genUe elevation, which rises from tin 
bank of tne Souihanlrfton water. The walk to it from 
the town of Southampton, of about three miles in length, 
is one of enchanting beauty, the surrounding landscape 
being rich in all tfia^hagns of water and woodland sce- 
nery. The abfteyTtsell* is so eirt bosomed among foliage,- 
partly that of the oaks and other trees which rise in thicl 
clumps around it, and some of which, springing up from 
the midst of the roofless walls, spread their waving 
branches over them, and partly that o? tne luxuriant ivy 
which clothes a great part of the grey stone in green,— 
that scarcely a fragment of it is visible till the visitor has 
got close beside it. The site of the ruin, however, is one 
of considerable extent. Originally the buildings seem to 
have formed a quadrangular court or square ; but scarcely 
any thing more is now to be seen, except the remains of 
the church or chapel which occupied one of the sides. 
It appears to have been about 200 feet in length, by 60 
in breadth, and to have been crossed at the centre by a 
transept of 120 feet long. The walls can still be dis- 
tinctly traced throughout the whole of this extent, except 
in the northern portion of the transept. The roof, 
however, as we have said, no longer exists, having fallen 
in about thirty or forty years ago. Its fragments, many 
of them sculptured with armorial bearings and other 
devices, lie scattered in heaps over the floor. Many 
broken columns still remain ; and* there are also windows 
in different portions of the wall, the ornamental parts of 
which are more or less defaced, but which still retain 
enough of their original character to show that the build- 
ing must have been one of no common architectural 
beauty. The east end is the most entire, and the great 
window here is of elegant proportions, and elaborately 
finished. Besides the church, various other portions 
of the abbey, such as the kitchen, the refectory, &c. 
are usually pointed out to strangers; but the con- 
jectures by which these apartments are identified must 
be considered as of very doubtful authority. The 
whole place appears to have been surrounded by a 
moat, of which traces are still discernible ; and two large 
ponds still remain at a short distance from the buildings, 
which no doubt used to supply fish to the pious inmates. 
Their retired and undisturbed waters now present an 
aspect of solitude which is extremely beautiful, overhung 
as they are by trees and underwood. About two hun- 
dred feet distance from the west end of the church, and 
nearer the water, is a small building, called Netley 
Castle, or Fort, which was erected by Henry VIII. 

But the chief attraction of Netley Abbey must be 
understood to consist, not so much in any architectural 
magnificence of which it has to boast, as in the singular 
loveliness of the spot, and in the feelings inspired by the 
overthrown and desolate state of the seat of ancient piety. 
No mind having any imagination, or feeling for the 
picturesque and the poetical, but must deeply feel the 
effect of its lonely and mournful, yet exquisitely beau- 
tiful seclusion. It has accordingly been the theme of 
many verses, among which an elegy, written by Mr. 
George Keate, the author of the Account of the Pelew 
Islands and Wince Le Boo, was at one time much 
admired. A living poet, the Reverend Mr. Bowles, has 
also addressed the Tuin in some lines of considerable 
tenderness, which we shall subjoin : — 

"Fallen pile! I ask not what has been thy tkk ; 
But when the weak winds, wafted from the main, 
Through each lone arch, like spirits that complain, 
Come hollow to my ear, I meditate 
On this world's passing pageant, find the lot 
Of those who once might proudly, in their prime, 
Hs*e stand with giant port ; tiu, bowed by time, 
Or injury, their ancient boast forgot. 
They might have sunk, like thee; though thus forlorn, 
They lift their heads, with veneTablc hairs 
Besprent, majestic yet, and as in scorn 
Of mortal Yanities and short hved cares ; 
Jt'en so. dost thou, lifting thy &>tehe#d jrwy, 

Digitized by 





The Bib le* — f ir W. Jones, a most accomplished scholar, 
irko bad made himself acquainted with eight and twenty 
languages, baa left it on record, that amidst all his pursuits 
the study of the Sacred Volume had been hi* constant habit 
Sir Isaac Newton* the greatest of mathematicians, was a 
diligent student of the Binle. Mr. Locke, a man of distin 
guished acuteness in the study of the human mind, wrote to 
recommend the study of the New Testament ; as having 
" God fbr its author, sanation for its end, and truth unmixed 
with error, for its matter. * Milton, the greatest of poets, 
evidently had his mind most deeply imbued with the study 
of the word of God. Boerhaave, eminent as a natural philo- 
sopher, spent the first hour of every day in meditation on the 
sacred pages. Here no man can say that he has not leisure. 
A most beneficent institution of our Creator has given us, for 
this duty, a seventh part of our time, one day in every week, one 
whole year out of every seven. — Bullars Hints on the Pursuit 
of General Knowledge. 

School* for Mechanic*, $c. — The King of Bavaria issued 
a rescript in February last, directing the establishment of 
this description of popular schools in every quarter of his 
dominions, with the benevolent intention of affording the 
humblest workman an opportunity of receiving such instruc- 
tion as may fit him for his calling. He permits the districts 
to name the masters of these schools for his approval. In 
large towns the course of instruction will take a wider range 
and be given in ' Colleges of Industry.* 

The Sheep— heedlessness. — Cows and sheep possess much 
less of the instinctive apprehension of danger than horses. 
In a marshv country it is by no means uncommon for cows 
to be bemured, or laired, as it is termed in the northern 
counties ; and this is still more common with sheep, though 
so much lighter in weight 

In mountainous and rocky districts the sheep is by no 
means to be trusted in places of danger, having none or little 
of the instinct which enables the goat and the chamois to 
make their way amongst the steepest precipices. It is re- 
markable that even upon seeing accidents befal their fellows 
they are not deterred from following heedlessly in the same 
track. The heedlessness of the animals in such cases, may 
probably arise from their being so much accustomed to follow 
othprs in the same track, — (a habit which causes a sheep- 
grazing district to be every where intersected with sheep- 
paths, about a foot in breadth,) — and when the leader falls over 
a precipice, the next follows in the same way, as Suwarrow's 
Russians marched into a trench till it was filled with their 
dead bodies. 


TitVrUZ is scarcely any error so popular, yet so unfounded, 
as thai which invariably attributes unbounded indolence 
to the monastic orders of former days. To them we 
awe the preservation of literature, both in the pains they 
took to perpetuate history by their labours in tran- 
scribing, and by their diligence in the education of youth. 
In the larger monasteries a chamber was almost always 
set apart for writing, allowing room in the same apart- 
ment for other quiet employments also. The tran- 
scribers were superintended by the abbot, prior, sub-prior, 
and precentor of the convent, and were distinguished by 
the name of Antiquarii. These industrious persons 
were continually occupied in making new copies of old 
books, for the use of monasteries ; and by this means 
many of our most valuable historical records were pre- 
served. The learned Selden owed much of the informa- 
tion which he gave to the world, concerning the ancient 
dominion of the narrow seas, to monastic documents. 

The Anglo-Saxon Monks were most celebrated as 
writers, and were the originators of the small Roman 
letter used in modern times. The greatest delicacy and 
nicetv were deemed essential in the transcribing of books, 
whether for the purposes of general instruction, or fbr the 
use of tbe convents themselves. Careless and illegible 
writing is therefore but seldom to be met with among 
the remains of monastic industry ; and when erasures 
were made, they appear to have been done with the 

utmost care and skill. For this purpose the Monks used 
pumice-stone ; and they were also provided with a punc- 
rbrram or awl, to make the dots, and with metal pens 
for writing, until after the seventh century, when quills 
were brought into use for pens. Ink, composed of soot, 
or ivory-black with gum, was used upon the vellum, for 
paper was noT introduced until the tenth century. Hence 
the beautiful distinctness, as well as durability, of very 
ancient manuscript books. Indeed, such an important 
art was writing in those days considered, that Du Cange 
enumerates as many as a hundred different styles of 
writing in vogue among the learned. 

With so many impediments to the multiplication of 
books as were attendant upon their stow production in 
this manner, it is not a matter of surprise that the Monks 
enjoyed almost a monopoly of this kind of labour, as, in 
truth, they were the only body of men who could pro- 
perly conduct it. The expense of books was proverbially 
great, and large estates were frequently set apart for the 
purpose of purchasing them. In addition to the cost of 
transcribing, the materials of which books were composed 
were sources of great expense. The leaves were, in 
many instances, composed of purple vellum, for the pur- 
pose of showing off to more advantage letters of gold 
and silver. The binding was often very gorgeous, 
although of a very rude construction. The most pre- 
vailing sort of covering for books was a rough white 
sheep-skin, pasted on a wooden board, with immense 
bosses of brass ; but the exterior of those intended for 
the church service was inlaid with gold, relics, or silver 
or ivory plates. Some books had leaden covers, and 
some had wooden leaves ; but, even so early as the time 
of Froissart, binding in velvet, with silver clasps and 
studs, began to be adopted in presents to any very exalted 
personage. Illuminating manuscripts was also another 
occupation of the Monks of the middle ages, although not 
confined to them, for the greatest painters of the day 
disdained not to contribute to these cumbrous and some- 
times confused decorations. The art of correct drawing, 
and a knowledge of perspective, cannot, however, be 
traced in the generality of the fantastic pictures by 
which illuminated books are adorned. Colouring and 
gilding appear to have been the chief points to which 
the attention of the illuminators wa» directed. The 
neutral tint was first laid on somewhat in the same mode 
as in the present day, some portions being left untouched 
in order to be afterwards embedded in gold and silver. 
The pictures represented different subjects, according to 
the nature of the book which they were intended to em- 
bellish. The title on the pages was formed of capital 
letters of gold and azure mixed. Illuminated pictures 
are of a dazzling brightness ; the wnite predominating, 
which, not being an oil colour, reflects the rays of light, 
and does not absorb them. So much custom had the 
Monks in their labours of transcribing and illuminating, 
that they were sometimes obliged to introduce hired 
limners, although contrary to the monastic rule in gene- 
ral ; but such aids were seldom resorted to* the Monks 
being usually the only labourers. The invention of 
printing diminished the importance and annihilated the 
profits of writing; and, in HGO, that of engraving 
superseded the art of illuminating. The last specimen 
of this latter practice is to be met with at Oxford, iri the 
Lectionary, or Code of Lessons for the Year, composed 
for Cardinal Wolsey. The achievement of this work, 
so long after printing aud engraving had become popular, 
evinces how reluctant that great and splendid prelate 
was to relinquish a mode of (ram/nor books, which was 
certainly calculated to give them, in the eyes of the vulgar 
an attractive and costly character. Illuminating is sup- 
posed to have originated from the necessity of rendering 
the means of knowledge attractive first to the senses, in 
those days of comparative darkness and ignorance. 

Besides transcribing and illuminating, the Monks 
excelled in sculpture and painting, turning, carpentry, 

Digitized by VB0OQIC 



[April IS, 

jewellery, and goldsmith's work. Thomas de Bamburgh, 
a monk, of Durham, was even employed to make two 
great warlike engines for the defence of the town of 
Berwick; and an astronomical clock, made by Light- 
foot, a monk, of Glastonbury, in 1325, is still preserved 
at Wells. Music, which Fuller, in his Church History, 
observes to " have sung its own dirge at the Reforma- 
tion," was sedulously cultivated in monastic institutions; 
and the Monks skilled in that accomplishment went from 
monastery to monastery, in order to disseminate their 

Much might be said concerning the indefatigable 
attention paid by this class of men to the education of 
youth. This was a department in which, according to 
the notions of the time, they eminently excelled. In 
compliance with the prevalent superstitions, the learning 
of the service and rule of their respective orders was, 
it is true, the first point to be accomplished in the in- 
struction of their pupils, the novices. These individuals, 
most of whom entered young, were required to commit 
the Psalter to memory, without deviating from a single 
word in the original ; a painful exercise, which was the 
occupation of hours passed in the solitude of the cell. 
Latin, essential because the language of the Breviary, 

was an object of incessant study, as well as French, 
which the Norman Conquest had introduced into com 
mon use in this country. To these studies were added 
writing and accounts, and several of the mechanical 
arts, besides some initiation into the popular pastimes of 
the day, and hunting, which was deemed salutary to the 
health. Probably more attention was paid to dexterity 
in these arts and accomplishments, than to the actual 
culture of the understanding. The Monks, though pre- 
eminent in architecture, as well as in most of the arts of 
life, made but little figure in literature, considering the 
leisure and opportunities which they enjoyed. For this 
the routine-like nature of their existence may, in some 
degree, account. Nothing is so likely to damp the 
ardour of genius as a continual succession of formal 
observances, which dissipate the thoughts from any one 
great object. The minds of these recluses were also 
narrowed by localities. Pent up from general society, 
and in a small sphere, the interests, and often the con- 
tentions which agitated their respective convents, became 
of paramount importance to them, and were mingled 
even with their historical records, with a degree of taste 
less and absurd prolixity, which has much lessened the 
value of the few original works which they composed. 


[Lion springing from CoYcn. See p. 141.] 


[The following are in continuation of the Sketches of t South- 
African Settler.] 

In our journey from Algoa Bay to our location of Glen- 
Lynden, or Baviaan's River, we had occasionally seen in 
the distance herds of large game, chiefly of the antelope 
tribe; and we found our highland valley to be pretty 
well stocked with quaggas, hartebeests, reeboks, rietboks, 
oribis, klipspringers, wild hogs, and a variety of smaller 
But we had as yet seen none of the beasts of 

prey that inhabit the country, with the exception of one 
or two jackals, although we had once heard the gvrr of 
the Cape tiger (or leopard), and been serenaded nightly 
by the hungry howl of the hyaena, almost all the way 
from the coast. We were not allowed, however, to 
continue long without a closer acquaintance with our 
neighbours of the carnivorous class. The lion introduced 
himself, in a mode becoming his. rank and character, a 
few nights after our arrival at Glen-Lynden. 
The serene weather with which wc had been favoured 
Digitized by VjOOQIC 




during our journey, wai succeeded on the 3d of July 
(the day after our first sabbath meeting) by a cold 
said wet evening. The night was extremely dark, and 
the rain fell so heavily that, in spite of the abundant sup- 
ply of dry firewood which we had luckily provided, it 
was not without difficulty that we could keep one large 
watch-fire burning. Having appointed our watch for the 
night (a service which all the male adults, masters as 
well as servants, agreed to undertake in rotation), we 
had retired to rest, and, excepting our sentinel, were all 
buried in sleep, when about midnight we were suddenly 
roused by the roar of a lion close to our tents. It was 
to loud and tremendous that for a moment I actually 
thought that a thunder cloud had broken close beside us. 
But the peculiar expression of the sound — the voice of 
fury as well as of power— instantly undeceived me ; and 
instinctively snatching my loaded gun from the tent pole, 
I hurried out — fancying that the savage beast was about 
to break into our camp. Most of our men had sprung 
to their arms, and were hastening to the watch-fire, with 
a similar apprehension. Qut all around was complete 
darkness ; and scarcely two of us were agreed as to the 
quarter whence the voice had issued. This uncertainty 
was occasioned partly, perhaps, by the peculiar mode this 
animal often has of placing his mouth near the ground 
when he roars, so that the voice rolls, as at were, like a 
breaker along the earth; partly, also, to the echo from 
a rock which rose abruptly on the opposite bank of 
the river ; and, more than all, to the confusion of our 
senses in being thus hurriedly and fearfully aroused 
from our slumbers. Had any one retained self-pos- 
session sufficient to have quietly noted our looks on 
this occasion, I suspect he would have seen a laugh- 
able array of pale or startled visages. The reader who 
has only heard the roar of the lion at the Zoological 
Gardens, can have but a faint conception of the same 
animal's voice in his state of freedom and uncontrolled 
power. Novelty in our case gave it double effect, on our 
thus hearing it for the first time in the heart of the wil- 
derness. Having fired several volleys in all directions 
round our encampment, we roused up the half-extin- 
guished fire to a blaze, and then flung the flaming brands 
among the surrounding trees and bushes. And this 
unwonted display probably daunted our grim visitor, for 
he gave us no further disturbance that night. 

A few days afterwards some of our people had a day- 
light interview with a lion — probably the same individual 
who had given us this boisterous greeting. They had 
gone a mile or two up the valley to cut reeds for thatch- 
ing the temporary huts which we proposed to erect by the 
combined labour of the party, and were busy with their 
sickles in the bed of the river, when, to their dismay, a 
huge lion rose up among the reeds, almost close beside 
them. He leaped upon the bank, and then turned round 
ind gazed steadfastly at them. One or two men who had 
guns, seized them hastily and began to load with ball. 
The rest, unarmed and helpless, stood petrified ; and had 
the lion been so disposed he might easily have made sad 
havock among them. He was, however, very civil — or, 
to apeak more correctly, he was probably as much sur- 
prised as they were. After quietly gazing for a minute 
or two at the intruders on his wild domain, he turned 
about and retired, first slowly, and then, after he was 
some distance off, at a good round trot They prudently 
did not attempt to interfere with his retreat 

After this, when we had moved our encampment 
farther up the valley, and had exchanged our tents for 
temporary reed-covered cabins, we were visited, during 
the winter and ensuing spring, several times by lions, but 
without our ever coming into actual conflict with them. 
On one of those occasions a lion and lioness had very 
nearly carried off, in a dark night, some of our horses, but 
were scared by a firebrand when within a few yards of their 
prey. 1 1 is worthy of remark, that the lion a) ways prefers 

a horse to an ox when he has the choice. After we had 
got some Hottentots beside us, we rode out, after some 
of those alarms, to hunt these formidable visitors, but 
without being able to discover their coverts. 

The first actual sencontre occurred while I was absent 
from the settlement, on a visit to our district magistrate. 
The following were the circumstances, as detailed to me by 
the parties present. A horse was missing, belonging 
to Mr. George Rennie, a young farmer of our party 
(descended from the same family in East Lothian as the 
celebrated engineer of that name) ; and, after some search, 
it was discovered by the foot-prints to have been killed by 
a lion. The boldest men of the settlement having assem- 
bled to give battle to the spoiler, he was traced without 
difficulty by the Hottentots to a secluded spot, about a mile 
or upwards from the place where he had seized bis prey. 
He had carried it with him to devour it at his leisure, as 
is the usual practice of this powerful animal. On the 
approach of the hunters, the lion, after some little demur, 
retreated to a small thicket in a shallow ravine at no 
great distance. The huntsmen followed cautiously, and 
having taken post on a height adjoining the ravine, 
poured volley after volley into the thicket This bom- 
bardment produced no perceptible effect ; the lion kept 
under oovert and refused to give battle ; only when the 
wolf-hounds were sent in to tease him, he drove them 
forth again with a savage growl, and a- bloody scratch 
or two from his claws. At length, Mr. Rennie, the 
leader of the hunt, and a man of daring hardihood, losing 
patience at this fruitless proceeding, descended from the 
height, and approaching the thicket, threw several large 
stones into the midst of it. This rash bravado brought 
forth the lion. He sprung fiercely from his covert, and 
with another bound or two would probably have had our 
friend prostrate under his paw, but most fortunately at 
this critical moment, the attention of the savage beast 
was attracted by a favourite dog of Mr. Rennie's, which 
ran boldly up to the lion and barked in his face. The 
poor dog was destroyed in a moment : a single blow 
from the lions paw rewarded his generous devotion 
with dcathi But that instant was sufficient to save his 
master. Mr. Rennie had instinctively sprung back a 
pace or two, and his comrades on the rock fired at once 
with effect The lion fell dead upon the spot, several 
balls having passed through his body. 

The next serious rencontre that we had with the 
monarch of the wilderness occurred a considerable time 
afterwards, when the several families of our party had 
taken possession of their separate allotments, and our 
temporary encampment was broken up. I happened 
then to be residing with my family, and a few Hottentot 
servants, at a place to which, from the picturesque forms 
of the adjacent mountains, we had given the Scottish 
name of Eildon. My next neighbour, at that time, 
was Captain Cameron, a Scotch officer who had lately 
come to occupy the farm immediately below me on the 
river. I had gone one evening down with another gen- 
tleman and two or three female relatives to drink tea 
with Captain Cameron's family. The distance being 
scarcely four miles, we considered ourselves, in that thinly 
peopled country, next-door neighbours; and, as the 
weather was fine we agreed to ride home by moonlight 
— no lions having been seen or traced in the valley for 
nearly twelve months. We returned accordingly, jesting 
as we rode along about wild beasts and Caflers. That part 
of the valley we were passing through is very wild, and 
encumbered in several places with jungles and thickets 
of evergreens ; but we had no suspicion at the moment 
of what afterwards appeared to be the fact — that a lion 
was actually dogging us through the bushes the whole 
way home. Happily for us, however, he did not then 
show himself, nor give us any indication of his presence ; 
being probably somewhat scared by our number, and the 
white dresses of the ladies glancing in the moonlight 

Digitized by 





About midnight, however, I was awakened by an 
unusual noise in my kraal, or cattle-fold, close behind 
my cabin. Looking out, I saw the whole of the horned 
cattle springing wildly over the high thorn fence, and 
scampering round my hut. Fancying that a hysena, 
which I had heard howling when I went to bed, had 
alarmed the animals by breaking into the kraal, I seized 
my gun, and sallied forth in my shirt to have a shot at 
it. Though the cloudless full moon shone with a brilliant 
light (so bright in that fine climate that I have frequently 
read print by it), I could discover no cause for the terror 
of the cattle, and after calling a Hottentot to shut them 
agaiu into the kraal, I retired once more to rest. Next 
morning, Captain Cameron rode up to inform me that 
herdsmen had discovered by the traces in the path, that a 
large lion had followed us up the valley the preceding 
night ; and, upon further search, it was ascertained that 
this unwelcome visitant had actually been in my kraal 
the preceding night, and had carried off a couple of 
sheep. But as he appeared by the traces (which our 
Hottentots followed with wonderful dexterity) to have 
retreated with his prey to the mountains, we abandoned 
for the moment all idea of pursuing him. 

The lion was not disposed, however, to have done with 
us on such easy terms. He returned that very night, 
and killed ray favourite riding-horse, little more than a 
hundred yards from the door of my cabin. I then con- 
sidered it full time to take prompt measures in self- 
defence; and sent a messenger round the location to 
call out the neighbours to hunt him, being assured by 
my Hottentots that, as he had only devoured a small 
portion of the horse, he would certainly be lurking in 
the immediate vicinity. The huntsmen speedily assem- 
bled, and, with the aid of the Hottentots, we soon dis- 
covered the lion in covert, about a mile from the spot. 
The scene that followed resembled very closely, in many 
particulars, the adventure of Mr. George Rennie on the 
occasion already described. The lion, on this occasion 
also, refused to leave the covert. Mr. Rennie and his 
brother John, and another Scotchman, with three 
mulatto Hottentots, went into the jungle to attack him. 
He then sprung out in a fury, and gave battle to the 
assailants — struck down John Rennie, and placed his 
foot upon him, and looked round upon us most majesti- 
cally for a few seconds, as if considering whether he 
should tear a few of us to pieces or not. Seeing us a 
numerous band (there were seventeen of us) he seemed 
to judge we were too many for him ; and so, leaving 
our fallen friend with no further injury than the marks 
of his five claws about half an inch into his flesh, he 
bounded from the thicket, and retreated up Glen-Douglas 
towards the Caffer mountains. We pursued him hotly 
up the glen, and our wolf-hounds held him at bay under 
a mimosa tree till we intercepted his path, seized the 
heights around, and shot him dead, without again ven- 
turing within reach of his claws. He was a fine full 
grown lion of the yellow variety ; and, in memorial 
of our African exploits, the skin and skull were sent 
as a small token of kindness and respect to Sir Walter 
Scott, and now form part of the ornaments of the 
lamented poet's armoury at Abbotsford. A more de- 
tailed account of this lion hunt may be found in ' The 
Library of Entertaining Knowledge ;' Menageries, vol. I. 
page 162. 


The Secondary Rocks comprehend a great variety of 
different beds of stone, extending from the primary strata 
to the chalk, which forms the upper or most recent 
member of the divison. There are certain principal 
groups, which are divisible into subordinate beds, all 
distinguishable by marked peculiar characters. They 
occur iu the following. descending order : — 

The ClMlk Group, 

The Oolite Group, 

The Red Mart Group. 

The Coal Groin* 

The Mountain Limestone Group. 

The Old Red Sandstone Group. 

The Granwacke Group. 
We shall briefly describe the leading characters of 
each group, bat in an aeoendijig order, from the gnu* 
wacke, a German local name for the principal rock 
among the lowest members of the secondary mm, 
which we described in our last section as lying upon the 
primary strata. This group occurs eitensively in the 
hilly country of the south of Scotland, in Westmoreland, 
Wales, and Devonshire. The Old Red Sandstone Group 
is characterized by its containing a great number of beds 
composed of water-worn fragments, and sandstone layers 
of a fine grain, and by its being usually of a deep rod co- 
lour. It contains very few organic remains, but terrestrial 
plants and marine shells are sometimes found in it It 
is the principal rock in Herefordshire, but m not of very 
great extent in other parts of England ; it is estimated to 
be in England about 1500 feet thick. It must not be 
confounded with another red sandstone which coven a 
great extent of the midland and northern counties at 
England, and which belongs to a more recent period, 
viz., the Bed Marl Group. Above the old red sandstone 
comes an important suite of beds, the Mountain Lime- 
stone Group. The limestone is usually very compactor 
crystalline, yielding in many places excellent marbles 
for chimney-pieces, Ac. It contains a great variety ot 
organic remains, consisting of corals and many specie 
of zoophytes and other radiated animals, some species ot 
Crustacea, a few remains of fish, and a great variety ot 
marine shells. It forms considerable mountain chains 
in the north of England, Derbyshire, and Somersetshire, 
and abounds in many places in valuable ores of lead; 
it is estimated to have a thickness of 900 feet Above 
this limestone comes the important group containing 
our coal mines. As this group will form the subject of 
a special article, we shall not say more about it at pre- 
sent than to remark, that it must have been produced 
under very different circumstances from the limestone 
which it covers, for it rarely contains any maris* 
remains, but a vast profusion of plants of many genera 
and species. The united thickness of the Coal Group 
is, probably, not less than 1700 feet The Red Marl 
Group consists of a number of beds of a red marly sand- 
stone, often variegated by stripes and patches of grey, 
blue, and white, which occupy a great extent of country 
in England ; there is an almost uninterrupted line of it 
from Hartlepool, in the county of Durham, to Exeter, 
and it covers the greater part of Nottinghamshire, 
Warwickshire, Staffordshire, Shropshire, Worcestershire, 
and Cheshire. In the two last counties it contaias 
valuable mines of common salt, and copious brine- 
springs of the same, and in otker places great quantities 
of alabaster or plaster-stone. In this group are found 
considerable beds of limestone of a peculiar quality, ftom 
containing a large proportion of the earth, called mag- 
nesia. The sandstones of the group contain very lew 
organic remains, but the limestones abound in those of 
marine animals, among which have been found the 
bones of gigantic amphibious reptiles like crocodiles. 
The group is estimated at not less than 2100 feet of 
thickness. The Oolite Group is so called from the pre- 
valence in it of a kind of limestone composed of small 
round grains, like the eggs in the roe of a risb, whence 
oolite, from two Greek words signifying egg and stone. 
It contains about twelve alternations vf subordinate 
beds, or rather systems of beds, consisting of Ihnestouft 
of different qualities and of clays, their uuited thickness 
being about 2600 feet, of which 1100 are formed by 
two beds of day of 500 and 600 feet each. The whole 

Digitized by 





group contain! a vast abundance of animal remains, 
which are almost exclusively marine, consisting of nume- 
rous genera and species of the molluscous animals, Crus- 
tacea, insects, echini, zoophytes, and skeletons of several 
species of gigantic reptiles analogous to the crocodile. 
The celebrated stones of Bath, Ketton, and Portland, and 
most of the best building stones of the middle and south 
of England, are found in this group, which covers 
a great part of the country that lies between a line 
drawn from the mouth of tlie river Tees to Watchet, on 
the south coast of the Bristol Channel, and another line 
drawn from Lynn in Norfolk, to Poole in Dorsetshire. 
The last or uppermost of the secondary rocks is the 
Chalk Group, which is separated from the Oolite Group 
by several beds of sands, clays, and sandstones, and 
including these, has been estimated to be 1900 feet 
thick. It is unnecessary to say any thing of the compo- 
sition of the principal member of the group, as it must 
be so familiar to all our readers. It covers a great 
extent of country, forming low hills and downs from 
Flamborough Head in Yorkshire to Weymouth, in a 
curvilinear sweep, the convexity directed to the S.E., 
and in many places E.S.E., and S. of that line. The 
whole group abounds in organic remains of the same 
classes as those found in the Oolite Group below. 

It thus appears that the secondary rocks consist of an 
extensive series of strata, of limestones, sandstones, and 
days, all of which contain either rounded fragments of 
pre-existing rocks or organic remains, or both ; and 
each group, and all the subordinate members of the 
groups, are distinguishable by characters of great con- 
stancy and certainty, derived from the peculiar nature of 
the included fossils. They must all have been deposited 
in an horizontal position, but there are parts of them 
which have undergone greater or less disturbance, being 
often thrown into a vertical position, and broken, twisted, 
and disturbed in the most extraordinary manner. Many 
of the disturbances of the lower groups took place prior 
to the deposition of the upper ; for the latter are found 
lying in unconformable stratification on the ends of the 
former as represented in diagram No. 5, Section IV. 
(p. 87.) They are traversed by veins or dykes, as they 
are often termed, of whinstone and other unstratified 
rocks, and there is usually great disturbance of the strata 
when these occur, the dykes are often of great magnitude, 
and the rock is frequently thrust in huge wedge-shaped 
masses, of miles in superficial dimensions and some hun- 
dred feet thick, between the regular strata. After the 
deposit of the secondary rocks a remarkable change took 
place, for all the strata that lie above the chalk have a 
totally different character from that rock and all below it. 
Taey have been classed together in one great division, 
and have been designated the Tertiary Rocks. Thus 
the whole series of strata, of which the crust of the globe 
is composed, is divided into the Primary, the Secondary, 
and the Tertiary. It is evident that at the time the 
secondary rocks were deposited, a great part of the pre- 
sent continent of Europe must have been considerably 
lower than the present level of the sea, that when the 
oldest or lowest members of the series were forming, the 
summits of the mountain ridges of primary rocks rose as 
islands of different magnitudes from the bosom of the 
deep, that at several successive periods these islands 
were more elevated, and attained consequently a greater 
superficial extent, the newer formed strata occupying the 
lower levels. In the progress of this series of changes of 
the surface of the globe, when there were evidently occa- 
sional depressions of the land as well as elevations, there 
appear to have been formed basin-shaped cavities or 
troughs, not entirely cut off from communication with the 
sea, and vast estuaries, in which the tertiary strata were 
deposited. While the secondary strata stretch continu- 
ously for hundreds of leagues, the tertiary are found only 
in detached insulated spots of comparatively limited 
Im Jfe» mx* U ibs earth's tmbm there most 

have been vast inland fresh water lakes, fbr we find 
regularly stratified deposits of great thickness full of 
organic remains, which exclusively belong to animals 
that lived in fresh water, and to terrestrial animals and 
plants. Like the secondary, the tertiary rocks consist 
of a great variety of strata of limestones, sandstones, 
clays, and sands, which have distinct characters, and 
have been united in several groups. In them we first 
discover the remains of land quadrupeds and birds, and 
bones of mammalia are most abundant in the beds nearest 
to the surface. Among all the various remains of ani- 
mals and plants that are found in the secondary rocks 
from the chalk downwards, not one has been found which 
is identical with any living species. Although they f have 
characters agreeing with those by which existing* ani- 
mals have been grouped together in the greater divisions 
of genera, families and classes, the living individuals of 
the same divisions have forms of structure distinct from 
any found in a fossil state in the secondary rocks. But 
with the tertiary strata a new order of things commences, 
for in the lowest of these a small proportion, about three 
and a half per cent, of the fossil shells cannot be distin- 
guished from species that now exist ; as we approach 
the higher beds the proportion always increases, and in 
the most recent stratum, it amounts to nine-tenths of the 
whole. It is not more than twenty-one years since the 
great division of the tertiary rocks was established ; prior 
to that time the peculiar characters which separate them 
from the secondary strata had been entirely overlooked, 
a circumstance which marks very strongly that geology 
is the youngest of the sciences. The discovery was made 
by the celebrated Cuvier and his associate M. Brongniart, 
who found that the city of Paris was built in a hollow ' 
basin of chalk that had been subsequently partially filled 
by vast deposits of clays, limestones, sands, and sand- 
stones, and thftt there were alternations of beds contain- 
ing remains of fresh water and terrestrial animals and 
plants, with others containing only the remains of marine 
animals. The publication of the work of the French natu- 
ralists led to a similar discovery in our own island, and 
singularly enough in the valley of the Thames, so that 
the capitals of France and England are both built upon 
these strata, so strangely neglected for so long a time, 
although occurring in the very spots where the greatest 
numbers of scientific men are collected together in both 
countries. A series of tertiary strata was discovered by 
Mr. Webster in the Isle of Wight, having strong points 
of resemblance with that of the environs of Paris, 
and these with some partial deposits on the coasts of 
Suffolk and Lancashire, constitute the whole of the 
tertiary rocks found in Great Britain. It was for some 
time supposed that these newer strata, which were soon 
found not to be confined to the neighbourhood of Paris 
and London, extended like the secondary rocks over great 
tracts of country; and that there was such a degree of 
uniformity in their characters, that deposits widely distant 
from each other could be recognised as belonging to the 
same period in the chronological order of succession of 
the strata. Later observations, however, have shown that 
although possessing a general character of resemblance, 
they have been so much modified in their formation by 
local circumstances, that no two tertiary deposits, even of 
the same era, are alike. The discoveries of the last few 
years have led geologists to establish distinct subordinate 
groups, as in the case of the secondary rocks, and the 
upper stratum of the Paris basin, which was at one time 
considered the most recent of stratified rocks, has been 
found to be inferior in the order of succession to many 
others, some thousand feet thick. Organic remains are 
the great characters of distinction, and Mr. Lyell, in his 
• Principles of Geology,' has proposed a divisiciPtof the 
series founded upon the proportion of shells etratained 
in the stratum which are identical with living species ; 
'hat stratum being the most modern where the propar- 
iientt greatest Digitized by GoOgle 



[APRIL 13, i8S8. 


[Camphor Tree.] 

Camphor, which is so much used for medical purposes, 
is likewise extensively employed in the composition of 
varnishes, especially in that of copal. It is the peculiar 
product of the root of a species of laurel (laurus cam- 
phorata), a tree growing in China, Japan, and several 
parts of India. The leaves of this plant stand upon 
a slender footstalk, and have an entire undulated margin 
running out into a point. Their upper surface is of a 
lively and shining green ; the under part is of a yellower 
green, and of a silky appearance ; a few lateral nerves 
curve towards the margin, frequently terminating in 
small worts or excrescences — a circumstance peculiar to 
this species of laurel. The footstalks of the flowers do not 
come forth until the tree has attained considerable age 
and size. The flower stalks are slender, and branch at 
the top, dividing into very short stems, each support- 
ing a single flower. This is white, and succeeded by a 
shining purple berry of the size of a pea. It is composed 
of a small kernel enclosed in a soft pulpy substance — 
having the aroina of cloves and camphor. The bark of 
the stem of the tree is outwardly somewhat rough ; but 
on the inner surface it is smooth and mucous, and there- 
fore readily separated from the wood, which is dry and of 
a white colour. Some travellers affirm that old trees 
contain camphor so abundantly that on splitting the 
trunk it is found in the form of large tears, so pure as not 
to require rectification. The usual method, however, of 
obtaining this substance is from the roots, pieces of which 
are put into an iron vessel furnished with a capital, or 
large head ; this upper part is internally filled with cords 
of rice straw ; the joinings are then luted, and the dis- 
tillation proceeded upon. On the application of heat the 
camphor sublimes and attaches itself to the straw within 
the head. The Dutch purify the substance thus ob- 
tained by mixing an ounce of quicklime with every pouud 
of the camphor, and subjecting it to a second sublimation 
in large glass vessels. 

Camphor is well known as a white friable substance, 
having a peculiar aromatic odour, and a strong taste. 
Some' chemists consider it as a concrete vegetable oil. 
It melts at a temperature of 288°, and boils at 400° 
Fahrenheit. Its specific gravity is less than that of water. 
Jt is very inflammable, burning with a white flame and 
|moke f and leaving no residue. Alcohol, ether, and oil? 

dissolve it The only indication whereby it appears that 
water acts upon camphor is that of acquiring its smell ; 
it is said, however, that a Spanish surgeon has effected 
the solution in water by means of carbonic acid*. Cam- 
phor may be burned as it floats on the surface of water. 
It is not altered by mere exposure to atmospheric air, 
but it is so extremely volatile that if in warm weather it 
is placed in an open vessel it evaporates completely. 
It dissolves in alcohol, and like the resins, is immediately 
precipitated again by the addition of water. 

Camphor has been found to exist in numerous plants 
whence it may be obtained by distillation. Neumann 
and other chemists extracted it from the roots of 
zedoary, thyme, sage, the inula helenium, the anemone, 
the pasque flower, and some other vegetables. Experi- 
ment has shown that the plants whence it is extracted 
afFord a much larger quantity of camphor when the sap 
has been suffered to pass to the concrete state by several 
months' drying. 

This substance was very early known to the Eastern 
nations ; it was introduced into Europe by the Arabians, 
but was entirely unknown to the ancient Greeks and 

* Ure's Dictionary of Chemistry. 

Rabbits.-— The care with which a doe rabbit provides for 
her young is very remarkable. She not only makes a nest 
of the softest hay, from which she carefully munches out 
all the harder portions, but she actually strips the fur or 
down off her own breast to spread over the hay. At first she 
covers up her young ones with the same materials in order to 
keep them warm, uncovering them only for the purpose of 
giving them suck. She is also extremely careful in propor- 
tioning this covering to the severity of the weather and the 
tenderness or strength of her offspring, gradually diminishing 
it as they grow more robust. 

The Horse — instinct.— A horse before venturing up a leap 
measures the distance with his eye, and will not make the 
attempt if he think he cannot clear it. (Dr. Haslam on Som 
Mind.) In alpino countries the horses accustomed to the 
difficult passes in the mountains seldom make a false step or 
trust themselves on a place where their footing is insecure. 
In the same way the horses accustomed to a marshy country 
may be safely trusted in crossing bogs and roads, as the) 
rarely venture upon any spot where they may be in danger 
of being mired. . 

Some time ago there was a horse in the artillery stud m 
Woolwich which was (while in the riding-school) the nwsi 
docile and finely trained animal that could be ^agine* 
He would at the word of command lie down and not menu 
was ordered : he would bow with the most dignified J^?* 
visitors ; and perform other feats with undeviating obedience 
But the instant he was taken out of doors, and found nimse 
in the open air and the open roads, he became ^ to *v? h 
unmanageable ; and when he could not cast his rider. * 
he ditl ah he could to effect, he lay down and rolled awu 
It may be remarked, that when first purchased he w f s, ™? eie 
to be extremely vicious, but being a fine horse P* 1118 .^ 
taken to break him in — and as it appears successfully--^ ^ 
the walls of the riding-school, though out of doors a» 
habits remained unbroken. 

Musical Taste.— The ass has been frequently «£** 
the parties in the most popular fables from ^ w P n °^ ne in2 
The followine is not much known : A trial of skfll in »J ^ 
!>emg agreed on between the cuckoo and the mg ns ^ 
the ass was chosen as umpire. After each am ^ 
best, the sagacious ass declared that the m ? nt "J^wa# 
extremely well ; but for a good plain song w £* * 
far his superior.— Scots' Presbyterian Eloq. DtspW"*' 

V TUe Office of the Societr for the Diffusion of Uiefal 
69, Lincoln's- In d Fields* 

Kiewlrt* 1 


Printed by Wn*u* Cwww, fitassfo* 8W* 


at tn 

Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 




[April 20, 1833. I 


[Edinburgh Castle.] 

It is scarcely possible to imagine a finer situation for a 
city than that of the Scottish metropolis. Let the reader 
conceive a vast natural amphitheatre, formed by a suc- 
cession of elevations sweeping around the east, south, 
aud west, and endlessly varied in their aspect by dis- 
tance, height, and the verdant or rocky termination of 
their ridges or pinnacles ; while on the low space in front 
spreads the noble estuary of the Forth, with the bright 
Vol. IX. 

green banks of the opposite coast of Fife glittering 
across its waters, and the loftier mountains bounding 
the horizon beyond. In the centre of this magnificent 
panorama is the ancient capital, occupying the summit of 
a long hill,' which stretches across a portion of the en- 
closed valley, and ascends gradually from the east till it 
terminates at the opposite point in a precipitous rock of 
nearly two hundred feet in height On this rock stands 

• Digitized by VjOOQIC 



titan 20, 

fKe c&stte. * If is separated frdm Che rtigh-sfreet, or prin- 
cipal part of what is called the Old Town, by a vacant 
space of about three hundred feet in length, forming the 
brow of what is called the Castle Hiti, the only practicable 
ascent to the fbft. Beyond this the High-street extends 
jalong the declivity in a straight line of more than a mile in 
length, with the palace of Holyrood at its extremity. Down 
*„the sides of the hill on each side run numerous steep and 
narrow lanes, or closes, as they are called, issuing into 
the low street called the Cowgate on the south, and on 
the opposite side leading to what still bears the name of 
the North Loch, though the basin which used to be 
filled with water has now been long drained. For the 
purposes of communication between the different dis- 
tricts of the town, both the Cowgate and the North 
Loch are crossed by bridges, that over the latter being 
nearly seventy feet in height. Beyond the North Loch 
lies the more modern part of the city, called the New 
Town, which is laid out in spacious streets, squares, and 
circuses. The most distant part of the New Town stands 
about three miles from the sea, but it Is fast covering the 
intervening space. To the east of the city rises the Calton 
Hill, an eminence of considerable height. Beyond it, to 
the south-west, are the green peak of Arthur's Seat, 
and the singularly rocky coronet of Salisbury Crags. 
Bounding the back-ground to the south is the long line 
of the Pentlands, and the hills of Braid ; and, finally, to 
the west, lies the beautiful hill of Corstorphine, swelling 
from amidst cultivated fields and woodlands, and, when 
lighted up by the setting sun, forming as rich a picture as 
the eye has often looked upon. 

But our business at present is with What Scott hai to 
enthusiastically apostrophized aa 

" The height 
tVhete the huge Castle holds its state, 
And all the Steep slope down, 
>Vho*e ridgy back heaves to the sky. 
YtieA deep aad massy, dose and high, 
Mine own romantic town.* . 

There Call be fid doubt that the town of Edinburgh 
originated in a fort which occupied the position of the 
present bastltt* tt appears to have been a strong hold 
of the British tribe Called the Gadeni, and to hate been 
named in their language the May-Dyn, -* In after-times, 
when thii was conceived to be ft Saxon term, the ex- 
pression Maiden Castle came into use, and Edinburgh 
has evett been denominated In charters, Caatrum 
Puellarum (the fort of the irirls or maids). To account 
for this riatne, historians and etymologists hare indulged 
in many fanciful conjectures* But the true meaning of the 
British urm May-Dyti (of which the Maiden Castle is a 
vulgar corruption) Is, as Mr. Chalmers has shown in his 
Caledonia, merely the fort or fortified mount in the plain, 
—a description exactly applicable to the original Edin* 
burgh, as well as to other places anciently distinguished 
by the same name. 

The modern name of Edinburgh comes from Edwin, 
one of thte sovereigns of the Salon kingdom of Northum- 
berland, of which for a Ion* period what is now called 
Scotland, as far as the Frith of Forth, was a part 
Edwin reigned from 61T to 084} and to that age 

. therefore we are to assign the first imposition of the 
name. From this has been formed the modem Celtic or 
Gaelic najfie of Dun Edifl, that is, the town of Edwhh 
Even so early as the time of Edwin a town had pro- 
bably grown up around the castle. But Edinburgh did 

•not become the capital of Scotland till many centuries 
afterwards. All the space between the Forth and North- 
utnberiand was long accounted border or debateable ter- 
ritory, and was in the possession of Scotland and England 
alternately. In the twelfth century we find Malcolm I V., 
although he often resided in the castle of Edinburgh, still 
designating Scone as the metropolis of his kingdom. 

*Jame* II, was the first king who made it his usual resi- 

dence,^ arid* tie chief seat 5f his court,— the atrocious 
murder of his father at Perth, in 1437, having apparently 
determined him to remove to a more secure part of the 

Before thtf invention of artillery Edinburgh Castie 
was almost impregnable by force, when held by an ade- 
quate garrison ; but it was nevertheless frequently take* 
by surprise. One of the most remarkable, instances 
occurred in 1341. when William Douglas contrived by 
the following stratagem to recover it from Edward III. 
of England, for whom it was held by a garrison of great 
strength. " Douglas," says Grose, in his Antiquities, 
" with three other gentlemen, waited on the Governor. 
One of them, pretending to be an English merchant, in- 
formed him he had for sale, on board a vessel then just 
arrived in the Forth, a cargo of wine, strong beer, and 
biscuit exquisitely spiced ; at the same time producing as 
a sample a bottle of wine and another of beer. The 
Governor, tasting and approving of them, agreed for the 
purchase of the whole, which the feigned captain re- 
quested he might deliver very early the next morning, in 
order to avoid interruption from the Scots. He came 
accordingly at the time appointed, attended by a dozen 
armed followers disguised in the habit of sailors ; and the 
gates being opened for their reception, they contrived 
just in the entrance to overturn a carriage, in which the 
provisions were supposed to be loaded, thereby preventing 
them from being suddenly shut. They then killed the 
porter and sentries ; and blowing a horn as a signal, 
Douglas, who with a band of armed men had lain con- 
cealed near the castie, rusnea in ana loinea tneir com- 
panions. A sharp conflict ensued, in which most of the 
garrison being slain, the castle was recovered for the 
Scots, who about the same time had also driven the 
English entirely out of Scotland. ' 

Among the subsequent sieges which it sustained, one 
of the most memorable was that which terminated on the 
20th of May, 1 573, when it Was, after an obstinate defence 
of thirty-three days, surrendered to aa English army by 
Kirkaldy of Grange, who held it for Queen Mary. 
Kirkaldy, who was one of the ablest and bravest men of 
that age, was basely hanged on this .occasion, as well as 
his brother and other gentlemen, by the English com- 
mander, Sir William Drury, in violation of the articles of 
Capitulation. There is a curious old Scottish poem, 
giving an account of this siege. In 1650, the castle 
again held out for two months against the forces of 
CrofflWell, after the battle of Dunbar. An account of 
this siege may be round m a 4to. pamphlet, published at 
London in 1651. After the Revolution, although the 
town of Edinburgh espoused the cause of Kiqg William, 
the castle was held by the Duke of Gordon for King 
James till the middle of June, 16*89, Two tery detailed 
and curious accounts of this protracted blockade nave 
been printed, in 1715 an unsuccessful attempt was 
made to surprise the castle by the rebels, a party of 
whom had almost reached the top of the rock by means 
of scaling-ladders before they were discovered. In the 
rebellion of 1745, although the town was for some time 
in the possession of the Pretender's forces, no assault 
was made upon the castle, which even preserved its com- 
munication with the town uninterrupted all the while. 

Of the buildings forming the castle, the principal part 
consists of an oblong quadrangle, called the Grand rV 
rade, the apartments on the east side of which are said to 
have been those formerly inhabited, by the royal family. 
The principal apartmerit which is ndW visited by stran- 
gers is that in which are placed the ancient Scottish 
regalia, since their discovery in 1818, itt an old chest to 
which they had been deposited immediately site* the 
Union in 1707. This discovery e*cfted at the time ait ex- 
traordinary sensation hi Scotland, where it was genera' 1 ; 
believed that the interesting relics in question httd ion? 
been removed from the scmpideu^y-guarded, but fl*** 

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isss.1 ■ 



till theq unlocked, receptacle, to which they were said to 
have been so many years before consigned The cheat 
wtoft bf»kfta open under authority of a warrant from the 
King*; and the regalia, consisting of the crown, the sword 
of state, and two sceptres, were found with some pieces 
of linen loosely thrown over them, exactly in the state in 
which they were described to be in the document drawn 
up at the time whan they w*r# deposited. A full account 
of the whole affair, and also of the previous history of 
the regalia, which is not without several romantic pas- 
sages, may be found in one of the volumes* printed 
by the Bannatyne Club, entitled ' Papera relative to 
the Regalia of Scotland,' 4to., 1829. It is edited by 
Mr. William Bell 

The struggle between the ancient faith and the Refor- 
mation, which in England was decided at the cost of 
the blood of only a few hundred individual victims, gave 
rise in France to a long and sanguinary contest of arms. 
Beginning in 1563, in the reign of Charles IX., with 
the encounter called the Massacre of Vassi, in Cham- 
pagne, where some hundreds of the Huguenots, or Pro- 
testants, were killed and wounded by a sudden assault 
of the followers of the Duke of Guise, the strife did not 
terminate till the entry into Paris of Henry IV. in 1593. 
During the whole of this interval the kingdom, wns kept 
in a state of distraction by the alternations of this civil 
war, which, although it did not divide the population 
into two equal parts,— -for the Catholics were, no doubt, 
always the immense majority, — yet drew so strong a 
support on both sides from different parts of the coun- 
try, as to make it extremely difficult for either party 
to maintain a permanent superiority over the other. 

Among the battles which marked the course of the 
.contest, one of the most bloody was that fought on the 
3d of October, 1569, at Moncontour, a village of Poictou 
(now comprehended in the department of Vienne), 
between the Huguenots commanded by the Admiral 
Coljgni, and the Catholics led by the Duke of Anjou, 
who a/Urwards became King of Prance under the 
name of Henry III, The career of Coligni imme- 
diately previous had been a succession of disasters, 
the consequences of which* however, had been to a 
great extent averted by the admirable abilities of that 
general, of whom it has been said, that he was more 
to be feared after a defeat, than most others after a 
victory. Anjou was himself without any pretensions 
to superior military talent ; but he enjoyed the advice 
and guidance of one of the ablest generals Prance 
ever produced, the Marshal de Tavannes, and by him 
the victories of the Duke were really gained. It was the 
skill of Tavannes which contrived at Moncontour to 
force Cofigni into soeh a position as compelled him to 
fight The young prince of Beam, afterwards Henry 
IV., although only a boy of fifteen, was by the side of 
Colignl in this battle, having been shortly before com- 
mitted to his charge as a pupil in the art of war, by 
his mother the Queen of Navarre. The battle was a 
very short one, but terminated in another complete 
defeat of the Huguenots, of whom not fewer than from 
ten to twelve thousand were left dead on the field. But, 
as on former occasions, partly by his own conduct and 
partly through the negligence and mismanagement of 
the enemy, Coligni speedily succeeded in more than re- 
pairing even this dreadful loss ; and in less than a year 
he had so retrieved his fortunes as to have made himself 
master of a third part of the realm of Prance. 
' We have glanced at these remarkable events, princi- 
pally to introduce two very spirited poems, which ap- 
peared some years ago in the 'Quarterly Magazine/ 
under the title of * 8ongs of the Huguenots/ * The 
subject of the first poem Is Moncontour. The second 

is descriptive of the bailie of fvry, fought m 1530; 
where Henry IV. obtained the victory over the Duke 
of Mayenne, to which he principally owed the eventual 
submission of his enemies and his unopposed admis- 
sion to the throne of his ancestors. As the one com- 
position is a wail of lamentation and despair, in which 
the beaten and scattered Huguenots are supposed to 
pour out their grief over their fallen comrades, and their 
apparently ruined cause ; so the other is their song of joy 
and triumph when their fortunes have changed, and their 
enemies had been scattered. 

I. Mamcaamwm, 

Oat veepfcr HoocoBftmr. Oh! weep fix the hour 
When the children of darkness and evil had power; 
When the horsemen of Valois triumphantly trod 
On the bosoms that Wed fcr their rights and their God. 

Oh! weep for Mbneontour. Oh! weep for the slairr 
Who for bith and for freedom lay slaughtered in fain. 
Oh I weep for the living, who linger to bear 
The renegade's shame, or the ezuVs despair. 

One look, one last took, to the cots and the towers, 
To the rows of our vines, and the beds of our flowers, 
To the church where the bones of our fathers decayed, 
Where we fondly had deemed thai our own should be laid 

i ! we must lease thee, dear desolate home, 
To the spearmen of Uri, the shavelings of Rome, 
To the serpent of Florence, the vulture of Spain, 
To the pride of Anjou, and the guile of Lorraine. 

Farewell to thy fountains, farewell to thy shades, 
Te the song of thy youths, and the dance of thy maids, 
To the breath of thy gardens, the hum of thy bees, 
And the long waving line of the blue Pyrenees. 

Farewen, and for ever. The Driest and the slave 
May rule in the halls of the free and the brave; — 
Our hearths we abandon j — our lands we resign ;— 
But, Father, we kneel to no altar .hut thine. 

IL Ivav. 

Now glory fe> the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! 
And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre I 
Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, 
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, Oh pleasant land 

And thou Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, 
For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought tny walls anioy. 
Hurrah I Hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war f 
Hurrah i Hurrah ! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. 

Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long anjay ; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmoni's Flemish spears. 
There rode the hrood of false Lorraine, the curses of pur lend* 
Aud dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand: 
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, 
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 
To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. 

The King is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest, 

And he has hound a enow-white plume upon his gallant crest. 

He looked upon his people, end a tear was in his eye ; 

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high- 

Right graciouslv he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, 

Down all our fine, a deafening shout, "God save our Lord the 

♦♦And if my standard-bearer mil, as raH full well he may, 
t< For never sew I promise yet of such a hleody ftajr, 
*' Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranjurf war^ 
" And be your orinamme to-4ay the helmet of Navarre." 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the rainglest din. 

Of fife, and steed, end irump, and drum, an4 (oaring culrerio* 

The fiery Duke is pricking last across Saint ^nijre's plajni 

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders an<\ Almayne. 

Now by the lips ef those ye love, fair gentlemen of Praaee, 

Charge A>r the golden lihes^-npnn them with the lance. 

A thousand spurs are striking d-eep, a thousand spears, in list, 

A thousaM knights are pressing dose ^hind ^he snow-wh^e creptj 

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while like a guiding star, 

Amidst the thickest carnage Wared the helmet of Navarre* 

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Now,Gedbepraised,fhedeytoais. Mgreni* bath turned hisreia, 

D* Aumale hath cried for quarter. The flemish count ii slain. 

Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; 

The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven maiL 

And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, 

* Remember Saint Bartholomew, was passed from man to man. 

But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is my foe: 

" Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.* 

Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 

As our Sovcreigu Lord, King Henry, the Soldier of Navarre! 

Hot maidens of Vienna | Bo! tattoos of Loeeae; 

Weep, weep and rend your hair for those who never shall nfana. 

Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, 

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor speatmsriisda 

Ho! gallant nobles of the League, tok U^ your an» be bright; 

Ho ! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night 

For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the due, 

And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the bar* 

Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are; 



[Milkbffof toRew-DettJ 

The Rein-Deer, an animal of the most important service 
in the districts of which it is a native, is found nowhere 
but within the polar regions. Several attempts have 
been made to introduce it both into this country and 
into Scotland, but they all failed; and it is a remark- 
able fact, that those which were turned out into what 
were considered favourable situations, as for instance, 
on the Pentland Hills near Edinburgh, where they had 
a cold climate, and a sufficient supply of the rein-deer 
moss, which forms the principal part of their food, suffered 
more and died sooner than such as have been confined 
to a small enclosure, or even to a room, as in some of 
the Menageries and in the Zoological Gardens. 

From the earliest times the rein-deer appears to have 
been domesticated by the Laplanders ; and that dreary 
region owes to this animal whatever it possesses of 
civilization, and whatever comforts tend to render it 
supportable to the inhabitants. 

The Laplanders are divided into two very distinct 
classes ; one who are settled in their habits, living on or 
near the coast, and supporting themselves by fishing ; the 
other inhabiting the mountains, and wandering through 
the summer and winter with no shelter but their tents, 
and no provision but their rein deer. These valuable 
mnimaJs, however, tro fubject to a witatioii in tta gam- 

mer which compels their owners to repair to the as* 
frequently an arduous journey, in order to mitigate that 
sufferings and preserve their lives. M. De Broke, m 
his Travels in Lapland, thus describes these migration- 
" Whale Island, during the summer months, is never 
without three or four families of mountain Lapland** 
(Field-finner), with their herds of rehvdeer. The causes 
that induce, nay, even compel these people to lx ^ ^ 
their long and annual migrations from the interior ptj 
of Lapland to its coast, though they may W*/*' 
gular, are sufficiently powerful. It is well knows, nod 
the account of those travellers who have visited Lap* 
during the summer months, that the interior part* « 
it, particularly its boundless forests, are so infested o? 
various species of gnats and other insects, that w)^ 
can escape their incessant persecutions. Large fo**7 
kindled, in the smoke of which the cattle hold their he** 
to escape the attack of their enemies ; and eren tw 
natives themselves are compelled to smear their fr*** 
tar, as the only certain protection against their wag* 
No creature, however, suffers more than the n* 3 *** 
from the larger species (oestrus tarandi), as it not on 7 
torments it incessantly by its sting, but even deposiwi 
egg in the wound it makes in its hide. The PJ**r. 
n^ is thus tornieiUed to such a degree, tW tw ^ 

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lander, if he Wert to remain in the forests during the 
months of June, July, and August, would run the risk 
of losing the greater part of his herd, either by actual 
sickness, or from the deer fleeing of their own accord lo 
mountainous situations to escape the gad-fly. From 
these causes the Laplander is driven from the forests to 
the mountains that overhang the Norway and Lapland 
coasts, the elevated situations of which, and the cool 
breezes from the ocean, are unfavourable to the existence 
of these troublesome insects, which, though found on the 
coast, are in far less considerable numbers there, and do 
not quit the valleys ; so that the deer, by ascending the 
highlands, can avoid them." 

Early in September the herds and their owners leave 
the coast, in order to reach their winter quarters before 
the fall of the snows. With the approach of winter, the 
coat of the rein-deer begins to thicken, and like that of 
most other polar quadrupeds to assume a lighter colour. 
It is, however, when the winter is fairly set in that the 
peculiar value of the rein-deer is felt by the Laplanders. 
Without him, communication would be almost utterly 
suspended. Harnessed to a sledge, the, rein-deer will 
draw about 300 lbs. ; but the Laplanders generally limit 
the burthen to 240 lbs. The trot of the rein-deer is about 
ten miles an hour ; and the animal's power of endurance 
is such, that journeys of one hundred and fifty miles in 
nineteen hours are not uncommon. There is a portrait 
of a reiu-deet in the palace of Drotningholm (Sweden), 
which is represented, upon an occasion of emergency, to 
have drawn an officer with imoortant despatches the 
incredible distance of eight hundred English miles in 
forty-eight hours. This event is stated to have happened 
in 1699, and the tradition adds, that the deer dropped 
down lifeless upon his arrival. 

During the winter, the food of the rein-deer is the 
lichen or moss, which they display wonderful quickness 
of smell in discovering beneath the snow. In the sum- 
mer they pasture upon all green herbage, and browse 
upon the shrubs which they And in their march. They 
also, it is now well ascertained, eat with avidity the lem- 
ming or mountain rat, affording one of the few instances 
of a ruminating animal being in the slightest degree car- 

Of course, in a country where their services are so 
indispensable, rein-deer constitute the principal wealth 
of the inhabitants. M. De Broke says, — " The number 
of deer belonging to a herd is from three hundred to five 
hundred ; with these a Laplander can do well, and live 
in tolerable comfort He can make in summer a 
sufficient quantity of cheese for the year's consumption ; 
and, during the winter season, can afford to kill deer 
enough to supply him and his family pretty constantly 
with venison. With two hundred deer, a man, if his 
family be but small, can manage to get on. If he have 
but one hundred, his subsistence is very precarious, and 
he cannot rely entirely upon them for support. Should 
he have but fifty, he is no longer independent, or able to 
keep a separate establishment, but generally joins his 
small herd with that of some richer Laplander, being 
then considered more in the light of a menial, undertaking 
the laborious office of attending upon and watching the 
herd* bringing them home to be milked, and other 
similar offices, in return for the subsistence afforded him/' 
Von Buch, a celebrated traveller, has well described 
the evening milking-time, of which a representation is 
given in the wood cut: — " It is a new and a pleasing 
spectacle, to see in the evening the herd assembled round 
the gamme (encampment) to be milked. On all the 
hills around, every thing is in an instant full of life and 
motion. The busy dogs are every where barking, and 
bringing the mass nearer and nearer, and the rein-deer 
bound and run, stand still, and bound again, in an 
indescribable variety of movements. When the feeding 
fniimal, frightened by the dog, raises his head, and 
displays aloft his large an4 proud antlers, what a 

beautiful and majestic sight ! And when he courses over 
the ground, how fleet and light are his speed and carriage * 
We never hear the foot on the earth, and nothing but 
the incessant crackling of his knee-joints, as if produced 
by a repetition of electric shocks — a singular noise ; and 
from the number of rein-deer, by whom it is at once 
produced, it is heard at a great distance. When all the 
herd, consisting of three or four hundred, at last Teach 
the gamme, they stand still, or repose themselves, or 
frisk about in confidence, play with their antlers against 
each other, or in groups surround a patch of moss 
browsing. When the maidens run about with their jni lk- 
vessels from deer to deer, the brother or servant throws 
a bark halter round the antlers of the animal which they 
point out to him, and draws it towards them ; the animal 
generally struggles, and is unwilling to follow the halter, 
and the maiden laughs at and enjoys the labour it 
occasions, and sometimes wantonly allows it to get loose 
that it may again be caught for her ; while the father and 
mother are heard scolding them for their froljcksome 
behaviour, which has often the effect of scaring the 
whole flock. Who, viewing this scene, would not think 
on Laban, on Leah, Rachel, and Jacob? When the 
herd at last stretches itself, to the number of so many 
hundreds at once, round about the gamme, we imagine 
we are beholding an entire encampment, and the com- 
manding mind which presides over the whole, stationed 
in the middle." 

The wild rein-deer are hunted by the Laplanders, 
and also by the Eskimaux, and the Indians of North 


Op the numerous diseases to which mankind are 
exposed, the class denominated epidemic or spreading 
diseases is attended with the most alarming iuterest. 
A malady of this sort may take its origin in the remotest 
district of an extensive country, and yet, if its progress 
be independent of the peculiarities of soil and climate, 
it may soon come to overrun the whole. In the same 
way, although a spreading malady commence in one 
hemisphere of the globe, it may after a time invade the 
other, and its ravages know ultimately uo bounds, save 
those of human intercourse and human existence. 

Those spreading diseases, from the great havoc they 
often commit, have been commonly known by the name 
of " plagues" and (< pestilences." The word plague is 
apt to convey to an unprofessional person a very inde- 
finite idea of some great calamity which he is unable 
to describe ; but in reality it is neither more nor less 
than a fever. All plagues, in medical language, are 
understood to have been fevers; and they are distin- 
guished one from the other by their types or peculiar 
character of their symptoms. Thus, the Egyptian 
plague is a fever which bears a strong resemblance 
to ordinary typhus, in producing an extreme depres- 
sion of the constitutional powers of the patient; and 
it is distinguished from typhus by being attended with 
swellings of the glands in different parts of the body. 
The plague of London, which, in 1665, destroyed 
within the bills of mortality eight thousand persons in 
one week, was similar to that of Egypt Varieties of 
the same virulent epidemic are probably pointed at in 
the writings of Thucydides and Galen as having pre- 
vailed in the earlier ages at Athens and at Rome. At 
all events it seems certain that during nearly one half of 
the sixth century, and at several periods since, large 
portions of Europe and of Asia were devastated by the 
Egyptian scourge. 

Small-pox is a plague which, previous to the practice of 
vaccination, exercised a still more destructive power even 
than the preceding disease ; but it does not appear that 
the physicians of ancient Greece or Rome were at all 
acquainted with small-pox. for the traces of its early 

igitize y ^ 




progress we must look rnVther east In the traditions of 
the people of China end Hindostan Bmall-pox was enu- 
merated as one of their common diseases ; and in some 
of their earliest books, drroted to religion and philosophy, 
descriptions of it have been found to exist. 

China or Hindostan, then, must be considered the 
cradle of small- pox. We have no means, however, of 
ascertaining in which of the two it first appeared, or of 
offering a rational conjecture to explain die manner of 
its first production, beyond the fact that these countries 
have from remote ages swarmed with inhabitants, and 
been subject to dreadful Inroads of famine— circumstances 
of themselves eminently favourable to the generation of 
pestilence. According to the Chinese and Brahminical 
authorities, there is written evidence to show that small- 
pox had been established in their respective countries 
during a period of three thousand years and upwards. 

Although small-pox had prevailed so long in China 
and Hindostan, the first notice of its appearance in 
Western Asia cannot be dated earlier than the middle of 
the sixth century, and Europe was not invaded until a 
later period. The epoch to which we allude, as the 
recorded commencement of its western ravages, was the 
year 569, when the city of Mecca, in Arabia, was be- 
sieged by an army of Abyssinian Christians, under the 
command of Abreha, with the expectation of being able 
to destroy the K a aba or Pagan temple contained within 
that city. In this army the small-pox committed dreadful 
havock, and we are also told that measles made its ap- 
pearance there at the same time. 

From the siege of Mecca, a.d. 569, to the siege of 
Alexandria, in 639, not any of the Arabian records that 
have come down to us make mention of the progress of 
small-pox. During this interval, however, the disease 
was undoubtedly propagated, in various directions, in the 
wake of the victorious Arabs, who were assembled and 
led forth to war under the banner of their prophet. 
War has been ever the ready disseminator of pestilence ; 
and, as Persia and Syria were soon afterwards subdued 
by the successors of Mohammed, we may fairly conclude 
that small-pox was imported with the conquerors into 
these countries, if it had not previously reached them. 

On the other hand, Amrou, the lieutenant of the 
Caliph Omar, invaded Egypt in 638. In two years he 
captured Alexandria. It is conjectured that small-pox 
was communicated by the Mohammedan troops to the 
inhabitants of this city during the siege. Ahron, an 
author who lived in Alexandria at the time, wrote a 
treatise on small-pox, to which Rhazes, the distinguished 
Arabian physician, alludes. Unfortunately, Ahron's 
work has been since lost 

The rapid and prolonged success which now attended 
the Saracens by land and sea, opened new channels for 
the diffusion of small-pox; and, in attempting to follow 
its progress westward, along the shores of the Medi- 
terranean, we have no more certain guide than the 
chronological details of Saracenic conquest Okba Ebn 
Nafe, the general of Amru, subdued that portion of 
Africa lying between Barka and Zoweilah, including 
what now constitutes the piratical state of Tripoli. To 
him succeeded others who pushed the dominion of the 
Saracens still further. In 712 their armies made a 
descent on Spain. After defeating Roderick, the last 
king of the Goths, they took Toledo, and eventually 
overrun the whole country. About the year 732 the 
Saracens crossed the Pyrenees. Consequently with the 
period of this invasion we may date the introduction of 
small-pox into that kingdom. 

Small-pox probably reached Britain about the begin* 
ning of the ninth century ; but no distinct notice of this 
extraordinary visitor is furnished by the writers of the 
time. Sunk in the ignorance of the middle ages, they 
allowed the worst scourge that had ever thinned the 
human race to pass without description ; or, if men- 
^oned at*sll hi their meagre chronicles, it is only under 

the name' of "ptagufe, to? ef "consuming tttfm^ 
thets then apparently applied to eruptive pesUIenoeii« 

When small-pox enters a Ideality wheat it had aoi 
been before, its first effects ace almost slwsyg nx*i 
extensively destructive than any subsequent Happily, 
in the present day, we can form* from our own ape* 
rience, no conception of the mortality that «a all pro- 
bability marked its early course in England. A deadly 
pestilence, to one attack of which* as a general roll, 
every individual, in every rank of life, the hjgfcat « 
well as the lowest, k liable, most neeessarily bars filled 
the country from one extremity to the other with sick 
ness and with death. To aggravate the occurrence of 
such an evil, no disease is in itself more loathsome thai 
small-pox. The victim of the attack, more particukiy 
in the confluent variety, presents a most pitiable speo- 
tacle. In this form the patient is seen labouring 
under a fever, with the worst typhoid or putrid symp- 
toms. He is at the same time completely covered fan 
head to heel with pustules, which not twfrequently 
coalesce, and ultimately change the whole surface of as 
body into one continued sore that renders hts feature* 
u indistinguishable to his dearest friends, and convert! hin 
into an object of disgust to their senses. Nor are the 
immediate sufferings and danger of death the only oi> 
fortunes attendant on small-pox. In case the patient 
linger through the fever, or finally survive the attack, 
it is often at the sacrifice of every thing considemi 
desirable in personal appearance. Beauty may be trans- 
formed into deformity— and, what is of far greater 
importance, by the loss of sight the patient may be 
condemned to pass the remainder of his lifii in total 

Countries which have received small-pox in compara- 
tively modern times, afford striking examples of the 
magnitude of the calamity in its unmitigated terrors. 
In 1517 St. Domingo was infected. The island then 
contained, it is said, a million of Indians ; but these ub- 
fbrtunate people were altogether destroyed by smallpox 
and the murderous arms of their Spanish invaders. 
About 1530 small-pox commenced in Cuba. From 
thence it was cairied to Mexico. Within a short perkA 
according to computations that have been made, the 
pestilence destroyed in the kingdom of Mexico alone 
three millions and a half of the inhabitants. The 
emperor, brother and successor to Monteeuma, was 
among the victims. At subsequent periods aisereet 
parts of the American continent suffered much. Whole 
nations of warlike Indians were almost exttrpatea; and 
piles of bones, found under the tufted trees in the interior 
of the country, have been supposed to bear testimony 1° 
the ravages of smallpox. 

Peculiarities of climate exercise no mollifying lofties* 
over the virulence of small-pox. Iceland was invaded 
in the year 1707, and it suffered as much as the soother* 
regions. The inroad destroyed sixteen thousand per*** 
—more than a fourth of the estimated popobnon of 
the island. Greenland escaped until 1783. In & 
year small-pox appeared, and carried off nearly all * 
inhabitants. ' 

Small-pox is now familiar te every lection of w 
globe ; but we hear of it no longer as a scourge to t*"P 
away the population of an extensive district, with J*£ 
pidity and power approaching to those of the teriia** 
The beneficent Providence which, for the fulfilment ot 
its own mysterious purposes, tolerates the growth and 
extension of numerous plagues, has placed watow* 
reach of human intelligence numerous remedies *P*Jt 
either of alleviating or of completely obviating the* 
dangerous effects. Without the aid of inoculation •* 
vaccination ft is calculated that at least one fo**"*7 
of every generation of mankind wpuld perish **j li 7J 
the deadly taint of smaU-pox i but that, were to**^}* 
generally practised, the mortality wodd BOt*naetteJ» 
Digitized by VJUUv Iv. 




one in seventy of tfcdie 0H wham thcr operation had 
been performed* and, under the protective influence of 
vaccination, that one death is not. to be expected in 
many hundreds of persons so treated. Inoculation lias 
of late years been wisely abandoned by the medical pro- 
fession j vaccination is recommended in its stead. The 
history of the progress of. inoculation, and of Dr. Jenner s 
invaluable discovery, we shall touch upon in a future 


Im the ensuing week occurs the anniversary of the death 
of this great writer, whose name is doubtless known to 
most of our readers as that of the author of Robinson 
Crusoe; but who, although more than a century has now 
elapsed since he ceased to live, has not yet obtained in 
the general estimation that share of fame and that 
rank in English literature to which he is justly entitled. 
Defoe's was a life of extraordinary activity ; an account 
of which, therefore, if given in detail, might occupy, as 
indeed it has been made to occupy, volumes. Here we 
must confine ourselves to a very rapid and general 
sketch. He was born in 1661, in London, where his 
father was a butcher* of the parish of St. Giles's, Crip- 
plegate. The family name was Foe, to which he ap- 
pears to have himself prefixed the Dt. His father, who 
was a dissenter, sent him to be educated at an academy 
at Newington Green, kept by a clergyman of his own 
persuasion. Here he distinguished himself by his fond- 
ness for reading every thing that came in his way, and 
his industry in storing his mind with useful knowledge. 
On leaving the academy he is supposed to have been 
bound apprentice to a hosier ; and he afterwards set up 
for himself in that line in Freeman's Yard, Cornhill. It 
is probable, however, that he had scarcely finished his 
apprenticeship when he made his first appearance as an 
author ; for in one of his later writings he mentions a 
political pamphlet which he published in 1683, and in 
terms which almost seem to imply that even that was 
not the first production of his pen ; he was then, he 
says, " but a young man, and a younger author*" 

Literature was destined to become Defoe's chief 
profession* His speculations in trade, amoag which 
was si brick and tile work near Tilbury Fort in Essex, 
were not fortunate; and about the year 1692 he be- 
came bankrupt His conduct in relation to thia event 
was highly to his honour; for, although he had ob- 
tained an acquittal from his creditors on giving up 
every thing he had, he appears to have persevered to 
the end of his life in the endeavour to pay off the ftfH 
amount of hie debts, and to have succeeded to a great 
titent in effecting that object. About a dozen years 
after bis bankruptcy, he states in one of his publications* 
that " with a numerous family, and no helps but hie 
own industry, he had forced his way with nndiseouraged 
diligence through a sea of misfortunes, and reduced hie 
debts, exclusive of composition, from seventeen thou- 
sand to lees than five thousand pounds/' He had mat' 
ried in 1687. 

Although Defoe had eome forth so early as a po&- 
tical writer, hit next appearance from the press was 
in a different character fa 1697 he published a work 
bearing the title of 'An Essay on Projects/ It id 
foil 0f new and ingenious schemes, connected not only 
with trade aad eonuoerce, but with education, literature, 
and the general interests of social improvement. Thto 
same year, however, we find him re-entered upon his 
<tfd field Of JJoltlftS, tftiere he continued (o distinguish 
himself as the meet active, the most ablet and the mpM 
conspicuous, among a crowd of fellow-combatants, 
throughout a stormy period of about eighteen years. 
Our spaee will Hot permit as to follow him through the 
various incidents of this part of his history* or even 
to enumerate the productions of hid fertile and un- 

wearied pen* Subordinate and eompetatiVely humble 
as was the sphere in Which he moved, and exposed 
as he was from his eircdrtistaftCeS to all sorts of 
temptations, Defoe's political career was distinguished 
by a consistency, a disinterestedness, and an indepen- 
dence, which have never been surpassed, and but rarefy 
exemplified to the same degree by those occupy in <j the 
highest stations in the direction Of national affair*. His 
principles repeatedly drew upon him obloquy, danger, 
persecution, and punishment, both in the shape of per- 
sonal and pecuniary suffering, and in that of stigma and 
degradation; but nothing ever scared him from thehr 
courageous avowal and maintenance. The injustice he 
met with on more than one occasion Wat not more 
shocking from its cruelty than from its absurdity. 

It was on the 19th of February, 1704, during his im- 
prisonment on a conviction for publishing a satirical 
pamphlet, entitled •The Shortest Way with the Dis- 
senters/ that he commenced his political paper, end* 
tied, first, a ' Review of the Affairs of Prance/ and 
afterwards* (namely from 1st January, 1706,) a * Review 
€f the State of the English Nation. It was originally 
published only once a week, but at last appeared every 
Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, printed on a half sheet, 
or four quarto pages. To the political news and dis- 
quisitions, was regularly appended a short chronicle of 
domestic incidents ; and the whole was written by 
Defoe himself. The work was continued fill the com- 
pletion of the ninth volume in May, 1713; when a tat 
which had recently been imposed, the same which pre* 
bably occasioned the dropping of the Spectator, (see 
Penny Magazine, voir i. p. 147,) induced the author (0 
bring it to a termination. He was then in Newgate for 
the second time. Defoe's Review, which, at its com- 
mencement at least, had very great success, has been 
usually regarded as the parent, and in some respects the 
model of the Spectator. But it has not enjoyed the 
good fortune of that celebrated work ; for while the Spec* 
tator has been reprinted many times, a perfect copy 
of the Review, we believe, Is not now known to exist. 
There are only the first six of the nine volumes in the 
Museum. But many other works proceeded from Defoe's 
pen while he was engaged with this publication. Among 
the most remarkable of these was his poem in twelve 
boojes, entitled • Jure Divino,' an able attack on the notion 
of the divine right of kings,— -and his History of the 
Union with Scotland, an event in the negotiating of which 
he had a considerable share, haying been sent down by 
government to Edinburgh for that purpose. Defoe 
appears to have accounted his services cm this occasion 
among the most important he had been able to render to 
his country % and probably few individuals of that day 
saw so clearly the advantages of the arrangement which 
thus converted the two nations into one people. 

Conformably to the fate Which had pursued him through 
life, the accession of the house of Hanover, although the 
end and Consummation, it may be said, of all his political 
labours, instead of bringing him honours and rewards, 
consigned him only to neglect and poverty. The treat- 
ment he met with seems to have affected his health, 
though it could not break his spirit. In 1715 he was 
struck with apoplexy, and for some time It was appre- 
hended that ne would not recover from the attack. The 
strength of his constitution, however, which l»ad been 
sustained by a life of unsullied correctness and tempe- 
rance, earned him through. But he was now resolved to 
abandon poWtfea, and to employ his pen for the future 
on less ungrateful themes. The extraordinary effect of 
this determination was to enable him, by a series of 
works which he began to produce after he had reached 
nearly the age of sixty, to eclipse all that he had formerly 
done, and-to secure to himself a fame which has extended 

(as far and will last as long as the language in which he 
wrote. Robinson Crusoe, the first of his admirable fic- 
tions, appeared in 1719, The reception of it, says Mr, 





.Chalmers, * was immediate and universal ; and Taylor, 
who purchased the manuscript after every bookseller had 
refused it, is said to have gained a thousand pounds." 
It has ever since continued, as every reader knows, to be 
one of the most popular books in the English tongue, 
the delight alike of all ages, and enchaining the attention 
by a charm hardly possessed in the same degree by any 
similar work. Other productions in the same vein, and 
more or less ably executed, followed in rapid succession 
from the pen of the industrious and inexhaustible author. 
Among them are especially to be mentioned his Journal 
of the Plague, a fictitious narrative, published in 1722, 
which is said to have deceived Dr. Mead, and to have 
been taken by him for a true history ; his Memoirs of a 
Cavalier, which appeared the same year ; and his Life of 
Colonel Jack, published the year following. All these 
narratives, the mere fabrications of the writer's invention, 
are distinguished by an air of nature and truth, which it 
js almost impossible during the perusal not to take for 
genuine. Defoe died in his native parish on the 24th 
(not as has been often stated the 26th) of April, 1731, 
and consequently in his 70th or 71st year. He was 
buried in Bunhill Fields, then called Tindall's Burying- 
ground. - He left several children, the descendants of 
some of whom still survive. It is lamentable to think 
that he appears after all his exertions to have died insol- 
vent. The vast amount . of his literary labours may in 
some degree be conceived from the fact, that the list of 
his publications given by Mr. Wilson, his latest bio- 
grapher, contains no fewer than 210 articles, and it is 
believed not to be complete. Many of these works were 
written in circumstances of great privation and distress. 
In the preface to his poem of c Jure Divino/ occurs the 
following affecting passage, with which we shall conclude 
our notice :— -" I shall say but very little in the defence of 
the performance but this : it has been wrote under the 
heaviest weight of intolerable pressures; the greatest 
part of it was composed in prison ; and as the author has 
unhappily felt the most violent and constant efforts of 
his enemies to destroy him ever since that, the little 
composure he has had must be his short excuse for any 
thing incorrect. Let any man, under millions of dis- 
tracting cares, and the constant ill -treatment of the world, 
consider the power of such circumstances over both in- 
vention and expression, he will then allow that I had 
been to be excused, even, in worse errors than are to be 
found in this book." 


There is no country which has not had its learned and 
elaborate inquirers as to the means through which Eu- 
rope became acquainted, sometime- about the eleventh 
century, with the article of paper. Casiri, however, 
whilst employed in translating Arabic writers, has dis- 
covered the real place from which paper came. It 
has been known in China, where its constituent part is 
silk, from time immemorial. In the thirtieth year of the 
Hegira, (in the middle of the seventh century,) a manu- 
factory of similar . paper was established at Samarcand; 
and in. 706, fifty-eight years afterwards, one Youzet 
Amru, of Mecca, discovered the art of making it with 
cotton, an article more commonly used in Arabia than 
silk. This is clearly proved by the following passage 
from Muhamad Al Gazeli's ' De Arabicarum Antiquiti- 
turn Eruditione :' — ■• In the ninety-eighth year of the 
Hegira," says he, " a certain Joseph Amru first of all 
invented paper in the city of Mecca, and taught the 
Arabs the use of it" And as an additional proof, that 
the Arabians, and not the Greeks of the lower empire, 
as it has long been affirmed, were the inventors of cot- 
ton paper, it may be observed that a Greek of great 
learning, whom Montfaucon mentions as having been 
employed in forming a catalogue of the old MSS. in the J 
king's library. at Paris, in the reign of Henry II., always 
calls the article ' Damascus Paper.' The subsequent i 
invention of paper, made from fiernp or flax % has given 
rise to equal controversy. Maffei and Tiraboschi have 
claimed the honour in behalf of Italy,' and Scaliger and 
Meermann, for Germany ; but none of these writers ad- 
duce any instance of its use anterior to the fourteenth 
century. By far the oldest in France is a letter from 
Joinville to St. Louis, which was written a short time 
before the decease of that monarch in 1270. Exam- 
ples of the use of modern paper in Spain, date from a I 
century before that time; and it may be sufficient to 
quote, from the numerous instances cited by Don Gre 
gorio Mayans, a treaty of peace concluded between Al 
fonso II. of Aragon, and Alfonso IX of Castille, which 
is preserved in the archives at Barcelona, and bears ! 
date in the year 1178 ; to this we may add, the far® I 
(privileges) granted to Valencia by James the Con- 
queror, in 1251. The paper in question came from the 
Arabs, who, on their arrival in Spain, where both silk 
and cotton were equally fare, made it of hemp and flax. 
Their first manufactories were established at Xativa, the 
San Felipe of the present day ; a town of high repute in 
ancient times, as Pliny and Strabo report, for its fehn- 
cation of cloth. Edrisi observes, when speaking °f 
Xativa, M Excellent and incomparable paper is likewise 
made here." Valencia too, the plains of which produce 
an abundance of flax, possessed manufactories a short 
time afterwards ; and Catalonia was not long in follow- 
ing the example. Indeed the two latter provinces »t 
this moment furnish the best paper in Spain. The use 
of the article, made from flax, did not reach Castille 
until the reign of Alfonso X., in the middle of the 
thirteenth century, and thence it cannot be questioned 
that it spread to France, and afterwards to Italy, Eng- 
land, and Germany. The Arabic MSS., which are ot 
much older date than the Spanish, were most of them 
written on satin paper, and embellished with a quan- 
tity of ornamental work, painted in such gay and re- 
splendent colours, that the reader might behold h» 
face reflected as if from a mirror.— Journal of W> 
cation, No, 10. 

£EWiait of Defbe. J 

V Tht Office of tnt Soeittv for tn« Diffcuion of Utefnl KmrwW** * ■* 
S9, Lincoln'! Inn Fields. 


Printed by William Clowes, Stamford Stnft! 

Digitized by VJ 



Or tBM 

Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. 



[Aran. 27, 1833. 


[Richmond Caitlfij from the River Swale.] 

The origin of the town of Richmond, in the North 
Riding of Yorkshire, dates from a few years after the 
conquest Earl Edwin, who, before that event, possessed 
the part of the country in which Richmond is situated, 
waa .perhaps the most powerful of the Saxon nobles- 
being, in addition to the /extensive lands of which he 
was lord, nearly allied by blood to the royal family. It 
waa not to be supposed that a person occupying such a 
position as his would yield any thing beyond a forced 
submission to the Norman invaders. We find the 
young and brave Earl, accordingly, at the head of two 
vigorous attempts successively made by those of his 
nation, to recover the independence of their country, 
within the first three years after the arrival of William. 
He was pardoned for his participation in the first ; but 
on the second occasion, after the revolt had been sup- 
pressed, he was betrayed by some persons in whose 
fidelity he had confided, and notwithstanding a gallant 
defence, overpowered and slain. His assassins carried 
his head to William, in hopes of obtaining a reward for 
the deed ; when the stern Norman is said to have shed 
team at the sight, and, instead of bestowing upon them 
p referm ent or gold, to have commanded that the per- 
petrators of the crime should be banished from the 
kingdom. Before this, however, he had stripped the 
Saxon Barl of ms broad domains, and transferred them 
to a follower and kinsman of his own, Alan, Count of 
Bretagne, to whom he also sometime after gave his 
daughter Ha wise in marriage. By this gift it is said, 
that Count Alan was put in possession of no fewer than 
two hundred manors and townships. It was he who, to 
protect himself and his property from the hostile popu- 
lation* In the midst of whom he came to establish him- 
aelf, built the Castle of ftichmond, around which the 
Voi.IL ~ - • - 

town was probably soon formed by his Norman re 
tainers. . . . « 

After Alan's death, the earldom of Richmond de- 
scended to a son of Hawise by a former husband, she 
having left no children by the Count of Bretagne. After 
this the dignity was held successively by various families. 
It was at length erected into a dukedom by Henry VIII. 
in favour of his natural son by the daughter of Sir John 
Blount, who died in 1685 at the age of seventeen. The 
dukedom fell to the present family in the reign of 
Charles II., and with it the Castle of Richmond. 

The castle has long been a complete ruin. Leland, 
who saw it in 1534, speaks of it in his Itinerary as even 
then fallen into decay and deserted. Yet it does not 
appear to have suffered from any siege, or other species 
of violence. Neglect alone would seem to have reduced 
it to its present condition. It certainly has not been 
inhabited at least since the year 1485, when it came 
into the possession of the crown, by the accession of 
Henry VII., who was previously Earl of Richmond. 

The town and castle stand on elevated ground on the 
north bank of the river Swale. The site of the castle, 
which is between the river and the town, occupies a 
space of about six acres. Except on the north side, or 
that next the town, the fortress from the natural ad- 
vantages of its position, must have been quite inac- 
cessible. The ground on which it is built is elevated to 
the height of fully one hundred feet above the stream, 
the precipice being broken into two parts about midway 
down by a walk eight or nine feet broad, which runs 
under the castle wall. The portion of the hill above the 
walk is faced with large stones, so as to give it almost 
the appearance of a rock. 4 On the west side of the 
castle is a deep v*Uey, whfch is probably artfficial.; and 

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the Swale also winds round the east side, where the 
descent is much more gradual. On the north there was 
formerly a moat, which however has been long filled up 
and oblitemted. The whole was originally sUrfoueded 
by a high wall, strengthened at intervals with towers, 
•Attd measuring not less than half -a- mile in ext en t. 
For a long time after its erection Richmond Castle 


strength. It was a military stronghold, constructed in 
every part with a view to defence. The old barons lived 
here in, the. condition of petty sovereigns, and kept the 
surrounding country in awe and subjection for many 
miles around from their impregnable fortress. 

The principal portion of the edifice that now remains 
is an immense square tower on the north side, said to 
have been built about the middle of the twelfth century. 
It measures fifty-four feet in one direction, by forty-eight 
in another ; and the walls are ninety- nine feet in height, 
and eleven in thickness. Above these pinnacles rise 
from the four corners. This tower has consisted origi- 
nally of three stories, the lowest of which is supported 
by a massive stone pillar placed under the oentre of its 
arched roo£ The roofs of the two upper stories have 
fallen in ; and a winding staircase, which formerly no 
doubt ascended to the top, now reaches only to the height 
of the middle apartment. There is a well of excellent 
water within this tower. At the south-east corner at 
the castle there is the ruin of a smaller tower, m the 
bottor 1 of which is formed a dungeon about fourteen feet 
in depth. And there is another tower at the south-west 
corner , round and narrow, and of considerable height, to 
which there is no entrance except from the top* It was 
probably used as a prison. 

Ruined and desolate as it is, the aspect of fttohmonjl 
Castle is stiU singularly majestic and imposing. Its 
venerable antiquity, its vast extent, it» commanding 
position,, and the maseivenees and lofty altitude at those 
parts off the structure which time haa not yet overthrown, 
all contribute to fill the mind with- a. sense of sublimity 
in gazing upon its broken arches and ivy-mantled towers. 
The effect is powerfully aided by the character of the 
surrounding landscape, which, towards the north-west 
especially, has much of the grandeur of highland 

Viewed from the surrounding hills UlfcT0*fc Hfld castle 
of Richmond, notwithstanding their elevation above 
the ground in their immediate neighbourhood, seem to 
lie at tile bottom of a valley. It is 'extremely proba- 
ble that the place hag derived its name, Rtehmont, or 
the Rich. Mount,, from its emiuent.n&turaLaJttractipns, 
Richmond in Surrey is said to have been so named in 
a much later- age on the same . account The scenery 
around the latter celebrated spot, however, it has been 
remarked, differs essentially in character from that in the 
midst of which the Yorkshire Richmond is placed,— the 
beautiful being the prevailing ingredient in the one, while 
of the other landscape, a wild and stern grandeur may 
rather be said to be the predominant expression. With 
this, which is however intermingled and relieved in many 
places by the richest attractions of a softer kind, the old 
and frowning ruin, to which our notice relates, is admi- 
rably in keeping. 

In the sketch we have given of the Secondary and Ter- 
tiary Rocks, in speaking of the organic remains which 
they contain* we have done little more than mention the 
existence of certain classes, as they appear in the order 
of succession. But there are circumstances connected 
with these bodies so very important, as regards the his- 
tory of our planet; thai evenv a very brief outline of geo- 
logy would be incomplete, were they left unnoticed. We 
shall endeavour, in a subsequent section, to lay before 
our readers some of the most remarkable results which 
the researches* of geologist* id this department have 
brought to light 

We gave, m our second section, a kind of tabalar 
view of tftte Older of succession in the stratified rocks, 
and having now completed our sfcetch of the different 
groups of strata* we shall exhibit, not an ideal, but a 
real, section of apart of England, which will at once 
convey, for mone intelligibly thai* any verbal description, 
a very correct notion of the manner in which the strata 
now present themselves, when we penetrate the crust of 
the earth, or view them to those precipices on the «a- 
shore; or in mountainous districts, where natural sections 
are exposed. 

(No. 6.)— Section of the stratified and wstratifikd Rocks from the Lamb's Em* irr Gormwau 

to thi Coast of Suffolk. 

' »*fS^ J ^. m «nrt^ 

The reader, will observe that the atjove four parts 
below taone continuous line, which has been broken, 
in order tQA adapt it to' the form of our page, but the 

4 . •*:-! ur h^MI'. 

index letters sftoW where tffev* imite^^^ jfcftfcKt^B, C 
to D; and EtifV. R frtlKew fitair^hW ell fl fcui**^ 
oTConeybeare and HUH^ife'Wi tfte (9feOl4gyoF BtafeUtii 

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and Wales, and those who have eeces* to that book will 
perhaps understand the section better, as it is there given, 
the colours and names tendering it more dear. There are 
also other instructive section* in the same piate. It 
must not be supposed that any such section as that 
represented here is to be seen : it is constructed by 
putting together an extensive series of exact observations 
and measurements at detached points along the line, made, 
however, with such care, that if the land were actually 
cut down, it is very unlikely that anv of the great fea- 
tures woukj t* ftftifrt tp be ippose then 
that a line be drawn from tl to Bendley 
Hill, on, the east coast! ne absolutely 
straight, but passing over alt w great rearures of the 
country that lie between the two points, at a short dis- 
tance on either aide of an imaginary central line ; and 
that a vertical section were made, to a depth in some 
place, as fcr below the level of the sea, as we have pene- 
trated in our deepest mines— the precipice thus exposed 
would present such an arrangement of the strata as is 
exhibited in vie above diagram, jt is necessary, how- 
ever, to state that neither the horizontal distances nor the 
vertical elevations can be given in such a diagram in 
their true proportions. To do so, the paper roust have 
been many yards long, and several feet in height. The 
order of position, and the succession of the strata as they 
lie over each other, are, however, truly given ; and 
nothing would be gained for the illustration of the facts 
the section is intended to represent, by increasing either 
the length or height The horizontal line represents 
the level of the sea. We shall now travel along the line 
of section, beginning our journey at the land's End in 
Cornwall. We shall thus, as we move eastward, meet 
the different groups of strata in the order of succession 
we have already described, and shall find ftt ternary 
rocks on the shores pf the German ocean. 

Fig. A is that portion of the section whicn extends 
from the Land's End to the western slope of Dartmoor 
Forest, north of Tavistock,— crossing Mount's Bay to 
Marazion, Redruth, Truro, and north of Gt ram pound 
and Lostwithiel. The principal rock is primary slate, 
a, which is in htirhly inclined strata, and is traversed by 
numerous metallic veins and great veins pr dykes of 
granite and other unstratified rocks, b and c, the granite 
also forming great mountain masses that rise in some 
instances to the height of 1368 feet above the sea, and in 
many places the great masses of granite are seen to send 
up shoots in numerous and frequently slender ramifica- 
tions into the superincumbent slate. 
► Fig. B C contains that part of the section which lies 
between a point some miles north of Tavistock, and the 
summit of the Mendip Hills in Somersetshire, passing 
near Tiverton, Milverton, Nether Stowey, and Cheddar. 
On the left or western part, we find a continuation of the 
slaty rocks, a, traversed by veins of whinstone, c, and then 
we come upon a mass of granite, •, forming the lofty 
mountain group of Dartmoor Fbrest. This is flanked 
on the east by the same state that occurs on the west, and 
containing veins of whinstone, c, and subordinate beds 
of limestone, <L The slate continues without interrup- 
tion for many miles, as far east as the Quantock Hills, 
near Nether Stowey, where it is seen for the last time on 
this line of section, being succeeded by the secondary 
rocks. A great part of the slate belongs to that lowest 
group of the secondary rocks called transition, in which 
the rock Otauwdcke prevails, from which the group has 
been named. On each side of the Quantock Hills are 
deposits of rounded pebbles of grauwacke and limestone 
cemented together, 4 a. To the slate, a, succeeds the 
old red sandstone group, /, followed by the mountain 
limestone group, g. The strata of these rocks soon after 
their deposition, must have been violently acted upon, for 
they are thrown up in such a manner as to form a> trough 
or basui, as it w o*H*4 in geological Uqguage, and in this 

trough there are found the red marl group, t, and the 
lowest member of the oolite group, the lias limestone, /. 
Here we miss a member of the series which should have 
come between the mountain limestone and the red marl, 
vhj. the coal group — this is a blank of very frequent oc- 
currence, but we shall find it in its right place on the 
other side of the Mendip Hills. These are cut through 
on the right of the figure, and are seen to be composed 
of eld red sandstone in the centre, covered on their sides 
by mountain limestone. 

Fig. D E represents that part of the section which lies 
between the Mendip Hills and Shotover Hill near Ox- 
ford. On the west we see the old red sandstone group 
in the centre of the Mendip ridge, and that it is succeeded 
by a very instructive section of the great coal-field of 
Somersetshire. Here, as on the west side of the Mendip 
Hills, the old red sandstone and mountain limestone 
groups have been acted upon by such a force from below, 
that they have been thrown up in opposite directions, and 
have formed a trough. As the coal measures, A, partake 
of tne curvature, it Is evident that the disturbance took 
place subsequently